Darker Than Blood

.19

All he said was "Close your eyes."

And she did.

Sarah had felt the whoosh of the wind —clothes rustling—cars honking— people chattering—and then it was. . . silence.

Eerie silence.

Wrapped in his arms , she didn't dare open her eyes or peek. But she did feel breathless , glad for his familiar scent.

Breathless as if she had run a mile.

As soon as silence fell he asked her to open up her eyes.

And when she did —it was dark.

Can't- see- your- hand dark.

Sarah panicked when his hands left her waist and he stepped back from her. The grip on his shirt tightened.

Damien wrapped his fingers around her wrist in a bid to calm her down.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. All I'm going to do is switch the lights on. " He said softly,  she could feel his breath on her face and even though she still didn't want him to leave—her hand left his shirt.

"Brave girl." He said and then just as she blinked , the lights were flipped on and he was standing right infront of her as if he had never left.

But that didn't shock her at all.

What did was the lavish apartment she was standing in. The chocolate colored couch , the huge LCD screen, the painting of an elegant man that she swore she had see before—

"That's my great grandfather. Count Dracula. The man humans turned into a villain for their own greed.". He mused.

"Own greed?" Sarah repeated his words , a little confused.

"Yes. A man did come to visit him , my great grandfather. He was ecstatic to host a human at his estate . The old man had no idea he would be painted as the devil in the book. Well, the writer got rich and my race butchered . "

Sarah could feel his sorrow that he was hiding behind  humor.

The man in the painting forcing her to look back again.

It was an oil painting. The blue eyes of the handsome man was staring back at her, his full lips up in a cold smile. His head covered in a ruffled wig, the  skin pale—he was seated on a golden throne. His body hidden under a red velvet cloak.

"It's beautiful. ." She breathed , forgetting about everything but the oil painting. "How did he die?" She asked curiously.

He pushed his hands deep in his pant's pockets.

"Old age. I know humans have this illusion of eternal life but really all we do is age slowly. There is no eternity for anyone in his world. We are as mortal as you. "

She nodded absently, going back to admiring the man in the painting.

She didn't notice that Damien had moved towards her , she jumped a little when his arm went around her shoulders and he too looked at the painting.

"I remember my father took me to meet him. Not the man in this painting. Whom I met  was a shadow of this man. So old he could barely talk . So cranky he didn't give a shit . ."

Her neck turned towards him.

"And your father? " She asked softly.

"He died from our. . careless manner. All he needed was a drop of blood to drink but my sister was busy . . . frolicking with her boyfriend so—," Damien shrugged. " He died."