Page 16 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
I won’t paint for too long, because if they touch the light, they die. I’ll switch it off soon. We have a lot in common, the moths and I.
As I listen to her, I begin to dab a little on the canvas, noting I still don’t have the colours quite right. What I see, what I picture in my head, just won’t translate onto the board. I guess my online art lessons are not going as well as I hoped. But right now, that seems like the least of my worries.
“I’m saying that we still need to be careful, vigilant,” she says, her voice quiet. “And we might still have a reward on our heads, in fact, we do still have rewards on our heads, from those who are not at all happy we destroyed our maker – and those that would like to claim his throne, so to speak, by making a public show of strength.”
“Strength how?” I squeak.
“As in capturing and killing us in a very high-profile way,” she sighs.
“Then you be careful, stop hunting them, just run away like we always did,” I whisper. “Come away from it all, Pru.”
“I can’t,” she sighs, “they killed Nick’s father, and Serena has a lead on who is running the show now. We have all agreed the hunted must become the hunter – we’re going to find them all and kill them all.”
“I didn’t agree,” I murmur.
“And you don’t have to be part of this, Tess. We don’t want you to be part of it – you aren’t a fighter. But we want you to continue to be careful. Just be aware, OK.
“I will,” I sigh, “but now that we are actually talking, rather than just sending quick ‘I’m alive’ texts - did you have a nice Christmas?”
“No,” she snorts, “did you?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “The snowy season was beautiful. And now it’s summer, and the forest is alive, the bunnies are hopping all over, and around the house. It really is magical all year round here, the seasons are so defined.”
“What about the neighbour?” she asks quietly.
“I watch him, sometimes…” I admit reluctantly,‘almost every night, actually’“when he doesn’t know. But I haven’t attempted to bite him, or actually been in shouting distance since he delivered the tree – thank you for that horrifying little test by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” she laughs. “I knew I was being too overprotective of you, Tess, we all were – you know we love you so much, sometimes we forget that in many ways you are stronger than us all.”
“I’m gladyouthink so,” I roll my eyes, “but I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“Tess,” she sighs. “I eat people, bad people, true, but I still drain humans, as does Serena, and even Charlotte. But you, you are good. You work with people every day, socialise with them, live among them, and you haven’t bitten anyone in centuries. You might not think so, but you are by far the strongest of us all. I realised that I had to let you discover that by yourself, that’s why I left.”
“I don’t deserve your faith,” I murmur, touched by her words. “But I haven’t bitten him yet, and either way, you were right to leave. Tristan is your love, you need to stay together.”
“Speaking of love,” she laughs, “that night with the tree. Did he stay for a drink? Maybe a little rumpy-pumpy?”
“Don’t,” I laugh “and no.”
Finally, satisfied that I am in a good head space – ‘not currently suicidal’ – were her exact words, she hangs up, and I look up from my painting as I hear the guinea fowls raise the alarm that there is an intruder in the yard.
Craning my neck to see around the densely wooded bend in my driveway, I see the neighbour walking his dog, headed directly for me.
I’m surprised, and nervous – he hasn’t been here, as far as I know, since the night Pru just referred to, the night he delivered my tree.
‘Walking at night? How strange he is for a human; he almost lives as nocturnally as I do. I guess he has had enough house painting for one night. What could bring him here, now?’
I see he hasn’t changed clothes. He’s still wearing the pale, faded jeans that cling so enticingly to his hard thighs, the singlet, splattered with paint, revealing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. I also note he is barefoot, which brings a quick smile to my face – I like to walk around barefoot too. But the smile slips quickly as his scent wafts towards me over the sultry night air, and I feel my stomach muscles tighten.
“Don’t bite the boy next door, don’t bite the boy next door, don’t bite the boy next door,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
As he approaches, I stand at the top of the flight of porch steps, effectively blocking any would-be attempts to mount them, and wait to see what he wants.
“Hello, neighbour,” he smiles as he gets close enough to hail me.
“Hello. Couldn’t you sleep?”
“I rarely do,” he grimaces, shaking his head and changing the subject, “I’ve come to ask a favour.”
