It ran after me through the woods. We’re not invincible like regular humans try to make us out to be. We’re a lot more fragile and vulnerable than anyone knows. The brush scraped my bare arms, I couldn’t breathe. The wound in my neck had reopened. Falling to my knees I held my throat…
I bolted up on my bed. My daughter was curled asleep against my side in a coma like state (like most kids her age, she sleeps like a log). My son Garret was in the window seat reading.
“You ok mom?”
“I don’t know.” I told him, putting my hand to my neck. It was hot to the touch. I felt like someone had hit me across the neck and head with a baseball bat.
My eye went to the dresser where a large exquisitely beautiful flower arrangement took over the room. I could smell the flowers, purple, yellow, white and pink. Roses and lilies.
“It’s from your friend Adam.” Said my Garret.
I lay back on the pillows. Adam sent the flowers to say he was sorry or to say he was going to kill me. Adam is the werewolf who attacked me on Thursday. I’d known him for 15 year but never knew he was a werewolf. He never knew I was a vampire, but when he found out he almost killed me. It was an impulse on his part, but it injured and frightened me more than I could have ever imagined.
I looked at my two children and felt sick. What if I’d died? For vampires do die.
I sat up, telling Garret to turn on the fan. Its 106 F degrees out today. No time to be overheated.
“Hey mom? Should we be like afraid of werewolves? I mean after this happened to you?”
“It was an unfortunate mistake.” The words came from a familiar male voice with a slight English accent. My dad had come. The old vampire himself. “You can’t blame yourself Juliette or your friend. We take our chances living in the shadows. It is how we’ve survived so long.”
“He tasted different. Nobody ever told me werewolves tasted different. I just thought it was him.”
Dad sat on the edge of the bed and stroked my sleeping daughter’s hair. “I don’t even know how a werewolf tastes but I hear it’s like a fine whiskey.”
“Bourbon.” I said. “We were friends.”
“And you should still be friends. We would lose our souls if we didn’t care about our food. It is the vampire who only feeds on strangers that has the cold heart and the feelings of always being alone.”
My dad is always there for me. I looked at his face, a face I never tire of. The face of a distinguished 45 year old man, with blue eyes with the wisdom of centuries. Four centuries to be exact. He was born in 1612 to an old vampire family in London. He is wise but young at heart. My dear old dad.
He wasn’t always just my dad, but like a father to so many, both vampires and regular humans. When my husband Teddy was made into a vampire against his knowledge and will, it was my father who decided not to let him die. It was my dad who taught him how to be a vampire and how not to forfeit his soul to dark forces or be seduced by the renegades who’d turned him.
My dad had known Teddy when he was a regular human. Teddy had worked for him. My father was the one who had the huge and elaborate engagement party for him, just a few months before he’d been taken out of his old world and put into ours. And Teddy wasn’t the only one. My dad helped so many vampires over the years in a way only a dad can help.
For vampires, as well as regular humans, know that it isn’t just blood that makes one family. It is love and caring and commitment.
I held my father’s cool hand, just as I had as a child over a hundred years before. “I love you Dad.”
“I love you very much dear daughter.”
Tomorrow is Father’s day. I won’t linger on the dead beats that don’t deserve to have the dick that they used to make their kids.
My heart and love goes out to all of the men who are there for their kids – be it their biological children or children they love, no matter what blood runs in their veins. You are truly blessed and we are blessed to have you in our world.