14. The Tree Bark

Paul - Sohodol Canyon

As I stretch my numb limbs, the sun shines on my face. I grimace, wondering how I ended up sleeping on the grass. My wolf is happy with the outcome, my back not so much. Scrubbing my eyes, I see Laura’s face from last night. She looked so lonely and scared of being alone, so I remained outside, not even getting my sleeping bag. I’m such a retard sometimes. I guess the splinter from the bark does not fall far from the tree.

(In Romanian, the saying “The splinter from the bark doesn’t fall far from the tree” has the same meaning just that instead of the proverbial apple is a splinter from the bark.)

Under the generally well-dressed Paul Mateescu, the cool-headed CEO, still lurks the adolescent who watched his mother forsake his father for a wealthier man. I vowed never to allow a woman to do that to me after I saw my father cry.

However, this did not prevent me from falling in love and being discarded. The wolf needs a mate and continues nagging me to find one. He doesn't realize that when I fall in love, I'm terribly lame, and women take advantage of guys like me. Never, ever again.

Stretching my whole body to get the blood pumping, I find Laura. The river chiseled large caves through which a person can stroll at ease without even bending. She’s inside such a cavern, reading on a rock with her feet into the stream.

It takes me a while to realize I'm holding my breath. I exhale heavily and go to the river to wash my face and cool myself off. After I take out my shirt to not get it wet, I splash the chilly mountain spring water over my face and chest. Then I go into the sun to let it all evaporate. 

When I feel like myself again, I turn to Laura, and an outright laugh ignites in my throat. Judging by the way she looks at me and the bite on her lower lip, I'd say I have an impact on her too. As if nothing had happened, she returns her gaze to the book.

“Let’s go,” I say, taking on my shirt. “Weren’t you the one eager to get our search started?”

She comes to the tent, drops the book inside, and closes the zipper at the entrance. “Now it’s safe if it rains.”

We discover a zigzagged trail through the trees that leads us up the mountain. The grass is shorter, and the shadows are thicker under the tree canopy. I smell the odors that permeate the forest around me, looking for anything out of place. But the lilac scent obscures everything, interfering with my tracking efforts.

“Let’s split up to cover more ground,” I suggest only to have her as far from me as possible.

With a nod, Laura turns to the right. As she goes away, the lilac aroma fades. I stand there staring at her, surprised at how effectively she climbs in those sandals while grasping the hem of her dress. Since she is a strigoi, I should have expected she wouldn't need any special equipment for a mountain trek.

It’s afternoon already. I’ve searched all day long without any success. My wolf is displeased that we’ll be tired by the time when the full moon will release him in his true form. He likes to run and feel the freedom of these nights, and I enjoy being there for the ride.

A peculiar aroma comes from below. I climb down to the riverbank, but I lose the scent. The river washes away the remnants of someone’s passage. Nervous, I shake my head and sigh when a dash of lilac approaches.

What kind of perfume is so strong even after more than half a day? Has she reapplied it now? Did she carry it with her all day long? I’m exhausted and pissed off, not to mention fed up with this strigoi and her affairs.

When I see her, I burst out, growling. “Did you have to use perfume today? What’s the point when there’s only us two around?”

“I don’t wear any perfume.” She steps in front of me, taking the lead.

I can’t have her lying in my face like that. I grab her wrist and spin her around. For a tiny second, her copper hair seems to fly and glitters in a stray beam of light. I hold her still as I brush my nose over her neck, from her collarbone to her ear. 

There are usually different substances I can sense in a perfume, the chemicals they put in to make the scent stand out. None of them are present on her skin. I seize her hair and press it over my face. The lilac is there too. 

Dazzled and enchanted, I let my nose roam across her forehead, between her eyebrows, and down the line of her nose. I come to a halt when our lips are nearly touching. The lilac aroma has intensified, and I'm sure her lips taste delicious. I press my brow against hers. My hand tightens around her hair.

Through my rapid breathing, I manage to whisper, “What are you?”

“An abomination.” 

Her hair is still in my hand when I move my palm closer to her face, my thumb caressing her cheek. Her skin is soft, and I want to touch more of it. My finger moves closer to her lips, but I somehow find enough strength to stop and walk away. I feel something inside me breaking for not going any further. I can’t remember ever wanting someone so badly. 

“Yes, you’re right. As sure as hell you’re an abomination,” I say with my back to her. My heart sinks in dismal despair. I hate myself for saying this, but there’s no other way. If I'm ever to consider her anything more than a strigoi, then I'm the abomination.