Chapter 12: Warmth

York, England 1925

Samantha gazed listlessly at the snowflakes fluttering like tiny moths against her window. The window looked extremely cold, and the world beyond it, colder. The few branches of trees that she could see from her bed seemed crooked and withered, naked and black against the colorless sky. It was nearly dusk. The snow blew restlessly, each lost snowflake seeming pitiful in its confused insignificance. It occurred to her that the world beyond the window had a lot in common with her own heart.

She had been lying in bed for an entire month now- initially out of necessity to recover from her fever, and then, once the fever had passed, she had remained abed by choice. She didn't want to gather her thoughts. She suspected that if she did, she would lose the desire to remain alive. She felt like all she wanted was to keep her mind completely blank. But now she was growing tired of the busy snowflakes, tired of their senseless fluttering at the mercy of the wind. Annoyed, she got up and drew the curtains shut with an angry snap. Then she took a deep breath. She felt dizzy and leaned against the wall. It occurred to her that at this point, regaining her strength would provide a lengthy distraction. The surge of enthusiasm that she felt surprised her- was she that desperate to recover, or just to be distracted?

The fire crackled cheerfully. D sat beside it in one of several large comfortable armchairs, his head inclined, one hand resting across the opened book in lap. It had been a long time since he'd flipped a page.

Almost like a ghost, Samantha appeared at the top of the stairs across the room. The house wasn't exactly a mansion, but it did have a spacious, high-ceilinged living room with a large marble fireplace in the middle. Samantha spied D and froze, but after several moments she noticed the book under his hand and determined that he had fallen asleep while reading. Virtually as noiseless as D himself would have been, she descended the stairs one step at a time. Ordinarily such a feat would have exhausted her patience, but as it was, she was so weak that she needed to rest after each step, leaning heavily on the banister. She reached the bottom of the stairs at last, and paused to steady her racing heart. The last of the grey daylight had long since dissipated, and the heavy black night pressed ominously against the tall windows. The waving flames from the fireplace provided the only light.

Samantha had lived in this house since she was seven. But since her grandmother died, it had seemed a vastly different place. Even in the summer, the house had seemed cold. She felt like an unwelcome stranger. It had been two months since she had been in this living room with its grand fireplace. Although she had spent countless hours in those very chairs, reading every one of the books on the shelves along the walls, the room seemed unfamiliar. She imagined phantom faces peering in from the dark windows, condemning her. She shivered, and returned her attention to D, who still seemed to be asleep.

Old curiosity reignited in her eyes. Why was he here? When she was suffering from the fever, she had been vaguely aware of his presence. It seemed that he hadn't left her side. Geoffrey had been there as well. But when the fever finally lifted, D was gone. Two days later, Geoffrey went back to school. The maid who brought Samantha's meals told her that it had been D who had rescued her, brought her home-- and he was living in the house now, though the servants scarcely saw him. Samantha hadn't cared whether D was living in the house or not. She hadn't wanted to see him, or hear about him- but the young maid, in her determination to be friendly, had mentioned D every day. The maid informed the sullen Samantha that D didn't eat much, and never spoke. Although the young maid was aggravated by his strange and somewhat rude mannerisms, she was obviously quite infatuated with him. She was constantly remarking about how handsome he was, how sorrowful and noble-looking he was etc. etc.

Samantha thought she was done looking at men, but seeing D in the glow of the firelight, she almost changed her mind. The girl narrowed her eyes and gathered her wits, and then studied D with all the cynicism she could muster. She couldn't figure out exactly what it was that made D seem so… attractive. He was pale. Pale skin- was that really so handsome? His features were actually rather sharp. His nose was narrow and pointed, his jaw and high cheekbones well-defined without looking haggard or stern. His mouth was a thin-lipped, sad-looking line. On the face of a regular person, none of it would have seemed extraordinary… and yet, D was undeniably beautiful.

Slowly she took a step towards him, and then another hesitant step. Although he hadn't moved, D had woken up as soon as she had stepped out of her room. He had heard her light footfalls in the hall, heard her shallow breathing, heard the faint rustle of her nightgown and shawl. When she appeared at the top of the stairs, D had decided to pretend to be asleep. He didn't want her to feel like she had been 'caught', and he didn't want to talk to her. What could he possibly say? He would never forgive himself for what had happened to her. Why hadn't he found her sooner? Drowning in regret as usual, he remained motionless in the chair as she walked haltingly across the Persian carpet.

Then, unexpectedly, she stopped right in front of him. The reflection of the fire quivered in her eyes. Almost as if in a trance, she stretched one hand out in front of her.

Her fingers hovered in the air for a second, and then gently touched his cheek.

Bewildered, D opened his eyes and looked up at her.

Neither of them spoke. Samantha searched his eyes, although she wasn't sure what of what she hoped to find there. Was there any point looking for the truth about the past? Was there any point looking for an explanation for the present? A log settled in the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks.

Samantha looked away, letting her hand fall back to her side.

"I can't figure it out," she said weakly, the first words D had heard her speak since he had found her that night in Paris. D held his breath, unsure of whether he wanted to hear what she said next.

"I don't understand anything," her voice trembled, and she swayed on her unsteady legs as though she might collapse. Instantly D was on his feet, reaching out with both hands to stabilize her. But as his hands closed gently around her arms, she flinched, and something like terror flashed across her face. D released her as if he'd been scalded. She staggered backwards a step or two and leaned against one of the other armchairs for support.

D stared at the floor, feeling like a monster. He heaved a ragged breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Samantha blinked, and he had vanished. Wildly she looked around the room. Was she dreaming? Had she been hallucinating? She caught sight of the abandoned book lying open on the floor where it had fallen when D stood. It hadn't been a dream, he had been there- but then he had disappeared. She shivered, unnerved, and felt suddenly exhausted. She lowered herself sideways into the chair, drawing her knees up over one of the armrests. The fire was still projecting plenty of warmth into the room. She realized that by focusing on the fireplace, she could almost forget the strange oppressiveness of the room. With her face turned to the orange light, at last she wandered into sleep.

When the flames grew small, a silent shadow appeared beside her, as dark and otherworldly as any nightmare. D bent down, and carefully covered her with a blanket.

Geoffrey came home for Christmas a few days later, and was delighted to see his sister's remarkable improvement. Although she was still weak, she no longer wasted the days in bed, and she grew stronger with each hour she spent busying herself about the house. The sister, brother, and their dhampir guardian made an odd little family, but they managed to have a happy Christmas together, although Mrs. Belus's absence was painfully apparent. Halfway through January, Geoffrey left for school once again.

No longer needing to put on a happy face for her brother's sake, Samantha would occasionally fall into a gloomy mood. She was definitely still improving, regaining her lively, confident spirit- but now and then she would become depressed, and curl up in an armchair before the fire, desolately staring at the flames. At these times, D would slip into the room and take the chair next to hers, silently reading a book. Although at first she was annoyed by this intrusion, before long she felt greatly comforted by his presence.

But as winter turned into spring, something odd began to happen. As Samantha's health improved, it seemed that D's declined. It wasn't that he became any less graceful, and he didn't lose any of his strength- but he began to seem tired, and he barely touched his meals. Samantha noticed, and worried about him a great deal, but she knew he wouldn't answer so she didn't try to ask what was the matter with him. Then, to her distress, Samantha began to see him less and less frequently.

And then one afternoon in April she found him asleep on the ground in the stable!

Overcoming her initial shock, she frowned. "D?" she called. D stirred and sat up, but then slumped against the wall.

"D, I'm worried about you. What's gotten into you? You haven't said a single word to me in over a week!"

D said nothing.

The girl fell to her knees beside D, not caring that she was wearing one of her nicer dresses. She tried to look him in the eye but he turned his head away.

"Please talk to me," she implored softly. "I can't bear to see you like this! Should I send for a doctor?"

"No," D grumbled.

For a moment she was silent, and then her eyes flooded with tears. "I wish I could help you," she whispered, resting her delicate hand on top of his. D was motionless, but his face looked as though he were suffering from a headache. Samantha frowned- his hand was cold.

Determination filled her. She interlaced her fingers with his. "D, I've been horribly selfish. You've always taken care of me, and I've taken it for granted. You rescued me, and I haven't even thanked you. I hope you can forgive me for that- but anyway, D… thank you for saving my life."

D pulled himself to his feet, deftly taking his hand away from her grasp. He felt her aching eyes burning into his back. "I ruined your life," he said softly, without looking at her. His voice was as dark and smooth as the night sky. It made her skin prickle. "Don't thank me for anything."

Without another word, D threw open the barn doors and made his way back to the house, leaving Samantha alone with her tears.

"Good grief!" D's left palm rearranged itself into a shriveled face. "That was harsh. You're a cold-hearted bastard!"

"And yet I feel like I'm about to burst into flames," D grumbled, practically running towards the shelter of the house.

"That poor girl… surely she didn't deserve that," the demon went on.

"I don't want to be near her right now," D almost growled.

"Oh-ho, so that's what this is about," the hand smirked.

"This sun is killing me." D remarked gruffly. "And what is what about?"

"This will be interesting," his hand teased.

"Why are you so cheerful? If I'm toast so are you."

"Speaking of toast, you haven't eaten yours in quite a few days…"

"It smells like dust."

"No, it smells like butter and jam," the hand corrected. D was in the house now, but even the stone-and-plaster walls seemed like insufficient protection from the warm April sunshine. Noticing how obviously distressed D was, his hand said helpfully, "You know, there is a cellar."

The cellar! Why hadn't D thought of that earlier? He rushed to the kitchen and practically jumped down the stairs into the cool, damp, underground sanctuary of the cellar. Breathing deeply, he stretched himself out flat on the earthen floor. His entire body trembled.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he groaned.

"I think you can figure it out for yourself," his hand replied. "Consider the toast, and for that matter all the other food you've seen these past few months. It's not the smell but the flavor that's wrong with it, and that's why you don't eat it… so basically, you're malnourished."

"I'll die before I'll drink blood, if that's what you're getting at," D said in disgust.

"Oh really? Your stubbornness is quite endearing. Alas, in a few more months you'll change your tune on that subject- I'm afraid you won't be able to help yourself!" the hand practically chuckled.

"But won't that destroy you? If I become a vampire?"

"Just drinking blood won't make you a vampire, you moron," the demon said. "You'll be fine as long as you're not sucking it from a living human. It's the whole taking-of-life part that gets complicated. But there's always animal blood to consider."

"But I don't want blood," D muttered, nauseated. He closed his eyes. The cool ground felt unbelievably soothing against his cheek.

"What do you want, then?" his hand asked.

"…I want to stay here. In the cellar. I think."

"Pathetic," the demon said, shaking its head, and therefore D's hand, slowly from side to side. "Can it be that you don't know the needs of your own body? The only way to save yourself from the sun is to be buried in the earth. Buried, not just laying passed-out on the ground like a drunkard. Remember the trenches? Remember the comfort of living underground? Well, Verdun was ten years ago. I'd say you're long overdue for a good nap, vampire-style."

D didn't reply. His hand sighed.

"Look, you have to start taking better care of yourself. And that means both parts of yourself, light and dark. If you don't want to go crazy, then every so often you're going to have to drink some blood, or be buried in the earth, or at least be strictly nocturnal for a while, maybe get yourself a coffin to sleep in."

D's mind reeled. "If those are my only choices, I suppose I'll have to go with being buried," he muttered. "But… just how often is 'every so often'?"

"Knowing you, I'd say… probably once every 5 or 6 years, depending on how you exert yourself, of course."

D was quiet for a few moments, mulling this over. Of course he was hypersensitive to the smell of blood, but he could still honestly say that it didn't appeal to him. Reluctantly, he had resigned himself to the fact that one day, that would all change. He dreaded that day, and prayed that by some miracle it might be postponed indefinitely. He wasn't sure if God listened to dhampirs, but when his mind drifted in the unpleasant direction of his 'destiny', he found himself saying a little prayer anyway.

"…And then there's the issue with the girl," the demon said, not about to let D off the hook just yet, not when the beleaguered dhampir prince was being such a good listener.

"But it's true," D said softly. "I really did ruin her life. If I had been able to save Tasia--"

"We know, we know. Get over it already! I swear you're denser than rock. Samantha's in love with you, D! What are you going to do about it?"

D didn't answer. He didn't want to develop feelings for her, and not just because he still wanted to think of her as a child. He immediately discredited any thoughts of romance because he knew that it was completely hopeless, completely foolish, and probably immoral, for a dhampir to fall in love with a human.

That night he left a note telling Samantha not to worry, and set off to find a dark, lonesome spot in the nearby woods where he could dig a shallow grave for himself. Two nights later, as the moon rose full and heavy, D woke up feeling completely refreshed. Compared to his relative lethargy of late, now his blood seemed to sing with energy. He sat up, the earth crumbling away from him. He was pleased with himself for remembering to bring a bag full of fresh clothes.

From a long way off he recognized Samantha sitting at her window, gazing out forlornly at the moon. Was she sitting up, waiting for him? He hoped that wasn't the case- the thought made him feel a twinge of guilt. As soon as the moonlight revealed his tall figure walking up the road to the gate, the girl jumped up with a start and disappeared from the window. Seconds later she threw herself out the front door and came running down the drive. She was barefoot, wearing only a white nightgown. Her hair, unbound, streamed behind her in the wind, shining in the silvery light. She reached the ivy-covered gate and strained to lift the heavy bar. Finally she heaved it aside, and the gate creaked open. She flew the short distance down the road to where D stood, watching her.

Something in her expression captivated him, and he had no intention of dodging her as she rushed towards him. No one had ever looked at him like that. Before D had time to ponder exactly what he seeing in her face, she crashed against him. Her hands reached up to clutch his shoulders. She pressed her whole body against his, and briefly D wondered if she had actually been trying to knock him down. With a relieved sigh, she relaxed against him, the tension draining from her. Only her hands refused to ease their desperate grip on his jacket.

D was keenly aware of her rapid, fragile-seeming heartbeat and the warmth of her skin radiating from beneath the thin fabric of her dress. It struck him that her life was like a brave little flame flickering in a dark and indifferent universe. More than anything, he wanted to shield that flame, and be warmed by its glow.

"I thought you were gone," she mumbled, her face pressed against his chest. "I felt like I wanted to die."

D's protective instincts surfaced and he wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders. How could he have become so important to her? He had practically been avoiding her for months. He was ashamed. Her love was unmerited.

Samantha was instantly overwhelmed by a sense of peace and security beyond anything she had ever imagined. She felt like she could never belong anywhere but in his arms. This was love… surely heaven itself couldn't be more wonderful. You're still such a mystery, she said to D in her mind. But I don't care. I want you to be mine forever. Oh, I wish you would promise that you'll love me always …

A/N: it's sickening, isn't it? Sigh! I do feel sorry for D. And it only gets worse for him, of course. Sigh again.