Love Bites

LOVE BITES Chapter 7 : Culprits

Chapter 7 : Culprits

I picked up the old photo and brought it closer to my face. I smiled. I smiled for their beauty, their elegance, their life.

My mother, Marisa, stood with her head held high next to her husband dressed in a dark purple and black dress. It wasn't anything fancy, just a gown that hugged her waist and almost touched the ground. I was told she liked her dresses, despite this day and age where everyone was wearing ripped clothing and calling it fashion, myself included.

Her hair was a dark black, identical to that of everyone else's in the family excluding myself. It ran down her back in long and perfect ringlets. I would say we looked alike but the only similarities we shared were our blue eyes. I didn't look half as beautiful as my mother and I probably never would. To be honest, I think Alastair took what little beauty was suppose to mine.

In the photo next to her, with his hand clasped over her shoulder, stood my father, Emrik. He was a strong and powerful individual and clearly taller than even Alastair. He wore a black tunic, the style almost medieval with lacing on the chest area that had been left loose and undone.

He was a handsome man, anyone would agree. His face was clean shaven and his hair was straight, reaching just above his shoulders. His eyes were the same colour as his hair, dark and deadly, but they also looked calm and loving.

Staring at my parents in the photo, I realised just how well they presented themselves. They gave off this aura that demanded they be respected, almost bowed before -- who knew such powerful people could be taken away so easily. A murder? It didn't sound possible; not for my parents.

The culprit was apparently killed during the struggle as well. I wasn't sure of the details, all I knew was that 13 years ago Alastair's and my parents were put in the ground, their lineage living only through us.

I placed the photo back on the table and shifted through others. There weren't many for some reason but I wasn't about to complain with what I had. I hardly remembered their faces, they died before I could really get to know them, and the memories I did have of them were limited. The photos were the only thing reminding me that they once lived. There was no necklace left to my name, no ring, no little wooden box -- nothing tangible that I could hold onto and remember them by. All I had were a few photos.

My skin suddenly pricked, picking up on his presence even before I felt him lean on the top of sofa where I sat. I twitched a little when I felt the unexpected coolness of his fingers as they brushed against my neck, picking up my hair. "They're still there," he noted, referencing to the hickeys.

I tugged my hair back and pouted with embarrassment as I tried to hide the love bites. "Shut up, Alastair. I know they are."

It'd been a few days since the party and the hickeys had only faded a little; they still stood out against my light skin. I didn't bother with the scarf while I was at home; there was no point, Alastair already knew about them. It didn't stop the fact that I subtly tried to hide them though, it was still embarrassing.

His attention moved to the coffee table where I had the family photo album open. "What are you doing going through photos?" He asked, his question never meaning to sound defensive.

I shrugged. "I just felt like seeing Mom and Dad again," I answered honestly.

Something caught his eye. He walked around the table and picked up a specific photo, a small smile appearing on his face. I loved when he smiled, it just made me so... happy to see him happy. He turned the picture in his hand so I could see, it was one of myself when I was younger; only a few years old. The only exception was that you wouldn't guess it was me.