Destined to Kill: A Destined Novel (Destined Novels Book 1) (11 page)

The rest of the weekend was uneventful–thank God. There were no more lapses in memory (that I know of anyway), no more creepy texts. I'm feeling fine despite everything that's going on. A little...worn out. It was another feeling I wasn't used to. That seems to be happening a lot these days and that, too, is pissing me off. To say I'm a control freak is an understatement, so I need to get back in control of my life.

This morning is dragging. Mondays usually do, but this is ridiculous. I can't seem to concentrate on anything. At least Amanda is talking to me again after verifying my story with Zac. I should be mad that she didn't just believe me, but, honestly, I have more important things to worry about. I just have to get through English class and then I'll finally get to history class.

"You mourning?"

I glance up to see Zac standing in front of me. He was smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. I know he's thinking about the last time we were together. Looking in his eyes, I can tell it was all he had been thinking about all weekend.

"Excuse me?"

"All black today. You don't see that much here in Cali. Usually people go for light colors."

My black slacks and black buttoned up shirt were comfortable for me. More so than the bright colors Zac spoke about. "I'm not that usual."

"
Isn't that the truth
." He says it under his breath, but it's loud and clear to me. I pretend not to hear him. No reason to make it even worse between us. "Black looks good on you. It makes your eyes look almost silver. It's nice."

"Thanks. Look, Zac, about the other night..."

"Don't. Nothing happened. It's all good."

He smiles a little and then walks away. I always thought Zac Connor was a bit self-absorbed. I didn't realize until just then what a good guy he really was.

"You okay with going in here? I mean, you're not still creeped out by Mr. Galloway are you?" Amanda is one of those who wore the bright colors you were supposed to wear. Her hot pink skirt with a soft pink baby tee was enough to make me sick to my stomach. Maybe it was because it reminded me of a certain antacid.

"Nah, I got this." My smile is confident and cheerful. When you spend most of your life pretending you're something you're not, a fake smile is child's play. I glance in Galloway's direction and sure enough he was watching me. I match his gaze, turning up the heat, until he looks away. It seems I've succeeded at making him a little uncomfortable today. Ironically, I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or more confused about what was going on.

"Have a seat ladies and gentlemen."

Mr. Galloway stands and walks to the front of his desk. He looks the epitome of a teacher with his khaki pants and Argyle sweater vest over a light blue, long sleeved shirt. He's one of the younger teachers here, and with his light brown hair and hazel eyes, I would've thought he was good-looking enough if it weren't for that bit of spit on his bottom lip that stretched each time he spoke.

"Today we're going to do something a bit different. We're going to learn about vampires."

If it were possible, my heart would've stopped beating at that moment. The weirdness is getting absurd and, seriously, enough is enough.

I raise my hand. "Mr. Galloway, this is history class not science fiction."

"Science fiction, Ms. Gale?"

"Vampires do not exist. History class is about what happened in the past, not about fictional monster stories."

I can hear the murmurs of those around me. They know, as well as I do, that this was the longest conversation anyone has actually had with Galloway.

"Vampires have not been discounted, Ms. Gale. Even if there's not much proof they existed, there's also no proof that they didn't. It is said that Vlad the Impaler was a vampire."

"Seriously? Vlad was a power hungry monster who killed innocent people whom he thought challenged his authority. He killed children and women. He may have fed the flesh of his victims to their friends and relatives, but it was never said that he drank the blood of his victims."

"You seem to know a lot about Vlad, Ms. Gale."

"I know history, Mr. Galloway. Real history."

"Then you know Vlad was the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula."

"That is also speculation. Bram didn't know much about Vlad. By your standards, you must think that Bram's novel is a true depiction of vampires."

"I think, of course, that there are a lot of fabricated instances in the book. However, I do believe there are parts of truths."

"Then you're an idiot."

Gasps came from all around me.

"You are out of line, Ms. Gale." I notice that when Mr. Galloway is upset, the spittle on his lip sprayed.

"Mr. Galloway, you are trying to teach these kids about monsters that do not exist. I can't imagine that this is on your list of curriculum to teach."

"Who is the teacher here? Can you say for certain that vampires in fact do
not
exist–Ms. Gale?" It's the way he pauses before saying my name, the way he looks at me that sends chills down my spine. It renders me speechless. There's nothing I can say to that, no way for me to answer. So I sit quietly, waiting, while he passes out literature on the 'undead'. It seems the rest of the class is genuinely quite excited to be reading about something other than "boring old stuff".

He stops at my desk and lays a very old copy of Bram Stoker's
Dracula
in front of me. It's a first edition. In fact, it is one of the first copies ever published. I know this because it's mine.

"Where did you get this?"

"I know you've probably read this already, but perhaps you could read it again. Just as a refresher." It's all he says before giving me a creepy smile and going back to his desk.

I don't open it–yes, I'm stubborn. I refuse to be intimidated by this new, weird Mr. Galloway. I don't know what happened to him, but I'm going to find out in–I check my watch–twenty more minutes. Geez, sometimes time could go by so tortuously slow.

I turn around and reach for the note that Amanda was in the midst of passing to me. I don't pay attention to the shocked look on her face. She's wondering how I even knew she was about to tap me on the shoulder, but I'm too engrossed in my own thoughts to worry about it.

"
Are you crazy? Why did you argue with Mr. Galloway like that? At least now we can read something interesting!"
I have to read the note three times–just can't concentrate.

"Like I told him, this isn't science fiction class. I don't think it's right to make us read about a history or characters that didn't exist. Interesting or not."
I pass the note back to her, rolling my eyes at her annoyed look. When I get the piece of paper back I know for certain Amanda is annoyed.

"
There's something weird going on with you. You've changed. Let me know when you see my best friend again."

Before I can respond, the bell signaling the end of class began to ring. I don't move.

"You coming?" I'm surprised that Amanda is speaking to me at all.

"No. I need to speak to Galloway first."

"I kinda enjoy this new reading material. I mean, seriously, it's entertaining. Don't ruin it." With that, Amanda walks out.

I wait until Amanda closes the door, then turn my attention to Mr. Galloway. He rises from his seat and addresses me.

"Would you like to argue further about my choice in curriculum, Ms. Gale?"

"I would like to know where you got my book,
Mr. Galloway.
" I watch him carefully, trying to see any little thing that would alert me to what was going on. He turns quickly, however, so I don't see anything.

He begins erasing words on the white board. To me, it seems like busy work. It's like he's trying to avoid having to have a face to face conversation with me. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Anala."

It takes me half a second to realize what he called me. It takes me the other half of the second to reach him. With my hand around his neck and his feet inches off the ground, my eyes bore into his.

"Who are you?"

Though he looks scared, he seems even more interested my strength and speed.

"Who are you!" I repeat. I grit my teeth, hoping it helps keep me in control.

"You know who I am. I'm Jared Galloway..."

"Stop lying!" I tighten my grip, knowing I could squeeze just a little harder and snap his neck. "Tell me who you are or I swear I will break you."

"I can't breathe, Anala, please!" He grips my wrist with both of his hands and fights with every bit of strength he has. It makes no difference as I don't budge. I won't until I know how he knows my name.

"We've met, Anala. You were younger, then, but you know me!" His voice is strained, trying to take in even the tiniest of breath.

Younger? That's not possible. No one is alive from when I was younger. I look into his eyes, past the teacher, into his soul. I remember the week before when I had felt a familiar feeling as he looked at me. In that moment, it hit me. I
did
know him! I loosen my grip and set him down.

"
Bernard?
" Even to my own ears my voice sounds small and almost inaudible. I take a step away from him, refusing to believe my own eyes. "How? Why?" So many questions run through my head, and yet I can't form more than these two words.

"I know you need answers, Anala, so do I. I thought you had
died
centuries ago." He rubs his neck. "I must finish the day as this Galloway, and then I will be free to meet with you to discuss everything."

Galloway. If this isn't my teacher, where is he? Yeah, he was a loner and a bit of a bore, but I don't want anything to happen to him. "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

"He is well. I did not hurt him. I just needed to get into this class. There is a reason I chose this man, but I cannot explain, yet."

My head is spinning. Some of what was happening to me began to make sense. The intensified hunger, the odd dreams. I must have recognized Bernard from the beginning; I just couldn't let my mind accept the possibility. Most of what was happening made no sense at all. Bernard shouldn't be here.

"Your explanation better come quick, Bernard. I have no patience left for everything I'm feeling."

I didn't wait for his response. Now that I know who he is, it only confused me more. I need to get away from him before I do–or become–something I don't want.

I stand in front of the enormous house, just looking at it. It looks more like a castle–minus the moat. It almost makes me laugh how stereotypical it is. The thirty thousand square foot home stood sprawled on hundreds of acres of plush green land. At least it wasn't sitting atop of a dark mountain with black clouds, rain and lightning flashing every few seconds to show a sinister, dilapidated, haunted mansion.

This house could be a home. It was open, airy and inviting despite its enormity. Yes, the gray stone it was built with lent it a cold exterior, but inside is full of warmth. I made sure of that when I designed the place. I walk through the gates that kept curious out, and up the long, well-manicured walkway. I'm smart enough to keep the curious out, but let the landscapers and maintainers of the house in. No need to let something so grand fall apart. Obviously, since I'm here now, it was great foresight on my part.