The Eternal Bloodlines: Shattered Reflections

Chapter Four: Devlin Harrington

The pain returned first, laughing as if it was victorious in pulling me back to consciousness. It was like it was bragging that I wasn't going anywhere, that it wouldn't let me go, that I was going to be stuck here in purgatory forever. Funny, I had begun to figure a long time ago that purgatory was where I belonged anyway. I wasn't quite damned, but I would never find salvation either.

Next, I felt the warmth of indoors and the comfort of a bed around me. The sheets were soothing on my aching skin, my body sort of numb in some places and agonised in others. Even with my eyes shut, I could see the flickering light of old lamps and felt the comforting dimness that they brought into the room. It was a relief against my aching eyes, my body feeling more at peace with the gentle glow.

I felt a presence nearby, sitting by my bedside as I rested. It wasn't a familiar one at first, but then nothing felt all that familiar as I lay there. After a while, I began to sense the presence stronger and the scent came to me. It was comforting, despite the tint of alcohol coming off it. But that wasn't from drinking; that was from serving.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, blinking away sleep and looking up at the ceiling. I recognised the faded paint of my apartment as well as the comforting softness of my own temporary bed. I was safe in my haven, free of the nightmare that had preceded this comforting moment.

I turned my gaze towards the figures in front of my bed; one sitting on the side near my right, the other at the foot of the bed. The one at the end of the bed I didn't know all that well, though we had met before. She was a slender, friendly girl, probably in her early to mid twenties physically and shorter than me. She was astonishingly beautiful with neat shoulder-length blonde hair streaked with blue. She wore dark jeans and a black leather jacket over a black shoe string halter, her skin pale white and her eyes golden. She smiled at me, her lips curling up attractively, making small dimples appear on her cheeks.

Beside me was a man, tall and handsome with a stern, but kind air to him. He was clean shaven and had dark hair tinted with grey strands. When he was standing he was over six foot four. He was just as pale and boasted the same golden eyes as the girl, the more common eye colour for our kind. He was dressed in a dark shirt and jeans, a sports jacket pulled on over them in a casual style. His stare almost boasted a father's love as he held my right hand gently while I rested.

"How are you feeling, Ariel?" Devlin asked, speaking with his strong Irish accent and his calm tone.

"Where am I?" I managed to ask, my throat dry and sore.

"Your apartment," he told me gently. "We brought you here from the bar."

"The bar?" I frowned.

"You don't remember?" the blonde, Blair, asked, drawing my now black-eyed gaze. "You were brought to the bar where we got the doctor to help you, dressed your wounds, then we brought you here."

"How did I get here?" I asked.

"We drove you," she said, that Sydney accent all too clear next to my Melbourne based, American influenced one.

I blinked and awkwardly shook my head. "No. I mean, how did I get to the bar?"

"A man named Rayne brought you to the bar," Devlin explained to me calmly. "He said he found you lying at the bottom of a stairway, covered in blood and barely conscious. He spoke to me on the phone maybe a minute after you stopped talking."

"Rayne?" I was surprised, remembering the handsome young guy investigating the murder in South Melbourne. "The cop?"

"Not sure he was a cop," Devlin responded with a shrug. "He didn't really stick around. He just brought you to us and left."