Once Bitten, No Longer Shy, Julie Steimle [i wanna iguana read aloud TXT] 📗

have dinner with us that evening.”

Troy remembered hearing about the wolf attack. It had been a werewolf attack, and by man-eaters who had intended to kill and eat all three of Rick’s friends, while destroying Rick himself. But the German wolves had only succeeded in killing Jordan Hague, Rick’s old college roommate, and Rick barely got out alive while the other two were rescues alive—though one had lost a leg.

“Rick was on edge the entire dinner,” Art said, shaking his head. “He looked prepared to bolt. He had been trying to convince his friends to leave as soon as possible. His friends had a few beers but, I could tell Jordan was holding off for our sake as well as for Rick who was getting more anxious by the second. And his friends did not drink that much because we didn’t, and it was awkward for them. I saw them get invited to that castle tour where they were attacked. At the time I had a strong prompting to get me and my friends back to the hotel, so we did.” Art shook his head. “But then later we went out again and saw what at the time we thought were weird Americans come into town, all of them asking for where Rick Deacon and his friends had gone. My friends pointed them to Wolfsburg castle.”

“Weird Americans?” Hanz echoed, wondering.

Art nodded to him. “Yeah. Tom Brown—but at the time, to us, he was just a pale guy with blonde hair in a three piece suit. Then two men with swords and partial armor over regular clothes—whom we thought were LARPers or something like that—I think one of them was Daniel. Right after them came the Witchdoctor.”

Troy peeked to Randon, mentally asking if he knew whom Art was talking about aside from Tom, Peter, and Daniel—but Randon was listening too intently to see the question. 

“I went out to get the Witchdoctor’s autograph,” Art said. “I had no idea what was going on at the time, but the W—sorry—Peter McCabe asked us to call an ambulance. So we did. And I saw them when they came down with Rick all bloody. It was the worst….” He choked on his words as the cruel memory came back to him. Shaking his head, he trembled. “Now I don’t know if us being there made it worse or better. I can only hope it was for the better. I only know that Rick’s friends found him in time—but that guy Jordan got killed. Every time I think about it, I wonder what we should have done differently. Should we have tried to help Rick convince his friends to leave Cochem when he wanted to go? I had thought of it during dinner, just watching Rick peeking to the door every three seconds, but I had not acted on it. But that’s in the past, and now I’ll never know.”

Even Silvia was speechless, hearing that. Her hand was over her mouth. She looked a little pale.

Art looked to her again. “So, no offense, but if I have to live with a guy struggling with vampirism, I don’t want to offend any connection to God that protects me. I need all the help I can get.”

Hanz patted him again, nodding.

Silvia pulled back, not sure how to react. She peeked to Troy once then shrugged. “I just wanted to help.”

Sighing, Art nodded, mumbling, “I know.”

The conversation died after that. Silvia served up the slightly charred quesadilla and made a less burnt one after it for Troy. She remained subdued, thinking.

Before the couple left, Hanz and Art talked with Randon over anything they might need to know about the Vegan Vampire, Mr. Lenox, and what he and Troy had found out. Around the same time Silvia handed Troy a bottle of essential oils that would help him with his burned skin and a bundle of herbs tied up in a Celtic-like knot to hang outside his window to ward off supernatural threats.

“Don’t show that guy Art this,” she whispered. “Say it’s a decoration if he gets suspicious. A housewarming gift.”

Troy nodded.

When they left, Troy went directly to his room and hung it in the main window with scotch tape.

Ground Rules

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

Despite Art’s misgivings about living with a vampire, he slept soundly that night—though his door was definitely locked. However, Troy was unable to sleep.

A weird feeling that has swept over him when he tried to lay down for bed. It was not so much a craving to hunt for blood as much as a nagging itch that would not leave him alone. He was awake. He was still drowsy, but not sleepy. When he went into the kitchen to see what Art and the others had bought for food, maybe something to settle him down for sleep, he discovered Hanz on his knees praying next to the couch where he had made his bed. 

It was a peculiar sight.

Hanz still looked like a Nordic god. It was in the breadth of his shoulders and how he held his head. But kneeling there, silently murmuring words with his hands clasped together and his elbows leaning on the sofa cushions, he gave Troy the impression of a Norman Rockwell painting—Americana personified. Some of Hanz’s words reached his ears.

“… and please help Arthur Condie adjust to this new challenge. He has a very sensitive spirit and is sometimes a little rash, which thou dost know. But I will have to leave him here, and I worry he will not be able to handle the stress. Please buoy him up. And as for Troy, help him not to despair. Help him see that his life is not over. Help him see the possibilities and give him strength to adapt to his new situation.”

Troy almost drew in a breath, but stifled it to keep from being heard.

“I am grateful to have been able to meet these people, though it has been frightening at the same time. I have learned much from this, including what Eve has been going through. Please give her strength, and help her not to give up,” Hanz prayed. “Thou hast led me here, though I do not know exactly why. But I thank thee for letting me see her, even if it was only for a brief moment. Please ease her pain. Please heal her wounds. I do not know why she must suffer like this. But I do know thou hast a purpose for us. Please help me to understand in time. I am grateful for the help I have been given and for this learning experience. I do ask thee to ease the worries of my parents and of the McAllisters. I ask thee to strengthen them. And please guide me to see what thy will is for me. I do not want to give up, but… if it is thy will that I let go, help me know it. I love her. She means everything to me. But I want to do what is right. It is hard… but I need to know. It breaks my heart. I don’t want what Art and Andrew said to be true. But if indeed it is, help me to accept it. Help me to trust thy plan. But if it is not, strengthen me to stand up and fight for this one hope that I have. That she and I are not over. But I put my life in thy hands….”

Troy tiptoed away, stepping into the bathroom instead of going to the refrigerator. He closed the door as gently as possible to not make a sound. If his heart had a beat, it would have been pounding. He had just overheard something waaaay too personal. And that was a prayer? Who prays like that? Weren’t prayers little poetic recited things? Or maybe he was mistaken. He had never really stepped into a church. He only saw them on TV and in movies.

Glancing at the mirror, Troy saw the watermark of himself reflected in the glass. He stared at his blue eyes. The red was nearly gone. That made him breathe with some relief. At least he wasn’t hungry for blood. However, as he sat on the closed toilet seat, he just waited, wondering how he was going to fall asleep. His brain was between sleep and awake at the moment, and he felt stuck.

He heard some motion outside the door, a jiggling of the door handle.

Getting up, Troy opened it.

Hanz was just stepping away from it, but looked back when Troy came out. He raised his eyebrows and smirked mirthfully. “Can’t sleep?”

Cringing, Troy ducked his head a little, then nodded, appreciating that Hanz understood. “Yeah.”

Nodding, Hanz said, “Eve has the same trouble. Her vampire side is nocturnal. You should be also.”

Troy moaned.

But Hanz beckoned him to the refrigerator.

“This is what Eve does before she goes to bed,” Hanz said, opening it up to take out some things.

“Oh.” Troy perked up, trotting next to him. “You’ve had a lot of overnights with her?”

“No,” Hanz replied dryly, resisting the urge to chastise Troy for even thinking it. “Her mom gave me this advice to help prepare me for when we were married. She wanted to make sure nothing surprised me.”

He then took out a carton of full-cream milk, half-and-half, a bag of oats, and what looked like a container of protein powder though it said valerian root powder on it. He set them on the counter, then fetched a tall glass. He also took out a submersible blender which looked newly purchased. In a low voice so they would not wake Art, Hanz said, “Eve has a nightly routine to get the itches out.”

“Itches?” Troy murmured, as it perfectly described how he was feeling.

“A sensation that refuses to allow her to sleep—keeping her up at night. Usually her back itches where her wings are.” Hanz then proceeded to get out a sauce pan for the milk. “First off, a warm drink right before bed helps, especially one with a little substance. But not after a fly-about for her.”

Troy cringed, slowly shaking his head. “But I don’t have wings. I don’t fly. Vampires don’t without a nasty spell, which, by the way, involves sacrificing a victim and lots of blood.”

Hanz stared at him for a second, blinked out that image from his brain then shrugged. “Ok. Then maybe you need to do a workout before bed. You can jump-rope or get a Bowflex. But you need to expend energy.”

It made sense. Troy nodded. The guy was so practical.

Hanz pointed to the center of the room. “You can do pushups or something while I cook this up.”

Apparently that was a doctor’s order. Troy decided to obey.

As he started his pushups, Troy listened to the silence of the apartment. It still smelled of Silvia’s herbs and oils, but it was beginning to have a scent of milk and nutmeg. He could even detect the scent of Hanz’s aftershave and Art’s toothpaste and facewash. It was strange, almost like Art’s and Hanz’s world was creeping into his, rather than the other way around. Was that a good thing? Troy wondered.

As he finished his fiftieth push-up, Troy realized that it did not take as much effort as it used to. His arms felt