Free The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1) by K. P. Ambroziak Page B

I placed my mouth on hers
and blew an artificial gust of air from my lungs without thinking about my lips
on hers, how close my fangs were to her skin, the deliciousness of her blood
and the sweetness of the child growing inside of her. All I thought about was
bringing her back to life. I pressed on her chest, counting the pumps in my
head—one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two three. I placed my lips
on hers again when I felt her stir and gave her another gust of air. When I
sensed the jolt of heat through her veins, I pulled my mouth away and turned
her on her side before the surge of water erupted from her lungs. She coughed and
then inhaled deeply, trying desperately to catch her breath.
    Elizabeth’s squeal of joy pulled me from my
haze, and I let her take my place beside the girl. I did not see her open her
eyes, but I knew I had revived her. I tasted her on the tip of my tongue, not
realizing I had pierced the inside of her lip with my subtle fangs when I
resuscitated her, drawing the smallest amount of blood which lingered for hours.
    “Where are the others?” I asked.
    Only then did I notice we were alone. I
looked to the water and saw a magnificent glow on the river. Stephen and
Veronica stood on the bank watching it too. The sloop had erupted in fire, gone
up in flames to burn the bloodless trapped on it. The bonfire of monsters roared,
as distorted flesh roasted on the boat-sized spit.
    “How?” Stephen asked.
    “Jean,” Elizabeth said, as she came up behind
me. “Jean stayed behind.”
    Veronica turned to us with those awful human
tears in her eyes. “He’s gone.”
    I knew it then if I had not known it before. He
never planned to leave the sloop. He took the canisters of propane from the
galley and the flares from the tackle box, going back up on deck to light his
pyre. He would have had to wait for the last possible moment to light the fire,
making sure we had reached safety. The torture would have been horrific. He sacrificed
himself for us—and I will remember you, my friend, for it is because of
you that I am still here.
    As the fire burned, I thought of the hell we were
forced to face, nowhere now and lost along the riverbank. The girl called me to
her and the softness in her voice made me recall the taste. Hours later and it
lives in me still. She sat up, her bright eyes welcoming me beside her. She did
not look like someone who had barely escaped death. She held a small plastic
bag in her hand, and it was not until I sat beside her that I realized what it
was. “I saved this for you,” she said.
    When she handed me my journal, I was touched.
She had saved my history in the small pocket of her robe, safely tucking
between its pages my beloved Byron’s notes. Now it was I who gushed with
gratitude. “Thank you, Evelina.”
     
    14 October. — We spent the night in
the woods without shelter, but dawn has finally arrived to break up the
darkness. Mere hours since fleeing the boat, I still mourn my loss. Elizabeth
is heartbroken too, though she seems to have converted her sorrow into care for
the girl. She has been by her side since our escape and I hope the temptation
is not as torturous for her as it is for the other two. Veronica is worse off
than ever, and Stephen is despondent. I will take him with me to hunt, leaving
the girl with the other two. I see no use in dragging her through the woods. Though
I put my faith in Veronica and Elizabeth, I have no other choice. It will be difficult
for Stephen to leave his beloved, and I can already see the anguish on his
face. Their commitment is inviolable since it is virtually physical. They knew
each other as humans, which always makes for a severe attachment. More than a
hundred years ago in Budapest, after she was transfigured, she saved him; it is
a story worth a few lines in my diary.
    Late one evening, as the two crossed Heroes’ Square together , they were assaulted.
Stephen said the man’s eyes raged like a rabid animal, and he was