A shadow vampire?
She jerked away from him. How she managed to escape their closeness still stunned her — but not as much as the truth did.
A shadow vampire was to be avoided at all costs. The courtroom and villagers whispered about them. They belonged to the shadows, never the day. Sunlight didn't just harm them; it infused them, searing them from the inside out. But that wasn't the worst of it. They were dangerous. They couldn't feel.
How could she even stand near one? They would hurt you and feel nothing.
And they must never be loved. Love would bring ruin. It would end in nothing but destruction.
Her Uncle Josiah had spoken of the mountain spirit — the one who once lived high above, guarding the peaks. Like her mother, she had been a bringer of peace. But once, long ago, she loved a shadow vampire. She taught him how to feel.
And he loved her back.
But that love drew him into the light — and the light killed him.
To this day, the mountain spirit had not been found. Rumor had it she grieved still, leaving the realm open to enemies. Only her return would restore the balance.
Everyone had been forbidden from approaching the shadow vampires. Their only purpose on earth was to fulfill their duty; everything else — especially feeling — had been banned by the spirit gods.
No wonder this part of the Wings was restricted. He was a danger no one dared approach.
And if her father found out she was here...
She swallowed hard. She had to stay away. She could endure the ball for one night.
"I should leave," she said, darting her gaze away, refusing to meet his eyes.
Shadow vampires didn't feel. What was the use of talking to someone who felt nothing?
He didn't move from where he stood, only watched her — and she wondered what ran through their minds, or if they even had minds at all.
"You should," he said, and Margaret's shoulders slumped.
Now that she knew what he was, she wasn't supposed to be upset. But why was she?
Why did it bother her that he said the words without a trace of feeling?
She stared at his pale, stricken face. He gave her one last look before crossing to the end of the room, where she only now noticed a wardrobe.
It had a mirror on its stand — but what stopped Margaret cold was that there was no reflection of him in it.
"Why do you have a mirror," she blurted, "when you can't even see your reflection?"
She hadn't meant to stare at his broad shoulders — or, heaven help her, at his pale backside.
Thankfully, he opened the wardrobe and pulled out a robe.
From where she stood, she caught her own reflection: white curls dancing over her shoulders, dark raven eyes just like her father's, the bodice of her blue dress hugging her waist, while the skirt fanned around her in soft circles.
How could he not experience something like that?
That meant he didn't even know what he looked like — how handsome he was, with that graceful body.
Even though they had all been warned, she still found that unbearably sad.
He pulled on the robe and turned to face her. The brown fabric only made his pale skin and long hair seem even starker.
"It reminds me of what I am," he said quietly, "and what I'm not meant to do."
She nodded.
"I heard a shadow vampire once... felt. How did that happen?"
She wasn't supposed to feel sympathy for the mountain spirit and her love story — but she couldn't help it.
"He was foolish," he said. "He did what he was forbidden to do. When we stray from duty, we invite doom."
His face showed nothing, but as he turned to stare at the moon, she wondered — was there some buried feeling inside, suppressed so he could serve?
He wasn't supposed to feel. Yet he tended plants. He watched the moon.
"But it's possible, isn't it?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "That a shadow vampire could feel?"
Curiosity gnawed at her.
If the story was true, what had the shadow vampire done?
What had made it possible?
"It's a foolish topic. I don't want to talk about it," he said.
He didn't sound angry.
She wished he did.
At least then, she would know something stirred inside him.
But he remained so bland, so still, she couldn't tell.
"Do you have a name?" she asked.
He glanced briefly at her, then sat down in the chair. His long fingers tapped against the arm of the settee.
"Every shadow vampire is given a name," he said. "Something we can call ourselves when we need to."
He stared intently at her, and she wondered what he thought of her.
Probably nothing.
Still, she wished he did.
Did he find her beautiful?
She had never thought white hair and pale skin were beautiful. Her mother had white hair too, but her skin was sun-kissed, and her hair shimmered blue. Even Gwen, her best friend, had hazel eyes and brown hair.
Margaret had always wondered if she ever measured up to that standard.
She wanted to ask him. Maybe one day she would.
Ahh, what was she thinking? There would never be a "one day." This would have to be their last meeting.
"What is yours?" she asked softly. "What do your people call you?"
"Dante," he murmured.
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she thought she saw a glint in his eyes — and then it was gone.
Or maybe she had only imagined it.
Maybe she wished too hard — wished that somewhere, buried deep inside, was a man who could still feel.
But was he even a man at all?
He had not been born, not turned — he had been created.
"Dante," she repeated, her face lighting up.
But he did not share her excitement.
His gaze stayed fixed on hers, blank, expressionless.
"Dante..." she whispered, "do you... ever wish to feel?"
Suddenly, a loud knock shattered the moment. She stiffened as the doorknob rattled violently.
She turned wide eyes to Dante, but he sat casually, his gaze still locked on hers.
Who was at the door?
And why wasn't he reacting when someone was about to break it down?
"Dante, open your damn door! Unless you want me to break it!" a voice roared from outside.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She knew that voice.
Father.
How?
How had he found her?
"Go ahead and break it," Dante said, voice cool as winter steel.
"…"
Margaret gaped at him in horror.
Why?
Why would he say that — with her here?
Panic clawed up her throat.
What would her father think, finding her like this — alone, hidden away — with a shadow vampire???