The weather turns rainy and cold as a storm system moves in. On Sunday, I don't see him down at the beach. Instead of meeting him as I expected, I walk the shore alone, dressed in a rain slicker and rubber boots, feeling like an exile. I think back to the other night watching stars, and the day we found the seashell, and how close he seemed to kissing me. How he didn't. Sadness wells up inside of me as I wander along the coast, cursing myself. I barely know him, but I want more than anything to kiss him – and more.
I climb on the boulders that lead up to the main road but slip on the slick surface of the rocks, my usual sure-footedness gone. I fall between two larger boulders, my ankle twisting as I land badly. I crack my face on one bolder and my lip instantly inflates, the blood dripping down from a cut to my bottom lip. I struggle out from the boulder and sit on the sand, holding my ankle, trying to staunch the flow of blood from my mouth with a sleeve. The rain drips down my face, and a thin bloody stream of it stains the sand on which I sit.
Hot tears sting the corners of my eyes. They aren't from the pain but from disappointment. Then, arms reach down and lift me and I crane my head to see who it is.
Michel, his face dark, a frown creasing his brow.
"What are you doing out here in this weather?" he says, his voice stern. His hair is soaked and his eyelashes clumped together. "Why are you climbing these rocks? It's too slippery."
He sits me on a boulder in the shelter of an overhang against one of the larger hills, its base worn away from the tides.
"I can look after myself," I say, pulling away from him, angry that he's treating me like a child.
"I know you can," he says and tilting my face up. "Me more than anyone," he says, examining my bloody lip. "Oh,damn…"
I see his face change as he leans closer, his eyes becoming red, his pupils dilating, and he kisses me, taking my bottom lip in his mouth and I swear he's after my blood, licking the blood from my cut, sucking my lip …
"What are you doing?" I gasp and try to pull away. There's blood on his lips, and he turns his back to me.
"Look at me!" I say but he shakes his head and holds his hand out, stopping me from coming around to look at his face.
When he grabs my hand, my fear evaporates and I just wait. In a moment, he turns back and he looks normal once more, except of course, for being very pale. He runs his fingers over my lip and the pain dissipates. Next, he bends down and removes my boot and sock, cradling my foot in his hands. As he holds my ankle, I touch my lip – the blood's gone, the swelling deflated, almost back to normal. His hands on my ankle feel soothing, and soon, the pain's gone. He twists my ankle back and forth, glancing up at me.
"Does it hurt this way?"
I shake my head.
"How about now?"
"No," I say. "It's better." I move my ankle in a circle but there's no pain. "How did you do that?"
He replaces my sock and boot and stands but doesn't answer.
"You really should know better than to climb among the rocks when it's raining. What's got into you?"
"I like the rain." I stand up, testing my weight on the ankle, unwilling to concede anything. "Why were you here?"
"Looking for you. I had a feeling you'd be out wandering around, nature girl that you are."
The rain starts to fall heavily, the wind whipping the drops against my face, soaking my hair beneath the hood.
"Whatareyou?" I say, frowning.
"You should go home," he says, ignoring my question. "The weather's too bad to be out."
"Nonsense." I start walking the beach. "It's invigorating."
I glance back and he's still standing where he found me. I turn and keep walking, wondering if he'll follow me.Hoping.
He doesn't.
I want to return to him, but something stops me. I don't want to appear too interested in him. When I turn back again, he's nowhere to be seen.
Disappointment floods through me and I regret being so stubborn. I wonder what it is I saw when he turned away – why his eyes seemed so red. It must have been just my eyes blurring from the rain.
That night, I dream of him. It's a strange dream of him with my lip in his mouth, my blood on his lips. In my dream he's a vampire but one with huge black wings like some kind of fallen angel. He comes to me through an open window, lying with me on the bed in my room at the cottage, his arms wrapped around me, his wings covering us, his lips on my neck, and he's filling me up, lying between my thighs. I feel the short sharp pain as he bites me but the pleasure is so intense that I spasm in my sleep, waking up alone in bed. I reach up and feel my neck but there's nothing there and I think I’m such a freak that I dream about having sex with a vampire.
In the morning, I notice the marks on my neck, and stand at the mirror in the bathroom and lean in close to examine them. From a distance, they look like a couple of freckles, nothing more, but when I get my foster father's magnifying glass and look more closely, the edges are rough, like a bite. There are clearly teeth marks and then my blood feels as if it has turned to ice.