Darker Than Red
For a moment, I almost reached for her, wanting to hold her, but then a memory flashed—a moment at the ice cream parlor, when she clung to me, calling me *Xanthe*.
“Was it because of Xanthe?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Her sobs deepened, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to look away from her pain.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… please, don’t kill me,” she choked out, her eyes squeezed shut, tears falling freely.
I frowned, bewildered. “Kill you? Why would I—” I stopped myself, the realization dawning. Did she know? Did she know what I was? Did she know I was a vampire?
Sikat na Kabanata