Halina narrowed her pale eyes at him; her wild hair seemed to bristle with her words. "One less weekend, Teren. One less, and you have wasted so much time already. Have you even been with her yet?"
I was ready to wake up from this absurd conversation. I was also ready to storm from the room in a huff. I think only sheer curiosity held me to my chair.
"What would you have me do?" Teren nearly yelled that at her and I flinched.
"Whatever it takes, boy!" she yelled back.
"No!" He yelled something else in the other language and she snapped something back.
I could barely keep my head from spinning right off my shoulders. Our enjoyable weekend at this dreamlike ranch with his, up until this point, pleasant family, was taking a turn for the worse. Everyone seemed to be angry that Teren and I weren't being intimate here, but that was just nuts. No family, not even a vampiric one, got angry because their son wasn't hav**g s*x under their roof. I must have been missing what the argument was really about. I wanted to defend my actions, I just wasn't quite sure what action I needed to defend. Maybe if they'd stop shouting in a language I didn't understand.
Picking my jaw off the table, I focused my frustrations at Teren, since he was the one I was the most comfortable with. "Stop yelling gibberish, and tell me what the hell is going on, since it's clearly about me!" I yelled, and instantly felt bad for both yelling and swearing at Alanna's table.
Everyone turned to stare at me, but Alanna was the one who responded. "They aren't speaking gibberish, dear, they are speaking Russian, and Teren is doing that, quite rudely, so you won't understand what he wants to keep from you."
My jaw dropped again as Teren turned his face to Alanna. "Mother...please." His voice was quavering as he begged her. "You will ruin everything."
Halina scoffed. "Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps she will not be so reluctant if she knows."
"Knows what?" I whispered, feeling like a black hole of dread was opening up in my chest and was about to consume me whole.
Still staring pleadingly at his mother, Teren said in a quavering tone that tore my heart, "I wasn't going to tell her this yet. It's too soon."
"Too soon...? You're running out of time, Teren." His grandmother's face was a mixture of sympathy and panic. "Tell her..."
He sighed and ran a hand down his face.
Silence fell over the room. Teren sat slumped in his chair, looking for all the world, like he was sorry he'd ever brought me here. Jack had stopped eating and was looking at his son sympathetically and maybe even a bit sadly. Halina and Imogen were flicking glances between Teren and me, and I got the feeling that if Teren didn't tell me whatever was going on, they would. Alanna slowly stretched a hand out to her son and squeezed his arm affectionately.
Everyone in the room knew something. Everyone knew something that Teren didn't want me to know, something that he was speaking Russian, of all things, to keep from me. The dread in my stomach turned to fire as these facts settled in my head.
"Tell me what?" My tone was heated, but something was being discussed around the table that I didn't know anything about, and I didn't like that feeling one tiny little bit. "Teren...tell me."
He let out a sigh that was heavy with reluctance, and ran his hand through his hair. I was positive he wasn't going to tell me. I was sure he was going to say, "It's nothing," and sweep it under the rug, so to speak. So he surprised me when he muttered, "Fine...but you're not going to like it." He hung his head and I couldn't help but think that he looked utterly defeated, like somehow, he'd just lost everything. A chill went down my spine.
"That doesn't mean I shouldn't hear it. It's pretty obvious your family thinks it's important..." I whispered, knowing they would almost all hear me.
Teren looked up at me then and there was nothing about his visage that looked like he was even remotely joking. Very flatly he said, "I will be dead within six months."
Chapter 5 - We Break Up
I think my heart stopped. It's one of those moments where you know your reaction is critical, and it's also one of those moments where you have absolutely no control over your reaction. If I'd had some semblance of control, I probably would not have reacted the way I did. No, I'm positive I would not have reacted the way I did. I would have been warm and caring and sympathetic. I would have held him and tearfully asked him what was happening to him. I would have encouraged him to sob in my arms and open up to me, and then his entire family and I would share a Norman Rockwell type group hug and we'd be a stronger unit for the revelation. That's how I should have responded.
This is how I did...
"That's not funny, Teren." I stood from the table, tossed down my silverware with an angry clink on the china, probably chipping it, and stormed from the room.
I trounced up the stairs, clomping angrily up each one. I wasn't sure why I was so angry. Was I angry at finding the greatest, most unique guy I'd ever met, just to have him be ripped away from me? Was I angry that he hadn't told me immediately-like, "Hello, my name is Teren and I'm dying," would have been a more suitable introduction than the one he'd given me? Or was I angry at the universe, for taking something that was too precious to leave?
Whatever the reason, I slammed our bedroom door shut so hard, that it rattled in the frame and a tiny sliver of wood fell to the carpet. I stared at the door and considered doing it again, when it suddenly opened.
Teren calmly entered the room that must have been ten degrees warmer due to my rage, and softly shut the door behind him. I knew that was a pointless gesture, they could all hear us. He may as well have left it open. Hell, we may as well of had this conversation in the dining room. I started pacing beside the bed and he watched me warily, like at any moment I might leap on him...which was a tempting thought.
I examined him as I paced. He looked fine. He looked tan and strong and healthy-downright vibrant. He was fast. He was smart. He was virile. He was...alive. He looked anything but sick. We were supposed to have a chance. He was supposed to be my shot-my one shot at real companionship. I grabbed a decorative pillow, that sort-of looked like a giant Tootsie Roll, and chucked it at him.
"You're dying!"
He easily dodged the pillow, and the next one that I immediately threw at him. "Just my body...I'll be fine," he said, as he dodged a third one.
"You'll be fine!" I chucked a larger pillow at him, which also missed when he easily ducked. "Oh good! I was thrown off by the whole DYING part!" I yelled and tossed another pillow, which he avoided. "STOP DODGING!" I yelled as loud as I possibly could.
He sighed and stopped moving, and I pelted him with the last of the pillows-three square ones with elaborately twisted tassels. They hit his chest with a satisfying thud, and dropped to the floor at his feet. "Can we talk about this now?" he asked softly.
"No! Throw them back!"
He furrowed his brow and cocked his head. "What?"
I hopped on top of the bed and paced up there, my blood still boiling. "The pillows, throw them back up here as fast as your inhuman ass can."
I heard him loudly exhale but I could no longer see him, as he was just a streaking of movement. Pillows magically appeared around me and then he was standing still and waiting, with a frustrated expression on his attractive, doomed face.
I started chucking pillows again, and this time he let every single one hit him. "You son of a bitch!" A couple pillows hit his chest. "You couldn't have told me this before we came here?" A couple pillows smacked his thighs. "You couldn't have mentioned you had months to live?" A particularly good toss clipped his head and he slowly exhaled and gritted his teeth. "What happened to giving me a heads up?" The last pillow smacked him soundly in the chest. I sank onto the middle of the bed, my anger sapped with my last toss. I felt the tears starting and blinked several times.
He walked through the sea of gold and cream fabric, and crawled up to sit beside me. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you...it's just a hard thing to bring up in casual conversation."
I looked over at him as a stubborn tear dripped from my eye. "Hey, don't care for me, I'm dying, would have worked," I muttered sullenly.
"Come here." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me tight to him. I swallowed several times to calm my emotions and my tears, and rested a hand over his perfectly thumping heart. "It's not as bad as you think, Emma," he whispered.
"Death is bad," I whispered back.
"I won't be dead-dead. Only the human side is dying. I'll still be vampire, just like Mom and Gran."
"What?" I looked up at him, thoroughly confused.
He rubbed my shoulder as he comforted me, and the realization that the dying man was comforting me and not vice-versa, wasn't lost on me. My guilt only added to my kaleidoscopically twisting emotions-anger, grief, confusion, betrayal. You name it, I was probably feeling it.
"We don't know why, but when we mixed breeds turn twenty-five, the human side of us kind of...gives out. For all intents and purposes we die, and the vampiric side takes over. That's what happened to Gran and Mom, and it's happening to me. I won't make it to twenty-six."
I searched his pale eyes and shook my head. "The human side dies...what does that mean? What will happen to you?"
With a soft smile on his lips, he gazed deep into my eyes and described his demise. "My heart will stop. I will no longer need to breathe. My skin will cool. I will no longer be able to eat regular food...and I'll live solely on blood."
"You'll be a true vampire," I whispered.
He shook his head. "No, I'll just be more of one than I am now. I'll be more like the others."
My face paled as I connected what he'd said, with the memories I had of meeting his family-the youthful appearances, the cool skin, only drinking blood. "Oh...Gran and your mother. That's why they don't age...they're dead."
He nodded. "Technically, yes, although it's hard to think of them that way, isn't it?"
I scrunched my eyebrows together as I absorbed his fate. He'd be dead and yet alive. He'd be cold, and his chest would be silent, and he'd consist solely on blood, just like a creature straight out of a horror movie...and I'd be dating him. Or would I? This was a lot for a girl to take in. I'd overlooked the fangs and the occasional chicken-draining, mainly because he'd seemed so human. If everything that made him like me was suddenly lost...could I live with that? Could I fall in love with that? Was it too late?
"Your family says you're running out of time...to do what? What is it they want you to do before you die?"
He stood then, and started kicking pillows out of the way so he could pace beside the bed. Angry, he put his hands on his h*ps and shook his head. "Gran and Great-Gran just can't keep their big mouths shut. I did not want to have this conversation this weekend," he muttered as he walked. He glanced over at me on the bed, where I was watching him with my brow furrowed. I had the sudden feeling that whatever he was about to tell me, it was somehow going to be worse than the "I'm dying" speech. He stopped in front of me, his hands still on his hips. "Please understand that I wasn't going to mention this, because it doesn't matter to me."