Лиза Смит - Origins

Emily turned toward me, her knuckles on the door. She rapped three times. Then she swung the door open.

I walked cautiously into the room, the floorboards creaking as Emily disappeared down the hallway. The room itself was furnished simply: a cast-iron bed covered by a simple green quilt, an armoire in one corner, a washbasin in another, and a gilt-plated, freestanding mirror in a third corner.

Katherine sat on her bed, facing the window, her back to me. Her legs were tucked under her short white nightgown and her long curls were loose over her shoulders.

I stood there, watching Katherine, then finally coughed.

She turned around, an expression of amusement in her dark, cat-like eyes.

“I’m here,” I said, shifting from one booted foot to the other.

“So I see.” Katherine grinned. “I watched you walk here. Were you frightened to be out after dark?”

“No!” I said defensively, embarrassed she’d seen me dart from tree to tree like an overcautious squirrel.

Katherine arched a dark eyebrow and held her arms out toward me. “You need to stop worrying.

Come here. I’ll help you take your mind off things,” she said, raising her eyebrow. I walked toward her as if in a dream, knelt on the bed, and hugged her tightly. As soon as I felt her body in my hands, I relaxed. Just feeling her was a reminder that she was real, that tonight was real, that nothing else mattered—not Father, not Rosalyn, not the spirits the townspeople were convinced roamed outside in the dark.

All that mattered was that my arms were around my love. Her hand worked its way down my shoulders, and I imagined us walking into the Founders Ball together. As her hand stopped at my shoulder blade and I felt her fingernails dig through the thin cotton of my shirt, I had a splitsecond image of us, ten years from now, with plenty of children who’d fill the estate with sounds of laughter. I wanted this life to be mine, now and forever. I moaned with desire and leaned in, allowing my lips to brush hers, first slowly, as we’d do in front of everyone when we announced our love at our wedding, and then harder and more urgently, allowing my lips to travel from her mouth to her neck, inching toward her snow-white bosom.

She grabbed my chin and pulled my face to hers and kissed me hard. I reciprocated. It was as if I were a starving man who’d finally found sustenance in her mouth. We kissed, and I closed my eyes and forgot about the future.

All of a sudden, I felt a sharp pain on my neck, as if I were being stabbed. I called out, but Katherine was still kissing me. But no, not kissing, biting, sucking the blood from beneath my skin.

My eyes flew open, and I saw Katherine’s eyes, wild and bloodshot, her face ghostly white in the moonlight. I wrenched my head back, but the pain was unrelenting, and I couldn’t scream, couldn’t fight, could only see the full moon out the window, and could only feel the blood leaving my body, and desire and heat and anger and terror all welling up inside me. If this was what death felt like, then I wanted it. I wanted it, and that was when I flung my arms around Katherine, giving myself to her. Then everything faded to black.

It was the lone hoot of an owl—a long, plaintive sound—that caused my eyes to snap open. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I felt a pulsing pain on the side of my neck that seemed to keep time with the owl’s cries. And suddenly I remembered everything—Katherine, her lips drawn back, her teeth sparkling. My heart pounding as though I were dying and being born all at the same time. The awful pain, the red eyes, the dark black of a dead sleep. I glanced around wildly.

Katherine, clad only in a necklace and a simple muslin slip, sat just steps away from me at the basin, washing her upper arms with a hand towel. “Hello, sleepy Stefan,” she said coquettishly.

I swung my legs out of bed and tried to step out, only to find myself tangled in the sheets. “Your face,” I babbled, knowing I sounded insane and possessed, like a town drunk stumbling out of the tavern.

Katherine continued to run the cotton cloth along her arms. The face I’d seen last night was not human. It had been a face filled with thirst and desire and emotions I couldn’t even think to name.

But in this light Katherine looked lovelier than ever, blinking her eyes sleepily like a kitten after a long nap.

“Katherine?” I asked, forcing myself to look into her eyes. “What are you?”

Katherine slowly picked up the hairbrush on her nightstand, as if she had all the time in the world. She turned to me and began to run it through her luxurious locks.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” she asked.

So she was a vampire. My blood turned to ice.

I took the sheet and wrapped it against my body, then grabbed my breeches from the side of the bed and pulled them on. I quickly shoved my feet into my boots and yanked on my shirt, not caring about my undershirt, still on the floor. Fast as lightning, Katherine was at my side, her hand gripping my shoulder.

She was surprisingly strong, and I had to jerk sharply to wrench myself away from her grasp.

Once free, Katherine stepped back.

“Shhh. Shhh,” she murmured, as if she were a mother soothing a child.

“No!” I yelled, holding my hand up. I would not have her try to charm me. “You’re a vampire. You killed Rosalyn. You’re killing the town. You are evil, and you need to be stopped.”

But then I caught sight of her eyes, her large, luminous, seemingly depthless eyes, and I stopped short.

“You’re not afraid,” Katherine repeated.

The words echoed in my mind, bouncing around and finally taking residence there. I did not know how or why it was so, but in my heart of hearts, I suddenly wasn’t afraid. But still …

“You are a vampire, though. How can I abide that?”

“Stefan. Sweet, scared Stefan. It will all work out. You’ll see.” She cupped her chin in my hands, then raised up on her tiptoes for a kiss. In the near sunlight, Katherine’s teeth looked pearly white and tiny, and nothing like the miniature daggers I’d seen the night before. “It’s me. I’m still Katherine,” she said, smiling.

I forced myself to pull away. I wanted to believe that everything was the same, but …

“You’re thinking of Rosalyn, aren’t you?”

Katherine asked. She noticed my startled expression and shook her head. “It’s natural that you’d think I could do that, based on what I am, but I promise you, I did not kill her. And I never would have.”

“But … but …, ” I began.

Katherine brought her finger to my lips. “Shhh. I was with you that night. Remember? I care about you, and I care about those you care about. And I don’t know how Rosalyn died, but whoever did that”—a flash of anger flickered in her eyes, which, I realized for the first time, were flecked with gold—“they give us a bad name. They are the ones who scare me. You may be scared to walk during the night, but I am afraid to walk during the day, lest I be mistaken for one of those monsters. I may be a vampire, but I do have a heart. Please believe me, sweet Stefan.”

I took a step back and cradled my head in my hands. My mind whirled. The sun was just beginning to rise, and it was impossible to tell whether the mist hid a brilliant sun or a day of clouds. It was the same with Katherine. Her beautiful exterior cloaked her true spirit, making it impossible to ascertain whether she was good or evil. I sunk heavily to the bed, not wanting to leave and not wanting to stay.

“You need to trust me,” Katherine said, sitting down beside me and placing her hand on my chest so she could feel my heart beat. “I am Katherine Pierce. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m the girl you watched for hours on end after I arrived two weeks ago. What I confessed to you is nothing. It doesn’t change how you feel, how I feel, what we can be,” she said, moving her hand from my chest to my chin. “Right?” she asked, her voice filled with urgency.