"Sorry," Mason murmured under his breath. I knew the whole house could hear anyway, "That's her way of being nice."
"She's pushing a few boundaries," I admitted, running a hand over the fabric of the turtleneck, from ribcage to hip, "But she hasn't overstepped any. She seems to know which ones to press and which ones to avoid."
"Despite your wildly different dispositions, there are a few things you two have in common."
I raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I know, I know," he soothed, taking us past the foyer. There were two doors here overlooking the entry, as I noticed earlier, but now that we were coming back this way, I noticed a third and forth tucked around the corner.
"This is another bathroom, here," he pointed to the one on the far wall, then pushed open the door beside it.
Beyond was a narrower room than those previous with windows overlooking the front yard just as Anne's had.
"Your room."
"What gave it away?"
"The soundproofing, the CD cases, the various instruments..."
"Come in," he invited softly, guiding me forward into the space.
There was no bed, only an L-shaped, slate-gray sectional backed up to a desk area upon which were various sheafs of paper arranged neatly into stacks. A keyboard stood on the other side of this, perpendicular as if he moved between the two quite a bit. There was a dresser, of course, and some decorative plants, likely provided by Kira, but the majority of the room was consumed by shelving for CDs. And in the corner across from the desk, stood something I recognized.
"A record player," I smiled, wandering over to it, "Do you have...?"
He'd already opened one of the drawers on the shelving units and was fingering his way through an array of vinyls all packed in together.
"Of course you do."
"You suspected as much long ago," he chided fondly, pulling one out and placing it on the player.
Immediately, the coy sound of muted brass tickled my ears and I recognized the song before the masculine voice alighted the air. He noted my recognition, taking my right hand in his and reaching tentatively for my waist with the other. I swayed into the palm of his hand, placing my own left hand lightly upon his shoulder. A restrained, cautious distance lingered between the two of us, but it didn't dim our rhythm.
"You calling me a witch?" I asked cloyingly, smirking.
"No nicer witch than you," he sang smoothly with the lyrics, then his face dropped a bit into something a tad more serious, "I have been jealous of Leo. It's not fair of him to monopolize your dancing ability."
"Perhaps you ought to make more excuses to dance with me," I suggested hopefully, "High school gym isn't the most exciting environment for it anyway. Leo and I have resorted to some creative dance-styles in order to stay engaged the whole time."
"Yes. He mentioned that the pair of you are trying to recreate... memes."
I smiled wider, "It's harder than it would seem trying to work in modern iconic dance moves to the classical tempos."
"He's convinced he's managed to incorporate that Korean song... what is it? With the horses and... anyway, he thinks he's on the verge of incorporating it into a cha-cha."
Mason's brows are pulled together, eyes distant and squinted, and his nose scrunched in disdain.
"It's fun. Let loose a bit and you'd know how to have some."
"Let loose?"
"Yes-"
He pulled my hand, leading up and twisting. I followed habitually, swirling under his direction with ease though the papers on his desk fluttered and scattered.
"Careful!"
"It's my room, I can ruin it how I want," he said, his voice a deep, playful growl.
He cinched his arm snugly around my waist for the briefest of seconds. Those usually-brooding green-eyes glittered and danced; the emerald in them rich and the silver molten. I felt heat beginning to rise into my neck and quickly broke eye-contact, looking about for a distraction. One of the papers from his desk had fallen to the floor at our feet and I disengaged to inspect it.
"You're composing something -?"
Quickly, he slipped the paper out from between my pinched fingers and held it above his head when I tried to reach for it.
"That's a secret project."
His low, deep voice so close to my ear made little tingles run down my neck all the way to my fingertips. I stepped back as the blush threatened to rush into my cheeks.
"You may keep your secrets this once."
"I don't quite trust you not to look when my back is turned," he shepherded me toward the exit, "Let's continue the tour."
"Fine," I pouted, remembering Claire only when I turned to see her inspecting the CDs on the shelves.
Claire gave us a quick look into her and Paul's shared room, showing us the balcony in particular. Her style was much like Anne's in that it complimented the space rather than overwhelmed it. It was a tad cozier given the various family-photos that dotted the walls but more modern with clean lines and geometry.
And with that, there was only one more door left undiscovered. As we walked out onto the landing, however, Mason's path took us directly past it.
"What about that?"
I pointed.
Mason stopped and inspected the door doubtfully, "It's Paul's home-office. I wouldn't want to disturb any of his things as he's not home."
"Nonsense," Claire waved a hand.
He affixed his green gaze on her, an unspoken question in his meaningful stare. She acknowledged it with an even one of her own, then shrugged. Mason's eyes ranged over to me, indecisive, then he too shrugged.
"Alright."
At the swing of the door, the dusty taste of old parchment washes over my tongue as the office air flutters my hair. Books upon books lined walnut-wood shelves floor to ceiling. They only broke at the line of windows on the opposite wall. Through the glass, I could see out over the backyard and finally notice the river that weaved at the very back of the property; the view of it from Claire's room had been partially obscured, but here, from the center of the house it could just-barely be glimpsed.
"Paul is a doctor during the day," Mason started, his voice elevated a few steps, "And a history enthusiast by night."
So there may be some vampiric knowledge on display?
There was a desk to the right side of the room that sat and lorded over the rest of the space; a stately polished-wood affair with letter opener, memo pad, and pen-stand among other executive, leather fixings. Behind the desk hung a painting between two more shelving units. It appeared an oil on canvas piece that depicted... the city alley in front of a chapel? It wasn't anything famous ones or I might've recognized it.
"London."
I glanced at Mason from the corner of my eye. He wasn't looking at the painting, but at me, my reaction. Claire had come in and stood sentry at the far-window, watching the forest and pretending not to be privy to the conversation at-hand. Their postures were mildly tense. Mason in particular was leaning into the conversation with somewhat pleading eyes.
"The church that cross came from?" I wondered, tilting my head toward the hallway.
"That's the one."
"Not a really famous church... so why?"
"It's more of an artist's rendition; it was painted well-after the church had actually burned down."
I let that be, letting my eyes roved over to the wall I'd had my back to when I first entered. It was bare of shelves, instead housing a multitude of other paintings. All were expertly and aesthetically arranged as if in an art museum. It was the largest, in the dead center of the wall, that made my breath freeze in my throat.
"Mason?"
Kira's voice sounded foggy, distant. I stared in horror at the image.
Portrayed in oil were four figures about a table, dressed in pristine-white linens, surrounded by kneeling humans in drab tones. Three of the faces were those I knew to recognize as pure evil: the haughty expression of Ambrose, the disdainful gaze Sophos, and the disinterested glare of Leto. They'd been on my family's hit-list for centuries upon centuries for their heinous acts of cruelty and violence toward humans. Their existence motivated me to be stronger, to organize our forces, to fight. Now, as I gazed upon the visage of these monsters, all I could feel was an empty, bottomless terror.
The fourth face was only recently familiar and portrayed here with a shadow of doubt as he stood off to the side: Paul. Paul knew the Theous. He had been painted alongside them.
"Sara?"
A cold touch on my shoulder jolted me back to reality.
"Don't touch me," I hissed.
Instinctively, my teeth peeling back over my lips, I staggered away from Mason's hand. Gums burning, I lowered to the floor in a crouch.
"I've already called Paul," Kira stated and I whipped my head about toward her voice, "He's on his way."
"Why?!" I demanded.
"He can explain."
"Explain, what exactly? There's nothing to explain."
"Sara - "
"He's not to be trusted," I growled, teeth still bared, "None of you are."
"Woah, now that's not entirely human," Leo's eyes peeked around the doorframe above Kira, "What long teeth and claws you have - "
"Non è divertente!"
"I don't understand that language - "
"It's Italian," Anne's voice echoed from further down the hall.
"Sara, we can explain - "
"There is nothing to explain!" I roared this time, feeling the click of my elongated fangs, "Vampiri!"
"Samuel - do something!" Kira urged
The blond appeared in the doorway beside her.
"My ability has no effect on her," he muttered, watching wide-eyed.
"Stop trying to use your freak tricks on me!"
Heart pounding louder and louder, I began to frantically examine my escape options. Three vampires stood immediately in the doorway. Four if Anne intervened. Two in the room with me. A bank of windows directly behind me -
"Sara, we're not affiliated with them," Mason tried to reason again.
Rage choked my throat. I pointed an accusatory finger at the painting instead.
"That was a snapshot in time. A decade or so after Paul was new and didn't understand what he was. Portrait's eyes have the silver bursts - please, examine it again-"
"Why are your eyes silver? It's not as if you don't drink human blood. You need to in order to survive."
"Those of us that no longer drink directly from the vein have this appearance," Mason explained quickly.
He rightfully glossed over the vampirism basics.
"The blood drives," I surmised, leaning back on my haunches as the conversation continued, "The killings in the mountains? What of those?"
"Not us. Even Samuel - the newest to our lifestyle - hasn't had an accident like that in years - "
"Accident?!" I hissed, the sound is metal-on-metal, grating and feral, "And don't you try to fool me. Samuel's the second-oldest among you."
Mason's face became strained with guilt, "Lifestyle as in: abstaining from killing and drinking directly from humans."
"Accidents!"
"Each of us has killed humans for one reason or another, aside from Paul. We do our best to reject our nature and to live peacefully with humans."
The heartbeat in my chest nearly drowned him out, but I listened raptly through wide, dilated eyes. Suddenly, a tremor wracked my legs and my knees gave out. I thudded to the floor with a panicked growl.
Mason stepped forward, but I bared my teeth once again.
"You're worked up," he said softly, hands still raised, "You need to take deep breaths."
A disturbance of air near the door alerted me to a newcomer.
"Let me through."
Paul's voice was calm, collected, but full of concern. He shouldered past Samuel and Kira, then slowed his gait as he approached me.
"Your heart and respiratory rates are far too high," he warned, raising his hands like Mason's, "If you don't calm, you'll pass out."
I swallowed, then gagged on my dry throat. Placing both palms on the hardwood, I dropped my head to try to breathe, but I couldn't slow the quick, shallow intakes of air.
"Hold your breath for a moment," Mason suggested.
"I... can't..." I rasped, feeling the dizziness truly set in.
"Let me help you."
I glared at him pitifully, then nodded. He approached, taking a knee beside me and lifting my chin with one hand.
"Ready?"
I nodded mutely.
His hand shifted to cover my mouth while the other pinched my nose. The panic was immediate, but I balled my hands into fists and fought the urge to wriggle away as he held steady. The seconds stretched as the air stagnated and cried out for release from my lungs, until it burned and screamed. Finally, he released me.
I gasp deeply for air, dropping my head again as the minty vampire scent washes through my nose and down my throat.
"There you go," Mason's voice is soft, yet broken.
His face, when I spared it a glance, ached with sadness.
"What are you going to do with me?" I demanded through heavy breaths.