Page 33 of A Touch of Darkness

He brings the pen he’s holding to his mouth and taps it lightly against his lips, as if stalling, buying more time to figure out what he should and shouldn’t tell me.

“I understand it must be difficult to go from believing humans are the only species to suddenly have various supernatural species thrown at you,” he says, setting the pen down and lacing his fingers together in front of him. His strong, chiseled jaw ticks as his eyes narrow in on me, pulling at something deep within me that I can’t name. “Vampires have been around since the original curse in the early 18thcentury. In the beginning, we were much more feral, more like what humans see in old television shows and horror films. Vampires were an uncontrollable species, and the vampire curse spread quickly because no one knew anything about it. We didn’t know what caused humans to turn into vampires and we didn’t have the control to stop it anyway. We were nothing more than the bloodsuckers you’ve heard in lore.”

With that, a shudder rolls through my body, and I instinctively straighten my spine, hanging on his every word.

“Over time, many of us started to domesticate. We began to see the error of our ways, and the time that had passed since we first turned created…” He stalls and the look in his eyes changes, as if he’s drifting farther and farther away from me, lost in a memory from another time. “Time passed and we evolved. We learned, through trial and error, that we needn’t drink from humans, that there was a more humane way to survive. Different regions of the US have their own ways. But now, in our region, we’ve split up into various factions and we all live somewhat different.”

“What do you mean factions?” I ask, unable to help myself from pulling more information from him.

“For example, the faction I am part of here in Pennsylvania is the Midnight Alliance. We aim to promote peace among the supernaturals and the human species. Our faction supports ourselves mainly with alternate blood sources, like blood that has been donated freely by willing participants. We also don’tbelieve in harming others for our gain. We are as humane as a group of vampires can be, and it’s because many of our faction members are, in fact, the oldest vampires in existence. We are the domesticated out of the bunch, because how can one promote peace while killing the innocent?”

I nod in understanding as he sits back in his chair and takes a deep breath.

“When I say vampires have evolved, I mean we live very much like humans. At least the Midnight Alliance does. We can blend in perfectly with humans. It helps that vampires have beating hearts and we’re warm to the touch just like regular humans—some of the vampires in old lore do not have these qualities. In the early days of the curse, the sunlight did affect us greatly. It weakened us, and it even killed us if we stayed in it too long. Over these past nearly two hundred years, our species has adapted. Sunlight still can weaken us to an extent, but there is no danger in being out for a prolonged period.”

So, very different from any of the movies I’ve seen…

“And you only drink blood from your…sources? You don’t have to eat actual food?”

With that, he shakes his head. “We can eat anything we’d like. We sustain ourselves on regular, human food. The blood is what actually provides us with full sustenance and heightens our senses, power, and abilities. Without blood, we are of very little use. But we also eat food as well, just like you do.”

“And what about the whole…killing you thing?” I ask, unsure if there’s a way to ask that properly. It feels a little awkward asking a vampire how he can die.

“Silver will greatly weaken and eventually kill us if it stays on our skin for too long. It rips our flesh bit by bit. Another option is a stake through the heart. When turned into a vampire, the heart remains, continues beating, blood keeps flowing, but there is a change to the heart that happens anatomically. It’s beenstudied by scholars over the years. Of course, anyone would be killed by a stake to the heart, but humans could be killed by a stake to nearly any part of their body. If a stake went through our chest and missed our heart, we would heal rather quickly. Unlike humans.”

This feels like a lot.

A lot, a lot.

My head swims with all of the new information, and part of me kind of wishes I could just go to bed and wake up and have it all be nothing more than a weird ass dream. Actually, all of me does. If this were a dream, I’d have my sister, we’d be attending a regular college, and none of this would be true.

“I can tell you more in time, Sylvie,” the Professor says. “But I think you’ve had enough information thrown at you to last an entire lifetime.”

I nod and lean backward in my chair for a moment, willing myself to get it together but unsure of how. At least I have some answers as to how all of this works. I suppose that can be a shred of a silver lining. Maybe.

Sort of?

When I’ve finally composed myself enough to leave the office and head back to my dorm, I bid Professor Draedon a good night and tell him he’ll be seeing more of me soon.

The cab’s tires grind to a halt on the gravel, and not long after, Sylvie steps out with a grace befitting her. Her steps are careful, yet each one rings with an air of inevitability, a dark tether pulling her inexorably into the night’s design. She does not know the path she treads, but I do. I walk in silence behind her, cloaked in the shadows, unseen by mortal eyes—just another wisp of the night air that clings to her heels.

Her form, fragile yet unyielding, cuts through the dim light of the streetlamp as she steps toward the entrance. The magnitude of what she is about to face hangs in the air. My gaze follows her, every step, every breath, a stark reminder of the web being spun around her—one she cannot yet perceive, though I can feel its threads tightening.

Within the walls of the police station, the officers await. Those same two who had come to her door. I know them well—more than they suspect. I slip through the doors after her, barely a whisper in the air, the cloak of my power wrapping me in itssilence. She walks ahead, oblivious to my presence, as if her own shadow stalks her now.

I follow at a distance, my every sense attuned to the subtle deviation in the atmosphere. The room ahead is small, sterile, and I feel the pulse of an unseen force gathering. The air is different, filled with intent. The officers—those mere mortals—will not be enough to trap her, not yet, but they are only the opening act. The Solstice Society’s reach is long, and I know their eyes are here, watching, perhaps closer than she realizes.

Sylvie steps into the conference room, the door closing behind her with a soft, almost reverent click. She sits at the table with a quiet resolve, her hands trembling ever so slightly as they rest upon the cold, polished surface. I know what she is feeling. The cage tightening around her, though she does not yet see the bars.

I wish I could strip the pain from her, though I know it is her own to bear. Seeing her so empty brings me back to many years ago, to the look in her soulless eyes when I was the one who let her down—and when she made me pay for it. It was hard to refrain from touching her when she came to my classroom this morning. To resist the urge to pull her in, breathe in her scent, to do whatever I could to make her feel better. To protect her. I know she isn’t Seraphina—but she was. And the pull I feel to her is just as strong. I slipped and erased the tear from her cheek. Got too close. But I couldn’t control it. I don’t want to.

The officers enter, their footsteps deliberate and controlled. Jacobs, the one with the calculating eyes, seats himself across from Sylvie, folding his hands in front of him with the practiced poise of a man who believes he holds the cards. Rivera, ever the shadow, lingers near the door, her posture relaxed, but there is something hungry in her eyes—a vulturine gleam that I do not miss.

Sylvie sits across from them, her form striking in its quiet defiance. The soft fabric of her dark sweater clings to the contours of her slender arms, the faintest hint of delicate, feminine strength in the way she holds herself. Her posture is regal, though tinged with the weariness of someone who has carried more than their years should warrant. The smooth line of her jaw, her lips pressed together in quiet resolve, betrays none of the panic that claws at her insides. She’s a study in contrasts—fragility tempered by something unspoken, an inner fire burning beneath the surface.

I watch her with a focus I can barely contain, noting the way her dark hair falls around her face in soft waves, the tendrils of it catching the dim light of the interrogation room as she moves, the faintest shimmer of it almost ethereal. Her eyes—those eyes that have captivated me through centuries—flicker with the same spark they always have, only now it is a burning hunger for answers. I know that fire. It is the same fire that once blazed in her when she sought knowledge about the ancient arts, about powers she could not yet understand. I see it in her now, a hunger not for magic but for the truth.

There’s something so undeniably human about her in these moments, this raw vulnerability that she cannot escape. And yet, there is also something unmistakably otherworldly. It is in the way she holds herself, poised on the edge of something she does not yet know how to wield. I long to tell her that it is not the answers she should seek, but the knowledge of her own power—something much older and far more dangerous than anything the officers could ever hope to understand.

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