Chapter 2

Kate

There was a reindeer below me, not six yards off. I clung to the fir, leaning down towards the deer, inching silently closer. The deer glanced at its surroundings, not bothering to glance above, then lowered its head to sniff the snow beneath his feet. I found my chance and pounced onto its back, piercing its think winter coat with my bared teeth. They sunk into the deer's flesh with ease, like a knife cutting into a ripe mango. The buck had no time to react, and was pinned to the ground and flinching as I drained it of its blood.

The taste wasn't as good as a human, I thought to myself as I remembered the sweet nectar of human blood from the few times I had slipped up as a vegetarian. But mediocre tasting food was better than the greatest tasting food that resulted in the death of a human.

Once I had finished I wiped my lips clean and pushed the carcass aside—the predators inside these forests would finish him off. I felt the rejuvenation the blood gave me, and took a deep breath.

When there was no need to sleep, no need to go to school, no need to do any form of work or chores, there wasn't a lot to fill my day with. Sometimes I just lay in the snow, sensing my surroundings, but often times I ran. Vampires ran with the speed of light and felt no fatigue from it. I had routes worked out where I would not run into any settlements with humans. My favorite one was a ring around the North Pole, spanning hundreds of miles. My highest record was ten rings from sundown to sunup.

While on one of my rings in the eleventh month of becoming a vampire, I realized how lonely I was. I had had no verbal contact in almost a year—I didn't even know what my own voice sounded like.

As much as I wanted to believe that I was staying strong, it was evident that I was growing weaker. My hair was frazzled, but constantly silky. My marble-white skin was dirty, and my clothes ripped and torn.

I needed a friend.

Luke

"Hey man." Peter stood in my bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame. "How are you?"

I grunted. "You know."

He looked around my sparse room, sighing to himself. "Well, just checking in."

I was lying on my bed, staring at the patterns in the ceiling. I felt Peter move inside my room and sit on the end of my bed.

"When are you going to start running with us again?" he asked.

"Don't know."

"It's been eleven months. I think it's time."

My brow scrunched up. "Time for what?"

Peter hesitated, and I knew what he was going to say. I held my breath and braced for it.

"Time to move on," he finished softly.

I took a deep, shaky breath.

"You know what you're asking," I said slowly.

"I do."

"So why ask it?"

"Because if no one does, you could live like this forever. Do really want to look at that ceiling for the rest of your life?" he asked me.

"I do other things."

"Other things that are similar to what you're doing now, Luke."

"I guess."

"Yeah," he said, his voice harsher now. "So get up and let's go running."

"I'd rather not."

Peter sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Come on. I know this is difficult, but time goes on. Kate is gone."

I bolted upright.

"So you think it's that easy? To just forget her?"

"Maybe if you saw other girls—"

"I don't see other girls, Peter. It's as plain and simple as that," I snapped. "It's like being a puzzle piece to a two piece puzzle. Once you find that other piece that fits perfectly, you see the beautiful picture—a picture so magnificent you can't take your eyes off. But once that piece breaks off, you already know what it feels like to have that other piece and you can't go back to being just one piece again so easily. No other piece fits, so you could never recreate that magnificent picture. You got it?"

"But maybe you'll just have to settle," Peter suggested.

"I'm not settling for anything less than what Kate was. And I'm not settling for anything other than Kate."

I laid myself back down onto my pillow, returning my dead stare to the ceiling. Peter stood up quietly and walked out.

* * *

Sometimes the pain is bearable. I can stand it most days, concentrate on other things if I'm really focused, but other days it's agony. I can clearly imagine her soft, warm skin on mine, her tiny frame cradled against my body, her flow of long dark hair falling down her back. I can remember other things, things that seem to bring me even more pain, like the way her thin lips press together when she's unsure, the way her eyes narrow when she's angry at me, when she runs her fingers through my hair when she wants me. All those things are ingrained in my memory. I could try not to think about her, but I fear that she will disappear, and then I wouldn't know what to do with myself then.