Лиза Смит: The Craving

I shifted in my chair, knowing that I had been the reluctant source of that ‘miracle.’

‘My daughter Lydia,’ Winfield introduced. ‘The most queenly of my three graces. That was Bridget whom you found. She’s a bit…ah…tempestuous.’

‘She ran off by herself from a ball,’ Lydia said through a forced smile. ‘I think you might be looking for a slightly stronger word than “tempestuous”, Papa.’

I liked Lydia immediately. She had none of the joie de vivre that Callie had, but she possessed an intelligence and sense of humour that became her. I even liked her father, despite his huff and bluster. In a way, this reminded me of my own home, of my own family, back when I had one.

‘You have done us a great service, Stefan,’ Winfield said. ‘And forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I suspect that you don’t have a proper home to return to. Why don’t you stay the night here? It is too late for you to go anywhere, and you must be exhausted.’

I held up my hands. ‘No, I couldn’t.’

‘Surely you must,’ Lydia said.

‘I…’ Say no . The image of Callie’s green eyes rose before me, and I thought of my vow to live apart from humans. But the comforts of this beautiful house reminded me so much of the human life I’d left behind in Mystic Falls, I found it difficult to do what I knew I should.

‘I insist, boy.’ Winfield put a meaty hand on my shoulder, forcing me out of the room. ‘It’s the least we can offer as a thank you. A good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast.’

‘That’s very kind, but…’

‘ Please ,’ Lydia said, a little smile on her face. ‘We are ever so grateful.’

‘I should really—’

‘Excellent!’ Winfield clapped. ‘It’s settled. We’ll even have your clothes cleaned and pressed.’

Like a horse being steered through a series of groomers before a race, the Sutherlands’ housekeeper ushered me up several flights of steps to a back wing of the house that overlooked an east-facing alleyway. Instead of my usual hollow in the rocks by the desecrated gravestones, I would sleep on a giant four-poster feather bed in a room with a roaring fire, in a house of humans who welcomed me happily and quickly as one of their own.

The vampire in me remained hungry and nervous. But that didn’t prevent the human in me from savouring a taste of the life I had lost.

November 5, 1864

It feels like so long ago, but in reality little time has passed since my transformation, since my father killed me. It was barely a month past that Damon and I tried to save Katherine’s life, and her blood saved ours. Barely a month since I was a living, warm-blooded human, who sustained himself on meals of meat and vegetables, cheese and wine – and who slept in a feather bed, with clean linen sheets.

Yet it feels like a lifetime, and by some definitions, I suppose it is.

But just as quickly as my fortunes turned after New Orleans, leaving me to live as a vagrant in a rocky hollow in the park, here I am at a proper desk under a leaded window, a thick rug at my feet. How quickly I am slipping back into human ways!

The Sutherlands seem like a kind family. I picture tempestuous Bridget and her long-suffering older sister as mirror versions of Damon and myself. I never appreciated how harmless Damon’s and my father’s fights were back when they were just about horses and girls. I was always terrified one of them would say or do something that would end forever what semblance of a family we had left.

Now that my father is dead and my brother and I are…what we are, I realise how much more serious things can get, and how simple and easy life was before.

I shouldn’t stay here, even tonight. I should sneak out of the window and flee to my place of exile. Being enfolded in the warm, living embrace of the Sutherland family for any amount of time, no matter how short, is dangerous and deceptive. It makes me feel like I could almost belong to the world of humans again. They don’t realise they have welcomed a predator into their midst. All that would need to happen is for me to lose control once, to slip from my room right now and take my fill of one of them, and their lives would be filled with tragedy – just as mine became when Katherine arrived on our doorstep.

Family has always been the most important thing to me, and I would be lying if I didn’t admit how comforting it is to be among people who love one another, if only for one borrowed night…

For the first time since I’d left New Orleans, I rose with the sun, intent to slip out of the mansion and disappear into the morning mists before anyone came to wake me. But it was hard to resist the pull of crisp linen sheets, the soft mattress, the shelves of books and the painted ceiling of my room.

After admiring the fresco of winged cherubs above me, I pushed off the soft covers and forced myself out of bed. Every muscle in my body rippled under my pale skin, full of strength and Power, but every bone in my ribcage showed. The Sutherlands had taken my clothes to be washed but hadn’t given me a nightshirt. I enjoyed the feeling of morning sunlight on my flesh, the glowing warmth fighting with the chill in the room. Though I’d never forgive Katherine for turning me into a monster, I was grateful at least for her lapis lazuli ring that protected me from the sun’s otherwise fatal rays.

The window was open slightly, ushering a cool breeze into the room and setting the diaphanous curtains aflutter. Though temperature no longer affected me, I closed the window, locking the latch with some puzzlement. I could have sworn all the windows had been shut tight last night. Before I had time to further consider the matter, the tell-tale thump of a heartbeat sounded close by, and after a light knock, the door cracked open. Lydia stuck her head in, then immediately blushed and looked away from my nearly naked form.

‘Father was afraid you might try to leave without saying goodbye. I was sent to make sure you didn’t charm a maid into helping you.’

‘I’m hardly in a state to sneak away,’ I said, covering my chest with my arms. ‘I will need my trousers to do that.’

‘Henry will be up shortly with your trousers, freshly pressed,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the ground. ‘In the meantime, there is a bathing room just down the hall to the right. Please feel free to refresh yourself, and then come down to breakfast.’

I nodded, feeling trapped.

‘And, Stefan.’ Lydia looked up briefly and met my eye. ‘I do hope you’ll be able to locate a shirt as well.’ Then she smiled and slipped away.

When I finally came downstairs for breakfast, the entire Sutherland clan was waiting for me – even Bridget, who was alive and stuffing toast into her face as though she hadn’t eaten in a fortnight. Except for a slight paleness to her complexion, it was impossible to tell that she’d nearly died the night before.

Everyone turned and gasped as I approached. Apparently, I cut a different figure from the hero in shirtsleeves the night before. With freshly polished fine Italian shoes, neat trousers, a new clean shirt and a borrowed jacket Winfield had sent up for me, I was every inch the gentleman. I’d even washed my face and combed my hair back.

‘Cook made you some grits, if you like,’ Mrs Sutherland said, indicating a bowl of gloppy white stuff. ‘We don’t usually indulge, but thought our Southern guest might.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I said, taking the empty seat next to Bridget and eyeing the spread on the large wooden table. After my mother passed away, Damon, my father and I made it a habit to dine casually with the men who we employed on the plantation. Breakfast was often the simple stuff of workers, hominy and biscuits, bread and syrup, rashers of bacon. What was laid out at the Winfield residence put to shame the finest restaurants in Virginia. English-style toast in delicate wire holders, five different types of jam, two kinds of bacon, johnnycakes, syrup, even freshly squeezed orange juice. The delicate plates had blue Dutch patterns, and there was more silverware than I was accustomed to seeing at a formal dinner.