His Bloody Bride

Chapter 8: I love you.

Chapter 8: I love you.

His unplucked eyebrows are an indictment to him. I guess being as ancient as he is, he must be used to playing his face blank. He has to be feeling something, to flaw his mask of unruliness so obviously. There’s this incredulous look on Frost’s face as I uttered these words moments before, and now his gaze has shifted to the bed sheet where his blood-scarlet eyes retwine the threads, those thick eyebrows betraying his mask with the truth. He’s confused, plus he’s thinking. Its almost as if I can hear the echo of the words, I want to be a vampire muses in my mind.

“Don’t you think you may be rushing this just a little?” he asks, his tone scratchy. I swallow multiple times, making sure my ears are no longer pressured, which I find when a satisfying pop deafens me momentarily.

 

Not once have I ever heard his tone . . . scratchy.

 

He shifts a bit, so that his long legs, which are cloaked with long black; slack; pant legs nearly touch mine. The corner’s of his lips, that were pressed to a line not but moments ago, upturn. He’s hiding a smile, this is the slyest way for him to do so. I read the looseness of his shoulders and jaw. Its almost as if he’s a little overjoyed that I said I was ready. Frost is wise, though, I believe its his modesty and conscious that is forcing those thoughts of hesitation and roughly pushed those words from his mouth.

My eyes turn away from my task of examining him before he can catch me doing so but also because I didn’t want to seem too hesitant. “No. I’m not—I know I’m ready.”

He clears his throat. “No. I think you’re just rushing this. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He says. I feel the weight in front of me begin to lessen through my calves, and panic seeps into my bloodstream.

I reach out and take his hand into mine. His fingers are branchy and, against my current belief of Frost, I presume that he has used them loosely before. They are pale, but even then I see silver scars twirling around his fingers to their tips. I then, courageously, look directly into the glowing red orbs that, without me realizing until now, have entranced me. “My answer will be the same tomorrow, next week and even a hundred years from now—even if I’m dead.” I say. “I’m not rushing into anything. I have thought this through and, I am ready—whether you want me to be or not.” pausing for added effect, I continue with finality in my tone. “I am.”

 

For a moment, for the first time since I rejected his lips—which I seem to be craving the feel of them to mine a lot now-a-days—the first time we met, Frost’s cold gaze wavered completely, leaving him in shock and astonishment. He moves closer to me, “But what about your life back in Shadow Valley? Your family, your friends, your school—they will notice if you go missing. I’m one hundred percent assured Rhea’s clones are working well at the moment, but what about in years? They will most likely die off soon after you turn.”

 

I freeze for a moment, thinking. I’m aware of the fact that my parents were one of the main factors as to why I shouldn’t turn. I chew on my bottom lip as I imagine my life years into the future. I would probably go to University, major in something I sort of find fascinating. Then, I imagine life after that. There would be no happily-ever-after. My eyes, which are trained on Frost’s and mine intertwined fingers, blink away those thoughts along with unnecessary tears; of a future with no Frost. I wanted this lifestyle; I wanted him—as weird as it sounds.

 

I release my bottom lip from its place between my front teeth. “They will get over it.” I shrug my frail shoulders, “I could send the occasional letter, saying that I’m fine and living my life.”