Page 117 of Dark Awakening

I smooth back the wet strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she gazes up at me in naked vulnerability, willing me to understand her need to numb the pain a while longer. To escape the cruel memories, refusing to grant any respite.

"Then let me take you far from this place tonight, at least in spirit," I murmur consolingly before dipping my head to capture her soft mouth in a kiss both infinitely tender and passionately heated.

Tonight, I'm hellbent on scouring away every goddamn hint of her ordeal; she won't carry a single mark of the filth that dared to touch her. My hands are meticulous as I work to scrub off every scent, every memory that might cling to her perfect skin. Those bastards had no right—no right to put their hands on something so damn pure and exquisite as Dani.

In the hours that stretch ahead of us, she’s nothing but mine, the way she was meant to be — untouched, untainted, and free. I swear it on my life. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure her brilliance isn't dimmed by the shadows that dared to snatch her from me. Her light will blaze again, fierce and bright, and I'll tear apart anything that threatens to smother it.

Danica

61

The days following John's tragic death stretch endlessly, each hour slowly ticking by, filled with almost unbearable grief and soul-deep guilt. I've asked myself a million agonizing times how things could have ended differently if I had stayed safely home that fateful night instead of going to work. Without my dear friend and steadfast mentor to turn to any longer, the penetrating sense of loss sits like a heavy, suffocating blanket draped over me, pressing down with such force that, at times, it feels as though I can scarcely draw breath.

Throughout this bleak period, Rhyland has stayed constantly at my side, his tender yet anchoring touch gentle but firm each night as he whispers fervent words of protection, heartfelt apologies for not arriving sooner, and profound promises of unending love and devotion. I awake frequently in the small hours before dawn, my sleep shattered by vivid nightmares starring Marcus, Azrael, and poor John's violent end replaying in an endless loop.

Rhyland quickly envelopes me in his arms, reassuring me that I am finally beyond their reach. During my darkest moments of doubt, speaking aloud to Rhyland about the twisted machinations surrounding the mysterious Soul Stone and all that Marcus revealed in that wretched cellar proves cathartic. Sharing such burdens, even partly, lessens their crushing weight upon my psyche.

In the whirlwind aftermath of my ordeal, Rhyland and I have reached a profound new point of intimacy and understanding in our relationship. We both now know with utter certainty how essential the other has become, our two souls so irrevocably entwined that separation would indeed prove devastating for us both.

I wish with all that I am that I could forget all the horrors I endured during my captivity and erase the fresh wounds from my mind. But deep down, I know such complete healing will likely require a significant span of time and patient effort if it ever entirely comes at all. Some scars etched upon the heart run far too deep to fade, no matter how we may wish otherwise.

When kind, gentle Emily arrived shortly after my safe return to visit, horror and empathy shone brightly in her compassionate eyes as she listened to the bare-bones account of my abduction and John's tragic fate. Without needing to exchange a single word, she immediately guided me to sit beside her on the plush living room sofa.

We stayed that way as one, engaging in companionable silence for some time; the only sound was my occasional ragged, hitched breaths as I attempted to collect myself. But eventually, the heavy burden of bottled-up grief and guilt becomes too much to contain inside any longer.

When I finally find my voice again, it emerges hoarse and quavering with emotion as I begin to recount everything that has happened and what I'm becoming. My destiny. Emily listens with seemingly infinite patience and compassion as I release all of the built-up anguish that's been slowly suffocating my battered spirit.

No platitudes or empty condolences are offered, only the gift of a sympathetic ear when I need it most. When the torrent of words and tears at last slows to a trickle, Emily wordlessly enfolds me into a warm, maternal embrace, her gentle fingers softly brushing away the tear-dampened strands of hair clinging to my cheeks.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself for this tragedy, girl," she whispers into my hair. "No one could have foreseen or prevented what happened that night."

Though part of me still resists accepting the absolution of her words, Emily's voice feels like a healing balm applied to my gaping emotional wounds, dulling their sting.

Sensing my lingering doubt, Emily gives my shoulder a bracing squeeze. "Whatever this is that you have to do to save us all from darkness…I truly believe only your badass can accomplish it." Despite her kind assurances, tears continue to slip in steady trails down my face as I silently disagree.

My thoughts spiral to darker places, imagining how events might have unfolded differently if not for the strangeness of my alien gifts and hybrid nature, drawing the eyes of powerful monsters to my small, insignificant life. The guilt threatens to swallow me whole.

A few mornings later, I take a deep, bracing breath before solemnly going across the verdant, rolling hills of the cemetery where John is to be laid to rest. The pervasive aura of grief here is nearly palpable as I join the gathering of friends, family, and loyal patrons who have come together to mourn our beloved friend and mentor. The ordinarily vibrant Seattle sky seems to mirror our collective sorrow today, heavy leaden clouds overhead, unleashing a dreary downpour of rain. The cold raindrops mingle with hot tears on my cheeks, rolling down my face in steady rivulets as we say goodbye.

John's son Mark stands solemn and straight-backed beside me, clearly trying to remain stoic though anguish shines bright in his kind eyes.

After the funeral concludes, those gathered return to the Playful Pint for an informal wake celebrating John's life. Usually bustling with laughter and lively chatter, the bar resonates with a subdued melancholy hush tonight. Dimmed lighting casts a warm amber glow over the familiar worn oak counters and polished taps that John so lovingly maintained. Framed photos of him in happier times now adorn the walls, capturing memories of his easy laughter and talent for fostering a sense of community and camaraderie. Though his physical absence is still keenly felt, the images bring bittersweet comfort.

As friends and loved ones raise glasses and share stories, the pub becomes a place of solace and reflection for all who knew John. The nostalgic air is thick with memories, while the muted clinking of glasses and murmur of voices fill the void left in his wake.

I stay until the last guest finally wanders out. Mark pauses to take in the room, expression wistful. "I promise to keep my father's legacy alive, Dani. To maintain this place just as he would have wanted," he vows.

I nod, genuinely touched by the resolve shining in Mark's eyes despite his palpable grief. It's the legacy John deserves, carried on through those who loved him most.

Danica

62

Rhyland’s hotel room fills with soft pink and orange hues as the sun rises. He gets ready for the day ahead with a peculiar feeling of anticipation. His plans are all about experimenting with my blood. It’s exciting and scary to think it may be the key to his immunity from sunlight!

“I hope this works,” he mutters almost fearfully, "for it is unprecedented for any vampire to withstand daylight."

I keep faith in my heart that this will be successful.

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