7. Dressed to Kill

Laura - Her apartment

The doorbell rings. I place the leather bookmark and close the book.

As I unlock the door, Alisa bursts out of her room, TV noises in the background. She’s always curious, and I’ve already stopped telling her that’s what killed the cat.

A young man stares at me with a package in his arms. “Laura Nedelcu?”

“Yes,” I reply as I realize he’s a wolf. His mind is closed shut to my power.

"This is for you." His veins bulge as my palm brushes over his fingers to take the package. It must be the dress for the party.

The intensity of this wolf's stare hit me like a club. He would love to kill me and I would let him. Too bad he isn't the alpha I need. He'll just end up like the others who tried over the decades: a rabid, mindless beast.

Alisa admires the man's pert ass as he walks away.

“Ewww!” I scowl and close the door. 

Alisa’s neck stretches to see more of him, up to the moment the door is completely closed and I turn around. I swear, if she weren’t dead already, she would have snapped her neck.

She licks her lips. ‘He had long fingers. I bet he has something else big too. Oh, I’d suck it like a lollipop–’

“Alisa!” I interrupt her perverted thoughts, hugging the package at my chest.

“What? I didn’t say it aloud.” She places her hands on her hips. Her jet-black hair falls off over her shoulders from the messy bun. “Stop meddling inside my mind. I can’t stop my thoughts. I haven’t had sex for a week.”

"You know I have to focus in order not to hear them. And I was not expecting to listen to that!"

“You’re such a prude. How long has it been since your last good fuck?”

“Stop right there, Alisa. I don’t want to have this conversation.” Bumping my shoulder into hers, I go to my room. “I have to get ready for the party.”

Once in my bedroom, I throw the package onto the bed and go to the window. The apartment rent is cheap because not many want to have a view like this. The graveyard stretches so far that I can barely see from the fifth floor the blocks on the other side of it.

For me, this image helps soothe my nerves, something I need quite often since I’ve turned Alisa into a strigoi. She’s reckless, selfish, and childish, but I can sense the good in her. Though I don’t think she will ever understand me. 

There was a time when I tried to make sense of this extended lifespan. I wanted to carve a new and bright life for myself and create the future I wanted. But hearing others' thoughts is a daily whiplash, a reminder of how people really are. Going out on a date with a handsome young man with impeccable manners goes out in a bust when I hear how he wants to fuck me as I barely take a seat.

I don't have the strength to hope for a different outcome. I am who I am, and only death can change that. Who I am, who I should be, and who I want to be are all blurred. I don't want to live if it means repeating the same awful cycle over and over again. I'm not going to keep putting on a happy front for an empty soul.

Being around wolves is refreshing because I can’t hear their thoughts. Yet, I can’t relax around them. Their spiteful glares mirror my thoughts about myself. They see me as I truly am: an abomination, a thing which shouldn’t be walking on this earth. 

I shut my eyes and recall Paul's stare. I've met a lot of wolves, but his gaze is different. Yes, he looked at me with suspicion and mistrust, but there was no hatred or desire to murder me. I'll show him my darkest side if I really must. He has to despise me, just like the other wolves, or he will not kill me.

The clock is ticking, and it's nearly nighttime. I open the box to find a stunning black gown that is much more exquisite than anything I've ever worn. Under my fingertips, the delicate cloth feels silky as I pull it out.

A piece of paper slips out of the folds of the garment and lands on the floor. I take it up and begin reading it. I sigh hard when I notice it's only the address of the party and the time the event starts, then I laugh. I was expecting another "love letter" from Paul.

I’m all done after half an hour. The dress fits me like it was meant for my body. I wonder how he managed to get my measurements. When I go shopping, I can never pick something up without trying it on first. Wolf magic, I guess.

A pair of black high-heels finishes the look. I put on some eyeliner to make my turquoise eyes pop and a blood-red lipstick for impact. A few hairbrushes later, I’m ready to party. Looking in the mirror, the difference between how I feel and how I look strikes me.

Alisa is likewise all dressed up, wearing a far too short skirt and a tank top as I step out of my room. She has an approving grin on her face. "Damn, girl! You're dressed to kill."

“I hope it will be the other way around.”

“Oh, party pooper.” She shakes her head and follows me out of the apartment.

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Girl, the way you look is to die for. I have to make sure you get to the party since that asshole didn’t send a car.”

I guess Paul didn’t think a strigoi would have trouble arriving safely. But since I don’t want to have this discussion – or any discussion – now, I simply nod and let her follow me.

As we approach the city center, display windows show the newest trends and most sought-after attire. Mannequins stand in frozen splendor for individuals who won't look twice. Old apartment buildings, shopping malls, and new office towers soar over the street, giving the impression that Bucharest is bigger than life.

The double glass doors expose a gentle light of dazzling chandeliers. A cacophony of music and voices comes from within.

“I have safely arrived at the party.”

“Good.” Alisa stabs me in the shoulder with one slender, manicured fingernail. She points to my left with her chin. “See those two?”

I turn around. There is the man who delivered the dress and another one I think I’ve seen before while stalking Paul.

“Yeah, they’re wolves. Don’t mess with them.”

Alisa takes a cigarette out of her purse. “I’m a big girl.” She winks and goes toward the men. “Hey, guys! Do any of you have a lighter?”

As I push open the door to the ballroom, I wonder if Alisa will live longer as a strigoi than as a human. Somehow I doubt it.