Page 14 of Beasts

The conversation gives me a lot to think about, but there’s still one question nagging at me. “Oliver said something that I can’t get out of my head.”

“What’s that?”

“He implied that most of you have thought about killing me. Is that true?”

Nolan’s explanation offers a deeper insight into the complex nature of my housemates. “It’s not about secrecy or our personal laws per se. It’s more about our biological impulses. It’s not that we want to hurt you; it’s just that certain triggers can awaken primal instincts in us.”

“So, it’s like a biological response? An instinctual urge to kill for satisfaction?” I ask, trying to understand the frightening concept.

“In a way, yes,” Nolan admits with a hint of discomfort. “But we despise these thoughts. It’s not just about you, either. Sometimes, it could be a random person on the street who inadvertently triggers something within us. It’s a battle we constantly fight against our own nature. But the important thing is, we’re committed to not acting on these impulses. Everyone here is more inclined to protect you.”

I can’t help but voice my doubt. “Well, not everyone.”

Nolan assures me with a gentle confidence. “No, I believe everyone here, including Oliver. It’s not about personal connections; it’s about our collective decision to protect and not harm.”

His reassurance brings some comfort, though I remain uncertain, especially considering Oliver’s behavior. Nolan then stands up, heading towards the door. “It’s late, and this has been quite a heavy conversation. Get some rest. And remember, you can ask us anything. We’ll be open and honest with you.”

“Thank you, Nolan. I know this wasn’t easy for you to share.”

He offers a warm smile. “You’re easy to talk to.” As he opens the door, he nods to someone outside before leaving.

To my surprise, Oliver appears from the shadows, holding a plate. His expression is unreadable, and I wonder how long he’s been listening.

“I, um,” he starts awkwardly, “noticed you didn’t have dinner.” His assumption is correct, and I shake my head in confirmation. He steps forward just enough to place the plate on the bed.

“Thank you, Oliver,” I say, genuinely grateful for his thoughtfulness. As he starts to leave, a sudden urge to connect with him more deeply prompts me to call out, “Wait.”

He pauses, only half-turning to face me, a shadow of curiosity in his otherwise unreadable expression. “How much of that conversation did you hear?” I ask.

“Most of it,” he replies succinctly.

Feeling a bit awkward, I add, “Sorry you had to wait out there.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, downplaying my concern. “I told you before, Amelia. Vampires don’t care if you’re sorry.”

“But I feel guilty for being scared of you,” I confess. “Despite everything, I believe you’re a good person. Can you be patient with me while I learn to be around you?”

Oliver’s response is straightforward, yet I sense a hint of vulnerability. “You might not realize it, but it’s not that simple. You’re scared of my presence – your body reacts even if your mind tries to be rational.”

His words sting, but I understand. “You did say you’ve thought about killing me.”

“It’s not personal. It’s easier to deal with a human than a demon in our world. If we get discovered harboring a human, we face severe consequences. Honestly, I don’t know you well enough to risk our lives for you.”

His brutal honesty is jarring, yet it deepens my understanding of his predicament. “I don’t want to be a burden. If you think it’s best, I can leave.”

He turns slightly, his posture softening. “No, stay. The sorority isn’t a better option for you. I hear girls can be pretty bitchy and you seem like a pretty delicate flower.”

“At least you think I’m pretty?” I manage to retort with a smirk.

His indirect encouragement, despite his earlier words, gives me a small sense of relief. I manage a half-smile as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Chapter nine

The Drama Club

The excitement of joining the drama club infuses new energy into my day. Back in L.A., drama was my escape, my creative outlet. I loved every aspect of it – acting, singing, costume design. It was where I felt most alive. Now, standing in front of the double doors of what I assume is the school’s entertainment hall, I feel a familiar flutter of anticipation in my stomach.

Taking a deep breath, I knock and step into the room. It’s bustling with activity. At least thirty students are scattered around, rehearsing, chatting, or working on various projects. At the center of it all is the teacher, a tall man with a slight plumpness to his frame, his hair dyed an unnatural shade of black, betraying his age.

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