Alistair did not leave the Byron property, not entirely. He had traveled perhaps ten miles before the pull of his gift, which seemed to have honed on to the child as its sole object, grew too strong to ignore.
He lurked around the Byron property, unseen, simply watching. At night he would slip into the babe's nursery and watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and his instincts were sated knowing she was safe.
When she would rouse and begin to fuss, he would scoop her up and lay her against his chest. She would quiet then, content, and fall back asleep. He would hold her until morning, when he could hear her parents begin to stir from the room next. Only then would he return her to her crib and steal back out the window.
His own behavior troubled him, for he did not understand why he had became so suddenly and inexplicably protective of one inconsequential child. He told himself it was his duty, that he owed her family, but he was lying to himself.
He only left ten days later because he could sense Demetri growing close, no doubt curious about why he had stayed in one place so long.
Alistair did not return to the Byron family for some time. He returned to his nomadic lifestyle, and despite never having found issue with it before, he now felt malcontent. And while he couldn't precisely place why, he suspected it had everything to do with the eldest Byron child.
He decided, after seven years of this discontent, to revisit the Byron residence and settle his troubled instincts.
"Alistair, how nice it is to see you again." William greeted him cordially, surprise evident in his expression. The past seven years had been kind to the man; he had gain several pounds but at the age of thirty-two still retained his handsome appearance.
"I was in the area and hoped you would not object to a visit," Alistair said. He had travelled back here from the Asian continent but did not feel that William needed to know that.
"No, not at all! We've had another three children since you last arrived, all boys: Henry, David, and George. George just turned one," William said proudly.
"Congratulations. How's Eloise?" The question slipped out before Alistair could stop himself.
"She's fine, just fine. Prettiest little girl you'll ever meet, smart as anything, but would rather romp around outdoors than study her French."
"Horribly shy, poor thing," Mary said, walking into the room with a small boy on her hip. "Alistair, I heard you were visiting. It's so nice to see you."
"And you," Alistair said, no true sentiment behind his words. He cared very little for these humans, but he still held his debt to one of their ancestors, William's grandfather, and thus treated them civilly.
"I worry for Eloise, she's so reserved," Mary said after offering Alistair a kind smile. "She barely spoke two words to her governess for weeks after meeting her and is downright petrified of strangers."
"Why don't you send for her, Mary? It would do her well to get used to meeting new people," William said. "Besides, Alistair and Eloise have already met, remember when he held her seven years ago? She was calm as anything."
"If it wouldn't trouble you, Alistair, then I think that to be a splendid idea," Mary said.
"By all means," Alistair said, pleased that it had taken so little effort to meet once again with the child to whom his instincts were so attuned.
"Hold George, William, until I get back," Mary ordered, thrusting her youngest son into her husband's arms.
"Don't know how I've had four children and still can't properly hold them," William chuckled, carrying George awkwardly in his arms.
"It is a skill, I believe," Alistair said, watching him with thinly-veiled amusement.
"Seems to be one only women have, then. Eloise deals better with George than I do, and she's only seven!"
Alistair's mouth twitched, but he said nothing. William was mostly preoccupied in ensuring that George, who was wiggling wildly, didn't squirm straight out of his arms, and Alistair was happy to spend this time in silence.
Alistair could hear, distantly, the conversation of Mary and Eloise, the latter of whom was vehemently refusing to go anywhere that held the presence of strangers. After several minutes, Mary had given up, and Alistair heard the door open and shut as Eloise scampered outside.
"So sorry to disappoint you, Alistair, but she just won't come," Mary said when she returned, frowning.
William handed George back to Mary. "I'll have a word with the girl later."
"Do you mind if I walk the grounds?" Alistair asked, only out of politeness, now that it was clear that the girl would not be coming to him.
"Not at all. The boys will probably accost you, but pay no mind to them, they're just a bit too rambunctious for their own good," William said. "You'll be off after that, I take it?"
"Most likely," Alistair said. "I'm not a man to stay in one place for too long."
"In that case, then, until our next meeting," William said jovially, and did not attempt to shake his hand.
Alistair nodded, bowed slightly towards Mary, and took his leave, his gift leading his steps towards the young girl who had thrown his life so off-kilter. He found himself walking through the woods, his gift rendered no longer necessary as he picked up the sound of a human heartbeat.
She was in the boughs of a tall, ancient tree, her hazel eyes tracking his movements through the leaves.
"Hello," he greeted, looking up at her.
Eloise looked down at him, uncertain, her dress smudged with mud. Her gaze was almost unsettling, as if she could see too much. Alistair's instincts were singing in her presence, finally satisfied after years of disquiet, and it made him uneasy. His instincts should not be so focused on a young human girl, a little child.
"Can I come up?" He finally asked, when she made no move to speak.
"Your eyes are red," she stated in lieu of answering his question.
"And yours are hazel," he countered, smiling at her. He was careful to not smile to widely, or show too much of his teeth, lest he startle her.
"Father told me about you," she said.
"Then you know I won't hurt you," Alistair said.
She squinted at him. "He said you never change."
"Among other things, yes."
"Is that why your eyes are red?"
"In part."
"Are you human?"
Her bluntness startled him; none of the Byrons had been so foolish as to ever ask it to his face, which was best. He twitched an eyebrow upwards. "Do you think I'm human?"
"No," she said, absolutely certain. "You can come up."
"Thank you," he said, and climbed lithely up the tree, perching on a branch that was near her own. "Your parents said you're shy."
"Maybe," she said, looking abashed.
"You do not seem shy to me."
"You're familiar," Eloise said. "You don't feel like a stranger."
"We aren't strangers, I suppose. I held you when you were an infant," he said.
She grinned, showing off her straight teeth. "Then we aren't strangers."
"Do you often climb this tree?"
"Every day. It's my favorite, and Mother doesn't let my brothers go this far into the forest yet, so they leave me be," she said.
"Do you not like your siblings?" Alistair asked, curious. He had been quite fond of his siblings when he was human.
"I don't dislike them," she said. "But they're too loud. And they play rough, hitting each other with sticks and such. I like to teach them how to do things, though, like catch frogs."
Alistair chuckled. "Do you do that often?"
"Whenever we go down to the creek," she said, eyes shining with mischief. "Mother hates it."
"I'd imagine she does. But if it's not bothering anyone, and you enjoy it, there's no harm in continuing," Alistair said, and this reasoning so happened to be the exact same he was using to justify continuing to associate with the child who had so captivated his attention.
"That's what I say!" She exclaimed.
"Do you explore very far into the woods?" Alistair knew all too well of the monsters that lurked on Earth, both human and vampire, and he would not often be around to protect her from what may be within the forests.
"Not terribly. I prefer climbing trees," she said.
"Have you ever fallen?"
She looked at him oddly, as if he had asked a foolish question. "Of course I've fallen. But that's part of learning, isn't it?"
"Yes," Alistair agreed, once again caught off-guard by her strange perceptiveness. "Yes, it is."