Chapter 4 4
Tucker doesn’t speak again; he carries me silently along the path until we reach the empty village streets.
The cold still lingers deep in my bones and I don’t know what else to do to warm up.
I sigh in relief when I see our house in the distance, casting an orange light through the windows.
When we reach the door, Tucker kicks it open, and the avalanche of my family’s concern begins.
“What happened?” my father asks, rising from his chair beside the fire.
“Elara!” My mother’s cry cuts through the air. “My girl! What happened? You’re soaked!”
“Bring as many blankets as you can,” Tucker orders as he carries me toward the fire.
I don’t even get to feel the relief of being near the fireplace.
I pass out on the way to it, and the last thing I’m aware of is my head falling backward with a sharp jolt.
As expected, I spent my birthday and the following days in bed with pneumonia that made the air coming out of my chest sound like a horse’s neighs. Four days later, my appearance hasn’t improved much, and I hope this will serve as an excuse so no one buys me tonight.
My thick black hair has been neatly gathered at the nape of my neck with small floral pins. My skin has a lifeless tone, and two small purple grooves rest under my eyes.
“My little girl…” says Mom through tears as she pinches my cheeks to give them some color. “I’m not ready for this moment. None of us are.”
My chest tightens with each word, I blink several times to chase away the urge to cry. My tears will only make this harder.
“Don’t worry, Mom. Maybe I’ll be lucky and no one will find me appetizing enough tonight.”
My mother’s eyes look at me without humor, red and flooded with tears.
“Whether they buy you or not, this is the last night you’ll spend under our roof.” Her hands rest on my shoulders, and she pulls me into her arms. She gently strokes my back. “Stay healthy—not for them, but for yourself, Elara. Write to us, let us know somehow that you’re still alive.”
“I’ll try,” I reply without conviction.
Most of us already know the fate that awaits once we’re bought.
Each vampire is supposed to have a certain number of “feeders” according to their rank. No more, no less, as long as they remain healthy and capable of fulfilling their duty.
They’re not allowed to hurt us, overstep, or hasten our deaths. But those are just words, laws written by their ancestors and ours to guarantee peace.
In practice, many of them overdrink, leave us dry, discard us, and quickly find a replacement, with the cooperation, of course, of corrupt Red Auctions.
Mom leaves me alone for a few moments, which I use to try to burn into my memory every detail of what has been my bedroom for eighteen years—my place of rest and confessions.
I’m wearing the prettiest and newest dress I have in my closet.
One that squeezes my chest so tightly it’s hard to breathe.
It’s made of green velvet with golden thread embroidery, the neckline is square and reveals the curves of my breasts. I get up from the little stool in front of the vanity and grab the shawl.
I give myself one last look in the mirror and involuntarily pass my fingers along the curve of my neck, as if I already knew I’d never see it intact again. I wrap the shawl over my shoulders, hold it tightly, and leave the room.
I descend the stairs, listening to every creak of the wood, and see all the faces of my family waiting at the bottom.
“You look beautiful,” says Tucker, his eyes shining.
“Elara always looks beautiful.”
Dad takes my hand as I step down the last stair and pulls me into his chest, hugging me so tightly my bones protest.
Still, I say nothing.
I stay there for several breaths, knowing this will be the last time I’ll be in my father’s arms.
It’s painfully hard to pull away.
“Elara?” a child’s voice calls.
My little sister looks up at me from a few heads below. Her huge honey-colored eyes gaze at me, frightened, and I smile to reassure her. I hug her, cradling her face against my chest and stroking her copper curls.
I’m going to miss so much…
I won’t be there to soothe her scraped knees the next time she falls playing, there will be no more candlelit stories, and I won’t be around when she starts smiling because of some boy.
Our parents watch the scene with true anguish, and Tucker joins our embrace, wrapping his arms around us both and shielding us from the world with the breadth of his body.
I inhale the scent of home while holding back tears.
The sound of a bell breaks the silence.
The Red Auction is open to receive us.
Each chime falls over us like a bucket of cold water.
Mom grabs Angela’s hand, and my father offers me his arm to walk.
Tucker stands to my right and opens the door, letting in a gust of freezing air.
We all seem to hold our breath for a second and then begin to walk.
The street is empty, although dozens of pairs of eyes watch us from their windows.
Every full moon is an event that everyone watches from the safety of their homes, with goosebumps and aching hearts, because every time one of us enters the Red Auction, it reminds the others of what will one day come to their own homes.
Many other auctions are taking place tonight in hundreds of cursed villages like ours.
We walk in silence, hearing windows close and the meow of a stray cat.
“If you ask me now, I’ll take you out of here,” Tucker whispers.
“We’ll run away from the village, go into the forest, and with the money I’ve saved, we’ll cross the ocean.”
My heart skips a beat, I look around, hoping no one is close enough to have heard his boldness.
“Don’t say nonsense.” I grit my teeth. “Don’t even think of suggesting something like that again. It would be treason.”
He tries to speak, but a single look from me is enough to silence him.
He can’t be serious about this.
Going against the rules and the system is treason.
