Ferns lolloped in the cool breeze as Mason led the way along a deer path early Saturday morning. We'd been trekking since early-morning for a long while now, having taken a boat to Kachemak State Park.
I'd been a little flustered when I tottered groggily out of the car onto the docks of the marina in the shadowed morning hours. Mason had shunted me into a passenger's seat behind the helm, bundling me into a blanket despite my protests as he untied the docking lines all on his own.
The sun had finally graced the sky upon our arrival at the trailheads and after tying up the boat, we'd immediately gone off-trail. Just the two of us.
Anne had checked in with me about a chaperone yesterday as we were studying in Mason's room. To even my own surprise, I had declined her offer. I wasn't confident that I'd seen it the other day, but I thought there'd been a little smirk on the corner of Anne's lips as she'd left the room.
There were butterflies in my belly now. They'd started as soon as alone time with Mason became a reality. They weren't entirely unpleasant, however. I could probably still eat something come lunchtime.
I'd packed a hearty meal into the hiking pack Mason now wore slung over his back and clipped round front. He wore a deep navy t-shirt beneath an earth-tone utility jacket and a set of crisp cargo pants. Even the hiking boots lacked a speck of dirt.
"If those clothes had been worn before, you'd look more the part," I noted mildly.
I took a hefty step to follow him up a short, rocky incline.
"I have worn these before," he protested.
"I'm not convinced."
"Your skirt doesn't look like it's been worn very much."
"I did just buy it," I admitted, thumbing the wrap-waist.
"I just take good care of my clothes," he insisted, reaching a hand out for mine to help me the rest of the way.
"You're not cold?" he checked.
"Nope!"
I surreptitiously palmed the spot where a cold warding-glyph crisped upon my skin beneath my outerwear. The occasional, bitter wind that had chased us across the bay and into the coastal rainforest trees still grasped at my nape, but I no longer felt its sting. Mason's grip was warm despite the sleek, fleece-lined quarter zip that wrapped over my thumbs and onto my palms.
"So why do we need to be traditional?" I asked curiously, continuing along the little trail, "Why not cheat and use our abilities a little bit to get to... wherever we're going?"
"Would you like to cheat?"
"No."
"I figured as much, so we aren't."
"You're getting better at reading me," I allowed, pulling out my phone to snap a picture of the mountains across the way.
The little break in the trees was picturesque. These were smaller peaks than my homeland, still grand, but entirely blanketed from base to summit in distant triangular spikes of gigantic red cedars and firs.
"Why do you take so many photos?" Mason wondered, coming in close to inspect the shot over my shoulder.
"It doesn't come naturally," I murmured, pocketing the device and continuing on. "I only started doing it with any regularity since I came here."
He took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine as we continued onward. The little purse of his lips clued me into his curiosity.
"Life is short," I clarified with a shrug, watching the reddish needles and rich soil beneath my feet as we walked, "Even for creatures that are so-called immortal."
His hand squeezed mine as we lapsed into a dampened silence. The walking numbed my mind in a fuzzy way, letting the thoughts drift about without direction or emotion.
"I'm going to make Christmas gifts for my fishing group with those photos," I added after a long while, "Maybe Allie or Cat would appreciate something like that too... but teenage girls are a little harder to please than a bunch of old, nostalgic fishermen."
"Catalina would be fine with a mere fridge magnet," Mason said knowledgeably and with a touch of humor, "Not that Alissa wouldn't be but she'd probably like a collage. Something that's artful."
"That's good to know. But I feel like they need something more..."
"Catalina still feels indebted to you for the ghost incident."
I winced, "I'm partially at fault for the problem in the first place."
"Still, you got her and her sister to the hospital when her grandmother had been hurt. You heard her out when others were skeptical. That, and she's grateful for the gentle push you gave her toward Will. Their relationship is on track to be a very healthy one; both have very generous and open-mindsets."
"Well that last one is all you. Remember, I had you pinned as a mind-reader, so when you suggested that we invite Will to Kenai..."
"You picked up on that?"
"Of course," I shrugged, "I specialize more in vampires than other species so I knew how to get it out of you."
"Throughout my hundred years, I believed that vampires and were-animals were the only two things out there."
"Were-animals?" I giggled.
"Sorry, you call them skinchangers."
"Yes," I said, amused by his term, "I find it incredibly strange that you hadn't encountered ghosts. Vampires tend to attract the lost, vengeful souls of the dead. Their victims in particular."
"Well..." he hesitated, stepping over a felled log and lifting my hand to lead me over as well, "Paul has never messed up; he'd have no one to haunt him. Samuel is very reserved about his experiences and shies away from them even in his own mind.
"Kira, well, she'd regale you with her story of encountering a ghost though it wasn't one of her own victims. She doesn't feel the need to speak on or defend that part of her life, so she doesn't think about it.
"Claire and Leo have all had incidents where a lapse of control caused the death of an innocent, but each of them can tally their body count on one hand. And Anne... Anne's never fed from a human, but she's certainly killed a few."
"Oh," the breath escaped in one huff and despite the wrinkle of my nose I confessed, "That's actually... somewhat impressive. Not on the level of Paul's alleged surgical skills, but for one of your kind to kill without feeding is quite the feat."
"It's difficult to feed without killing, but very, very difficult to kill without feeding," he agreed mildly, "During my rebellion, there were those among my murderous quarry that disgusted me. I tried to refrain from consuming them, but the instinct of the hunt is incredibly powerful."
"She must've been... motivated," I breathed.
"She was. But it's her story to tell, not mine. All of this to say that only two or three of us have a high chance of attracting ghosts. I haven't experienced the phenomenon myself, but I kept moving from place to place to stay ahead of the hunters. Perhaps I left the apparitions behind."
The mossy trees grew sparser now, the excessive green beginning to give way a bit. The slope steepened and the canopy rose higher above our heads. The undergrowth expanded a little higher too, no longer choked out by fluffy green epiphytes.
"Is that..." I paused, staring at a fan of oval leaves. They're larger than I was used to seeing, but familiar, "Rhododendron?"
"I don't know my plants, sorry," Mason apologized, coming over to inspect alongside me, "That's Kira's area of expertise. You like them?"
"Yes," I breathed, "We had them everywhere in our gardens."
"What flowers do you like to receive in bouquets?"
"I suppose I'd like to be surprised. What kind do you like?"
"I'm not much a fan of bouquets," he admitted sheepishly, "Kira gave me a snake plant that's still alive. I suppose I like plants that tolerate me."
"The fact that Kira is a green-thumb is very curious. Plants tend to wither in the presence of vampires."
"Most tend to wither in my care," he mumbled.
"I think that might be a you problem," I laughed, rubbing his shoulder consolingly.
"I don't see you gardening."
"I used to with one of my cousins. But I just did what she asked."
He glanced over, as if expecting me to say more, but sighed and stared ahead when I didn't. I tried to quell the ruffling irritation in my belly.
"Where are we going?" I asked again instead.
"You will see. Be patient."
I flicked him on the shoulder. He simply smirked.
"Hey," I probed, staring at his back as he led on, "Why do vampires seek out relationships?"
"What do you mean? It's natural."
"Yes, but you're unnatural."
"You can't be serious."
"I have theories, but I want to hear your perspective."
He began to scale a short root-ball over a rock outcropping. I paused to watch him, the way his firm, wiry muscles pushed him upward with ease. Over one shoulder, he glanced back at my hesitation. His wide hands were already hooked over the upper lip of the outcropping, and I started, quickly following his lead.
"Even you," I continued haltingly, "after waiting for a hundred or so years, seem to finally be seeking out something more."
"No one caught my attention," he said simply, taking a knee at the crest and extending a hand down to me. I took it and, effortlessly, he lifted me all the way to the top. "I told you."
"I was asking more generally."
"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, "Why do we seek companionship if it's non-productive?"
"More than that. Love is unique to humans."
"Animals have mated pairs too," he pointed out.
"Mated pairs," I echoed, "Humans don't usually refer to their partners as mates. Vampires do. My kind do. Many other supernaturals do. So maybe we're more like animals than humans."
"It's all love, regardless of what you call it."
"I think there's a lot of instinct involved in non-humans."
"If you're arguing that instinct - I'm assuming the drive toward procreation - cheapens 'love' then vampires should have a more valid version of love than even humans."
I pursed my lips at this, thoughtful, "But, then again, what's the purpose of love if not for procreation?"
"That's a question that's transcended centuries," he chuckled, "Are we only considering romantic love in this discussion?"
"For simplicity, yes."
"Neither vampires nor your kind experience a lesser kind of love simply because it might be more..."
He cocked his head thinking before revising, "You know, I don't believe there is any difference between supernatural and human romantic connections. Why would you say there is?"
"Looking at the bare statistics, there's clear differences. Many supernaturals take mates for life. Non-monogamous exceptions usually remain within the constraints of consent between the mates. This is in comparison to humans that experience high discord and high divorce rates."
"Exceptions; you mean... swinging?" he wondered.
"I think that's the modern term for it, yes."
He wrinkled his nose and grimaced.
"Uh-oh," I chuckled, "What's wrong?"
"I don't like listening to the thoughts of human swingers," he admitted, upper lip curling, "There's a lot of messiness that goes on."
"You specified human swingers..." I pointed out, raising my eyebrows and he suddenly became tight-lipped, "So one or more of your family pairs participates: got it."
He stared straight ahead as I attempted to keep pace with him, smirking as I walked.
"Anne is far too possessive to allow something like that," I deduced, trotting onward, undeterred, "Paul and Claire strike me as vanilla. My guess is Kira and Samuel."
Mason let out a low, barely-audible growl of frustration.
"I've kept that secret from the rest of the family for the near-sixty years since they joined us!"
"My lips are sealed," I chuckled, miming locking them, "But I'm curious: what rules - "
"Those are personal to them."
I chuckled, but didn't press the subject further. Deep behind the clouds, the sun was making its way up in the sky. It turned the gray blanket more luminous.
"Those statistics you cited aren't in your favor. They suggest that supernaturals are far more loyal to each other than humans. That we experience a more valid love."
I shook my head.
"The vast majority of humanoid supernaturals began first as humans then gave up their humanity to become something other. I wonder if, as a result, our freedom of choice is more restricted than it is in humans due to the less-present humanity. Thus, our loyalty to each other isn't love; it's instinct. It's not our choice. It's not... real."
"It's still not clear to me how your humanity is missing."
"There are a few tells."
Silence stretched. To his credit, Mason's expression remained neutral instead of lapsing toward frustration this time. I sighed, and decided to out with it.
"There are a few facets of our humanity that we've lost. Some affect the clan equally, others come down harder on certain individuals."
"I thought humanity was given up on an individual basis."
"Our magic is ancestral and blood-linked, thus the burden of humanity-loss can be distributed among the collective."
"Interesting," he murmured, tilting his head to inspect my darkened expression as I continued.
"Some among my kind are more affected than others. Especially in the 'love' department."
Something in his expression resolved, "I suppose that would make you question the 'love' involved. So how does it work for you?"
"There's a scale of 'determination' with regard to various mating systems among supernaturals. Humans don't have mates, witches don't have mates, but among the species that do it's a bit of a sliding-scale.
"Vampires are the looser end of that sliding scale. A vampire finds someone that interests him or her, just like humans do, and get to know them. Once they've decided, that's it. There's no going back, there's no thought of divorce, it's an invisible bond that, once formed, stays in place until death."
"Sometimes beyond that," Mason noted.
"What do you mean?"
"I've known vampires to kill themselves after the death of their mate," he admitted softly.
"Yes," I agreed, cringing, "It's a very strong bond. But it's one that can be formed again. In our studies we've found vampire widows and widowers that take on mates again. Regardless about how I feel toward vampires, some things just aren't worth killing yourself over."
He gazed down at me, shock fizzling on his expression, but the longer he looked upon me the more the electric green in his eyes softened.
"I suppose I'd want my partner to find happiness again, too," he said finally.
I smiled, squeezing his hand. His emerald eyes probed my expression as we paused, looking out over the mountain range from the line of a low cliff. The range still swelled out before us. Some of the summits crested like large green waves, but we were on a more even-footing with them now. They weren't nearly as all-consuming as they had been on the valley-floor.
"You may continue," Mason prompted.
"On the opposite end of the mating scale are the instant-mates."
"That side of the scale sounds like love at first sight."
"It is," I muttered, my mouth a thin line, "It's more commonly associated with fertile supernatural species: in opposition to vampires that are non-fertile."
"That's what your kind do?"
"On rare occasions," I said softly, focusing on my feet. The terrain was becoming steadily rockier beneath our feet now. "Like I said, the burden of lost humanity is distributed unequally among the lot of us. Setting aside my people for a moment, you have to realize that love at first sight is, inherently, a deeply frightening phenomenon."
"Why?"
"You seriously can't think of all the ways it could go wrong?" I countered.
He hesitated, gaze fixed on the parting of trees ahead.
"Think of the worst criminal you've ever killed," I prompted.
His expression darkened.
"Losing your freedom to choose your own partner is a form of lost humanity," I asserted.
"Have you seen that happen?" he pressed, then started as he realized something, "Have you...?"
"The majority of my kind is somewhere in the middle of the scale," I continued, setting aside his question for the time being, "We encounter certain people that, if we're not careful, we fall head over heels for. But we don't have to choose them; we can walk away."
"Do you feel this for me?" he asked softly, his deep voice rough with emotion.
Quickly, I intertwined his fingers with mine, "Yes."
"But I can't give you children..."
"Doesn't matter," a bitter taste rose in the back of my mouth as I skirted around the topic, "At any rate, the majority of pairings among my kind occur slowly and with choice involved."
"So, then, for the minority of pairings among your kind?"
"They tend more toward the instant-mates side of the scale because of their heightened fertility. Not so bad as that, but close. It causes a lot of trouble for them. And it's rough on the families they create."
My throat thickened.
"The way you speak of these people, their families," he started thoughtfully, "And your mention of wanting to become a labor and delivery nurse-"
"You remember that?"
He scoffed, "Of course; are those two things related?"
"Yes," I said firmly but simply, "These women need all the support we can garner."
"Women?"
"It's a gender-specific phenomenon."
"I see... what about it makes it frightening? You said they have less choice in their partner, but they still do have some choice. If your family is involved, then their partners can be vetted. You can be relatively sure that she doesn't fall in love with someone terrible."
"The randomness by which these people are chosen is also what's frightening. What if you suddenly have less choice in your romantic life than your peers? In your fertility?"
"That would be tough."
I let out a humorless chuckle, "It changes your mindset, of course, when the hormones kick-in to change an ordinary woman of my kind into... well... but still, to have your will forcibly changed by some random biological-magical occurrence is violating."
"You said yourself that you may want kids-"
"What I want for myself versus looking at something with an objective eye are two separate matters," I said crispy.
Mason contemplated this for a few steady paces. He stared up to the sky where the obscured sun was likely beginning its descent now.
"So... fertility?" he wondered, the discomfort finally beginning to rise in his expression. "How many children do they have?"
"The record was seventy-two by a patient of mine, Camille. I was there at every birth."
Mason's jaw dropped, "How?"
"They have twins and triplets each time."
"You mentioned that your cousins were triplets," he realized.
"Yes," I confirmed, a bittersweet smile quirking my lips, "They were the daughters of my friend, Abrielle. I took them in."
"Your friend...?"
I nodded, but he let that part be.
"What happened to her?"
"Suicide," I admitted softly.
"Why?"
"The hormones, postpartum depression and perhaps even psychosis... among other things."
He looked at me to elaborate, but I didn't. The trees broke. Before us spanned a wide meadow of grasses. It was fringed by an out-of-season scrub of bushes basking tentatively in the chilly breeze. We could see the summit now through the sparser trees. This mountain Mason had chosen was a bit taller than the others with a purplish summit. The top was still a way off, but the end was in sight.
"To have that many children," he started, pausing in the brush and inspecting the meadow as I snapped a photo of it, "These mothers couldn't have spent much time with their children."
"No," I confirmed, moving to root through the bag he carried for water, "Abrielle birthed thirteen children during her time; that's approximately the average for these women."
"If you took in her triplets, what happened to the others?"
I took measured sips. He sensed my reluctance and by the horror dawning in his eyes, he was misinterpreting. I told the truth.
"I raised them," I said simply, "All of them. With the help of Bruno and my parents."
"So... where are they now-?"
"Those memories hurt," I muttered sharply, capping the water bottle pointedly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, tentatively reaching out a pair of fingers to brush my arm from shoulder to wrist. I bit my lip, but reached my fingers to catch and intertwine with his. He tilted his body forward, seeking permission to continue onward. I leaned with him and we entered the dry grass side-by-side.
"What about their father?"
My mouth drew into a line and I shook my head as my stomach turned. Curiosity buzzed from Mason's sideways glances, but subsided as he realized that I wasn't going to elaborate.
The views were becoming spectacular; an ocean of mountains waving all the way along the foggy horizon. They were all deep blues and watery greens, misty and fuzzy now in my broadened perspective. Some crested like foam-topped waves with snow on their wrinkled peaks and nostalgia washed over me.
"Sara," Mason called and I started, realizing he'd stepped away from the deer path we'd been following to the peak.
Curious, I followed suit, taking his hand once more.