Chapter 18

Nicholas Shaw's POV

Greg is fifteen minutes late again. Not the first time, as far as I can remember, Greg has always been late. I exhale in frustration, shifting my gaze from the wristwatch to one of the doors of the Four Seasons hotel restaurant. We have lunch appointments every few weeks. Initially, Alice used to join us until recently when she rarely showed up, probably due to her new job.

Impatiently, my fingers tap on the table covered with ivory-white linen. I'd prefer spending this afternoon at the office rather than waiting for Greg here, but lunch was his idea. A crystal vase filled with a few stems of red roses sits in the center of the table. My eyes fixate on the deep red petals, almost like the color of blood.

Warm and thick blood.

I swallow my saliva to moisten my dry throat. When was the last time I had a drink?

Ah, five days ago.

I've managed to hold off for five days. Volders usually last only two days. My longest record is one week. After that, my instincts kick in automatically to hunt for the nearest human blood.

Volder is a mass killing machine. I smile to myself, but only a cold feeling follows. This time, I have to endure for more than a week, but I need Eric's help to monitor me. I close my eyes briefly, savoring the burning sensation in my throat. Of course, I haven't informed Greg about my recent 'diet'; he would just ruin my mood with his annoying opinions. Then he'd blame Eleanor.

Thinking of that name still has the same effect as a year ago.

"Eleanor, Eleanor, Eleanor," I mutter, still staring at the rose petals in front of me.

Calling her name always triggers a strange sensation within me. I like it when the tip of my tongue touches the roof of my mouth while saying her name. E-le-a-nor.

Her face always appears when I close my eyes. Memories of kissing her haunt my dreams for the past year. Her soft, full lips, surprised amber eyes, and the withheld breath...

Sometimes, these dreams turn into uncontrollable fantasies during my sleep. I dream of tracing her delicate jawline and relishing the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck. One hand cups her peacefully closed eyes, while the other delves into the sea of her soft auburn hair. And if I'm lucky in that dream, I can feel her warm skin and the delightful scent of her blood seeping through her skin.

Once, I even dreamt of sinking both my fangs into the pulse at her neck. The sharp tips piercing her skin like a knife through butter, and the thick blood flowing into my mouth, causing my entire body to tense with pleasure. The sounds of Eleanor's moans seemed like the most beautiful music in my ears.

When I wake up, for the first time in the last couple of centuries, my body feels more alive. I don't remember when I last felt that way, maybe when I was still 80 years old. After that, I decided not to drink blood directly from humans and chose celibacy.

For Volders, drinking blood directly from the source is the highest pleasure that cannot be replaced. To enhance the quality and pleasure of blood, our victims usually have to experience certain emotions, whether it's terror or ecstasy. We usually opt for the easier one, which is ecstasy. Hence, for us, sex and food are a difficult pair to separate.

Greg is the only one who managed to separate sex and food. I don't know how or why he does it. To me, it looks like torture.

Greg, you bastard, I think again. He's really late. I should be in the office right now; at least work could distract me from my thirst.

I stand up from my seat, pull out two bills, and leave them on the table. I button my jacket before heading towards the exit. The restaurant is not as busy as before, given the lunch hour has passed. A waitress thanks me as I walk by.

My steps halt upon hearing a faint feminine laughter. It takes me two seconds to convince myself that the sound is not just my imagination.

I know she's in Manhattan for a friend's wedding, at least for two days. Eric still provides me with updates whenever needed, but he didn't inform me that the wedding was taking place at this hotel.

The laughter grows closer. I can also hear Miss Morrel talking. The last time I saw her in person was three months ago, passing by in front of the Wine boutique when I visited San Francisco. Of course, she didn't recognize me then because I had erased her memory; she didn't even glance at me.

The bellboy standing in front of the restaurant gives me a questioning look, but I ignore him. Slowly, I turn my body to look back into the restaurant. She just sat at a table opposite mine. Both of her amber eyes meet mine even though she's talking to Miss Morrel. I don't know when she started staring at me.

For a moment, I can't take my eyes off her.

Her auburn wavy hair is slightly longer than a year ago. I've always wondered what it feels like to run my fingers through her strands. Standing here, looking at her for just a few seconds, makes me forget my surroundings. She still looks the same; the only difference is... she doesn't remember me.

I remember the first time I saw her vividly. She always thought we met for the first time when she almost got hit by a car. But that wasn't the first time for me. That morning, I was supposed to be at the courthouse, but Greg replaced me due to a tight meeting schedule. And I have to thank Greg for that. If he hadn't replaced me, maybe I wouldn't have seen her that morning. And if I hadn't seen her that morning, maybe I wouldn't have met her and saved her that evening.

I remember it very clearly when she stood next to my car, looking around with a slightly lost expression before finally locking eyes with me through the car window. For a moment, I almost thought she could see me, then I remembered the SUV's tinted windows that make it impossible to see from the outside. She looked straight at me, her golden eyes visible in the sunlight. Amber. I had never seen such a beautiful eye color before.

For a few moments, I could only stare into her eyes. Her reddish-brown hair was neatly tied, although I could see a few strands escaping. Suddenly, she smiled, for the second time I thought she could see me. She had a slightly stubborn expression on her graceful face, but that contrast only made it harder for me to look away.

I never judged women before; in my eyes, all humans were the same— a source of food. But I knew Eleanor was different even from the first time I saw her. She was a magnet for creatures like me.

"Sir?" the bellboy who was previously in front of the door is now beside me. I glance at him and smile faintly. I turn my body back to the restaurant. She has just sat down at one of the tables across from mine. Both of her amber eyes return my gaze even though she's talking to Miss Morrel. I don't know when she started staring in my direction.

For a moment, I can't divert my gaze from her.

Eric is still in my office when I return. His expressionless face greets me along with a stack of new files. However, I don't want to look at those files, not right now.

I slump onto the sofa in my office, resting my head back. "Eric, I need blood." My breath starts to wheeze, unintentionally. Typically, this effect surfaces after a week, not five days.

"You said—"

"Please," I cut him off before he reminds me of my 'diet.' Eric is Alice's former butler from Russia, but he was once human. After I turned him, he started working for me.

In my entire existence, I've only turned two humans, and I've never regretted turning Eric. I granted him full trust, and in return, he never disappointed me. In this world, perhaps only Eric, Greg, and Alice could kill me.

Eric hands me a full bottle of wine mix from the storage cabinet in my office. I drink it straight from the bottle. The burning sensation in my throat gradually fades after the bottle in my hands is empty. However, the emptiness it leaves in my chest persists. That emptiness never fades.

Greg shows up in my office an hour after office hours. I don't lift my head even a bit when he enters, and he knows the reason.

"Sorry, Nick," he mutters as he takes a seat in front of my desk. "They held me back. Paul forced me to accompany him for drinks."

"At least you could've called me," I respond without looking up from my work.

"Oh... Yeah. Sorry." But Greg doesn't sound apologetic at all. He never regrets anything in his life. I exhale and finally glance at him after a while. "Eleanor is in Manhattan."

He leans back in his chair, whistling softly. "Did you run into her again?" Greg doesn't know about Eleanor's request at the hospital. He doesn't know she doesn't remember me anymore. We hardly ever talk about it after I told Greg that we ended things a year ago.

"No. She's here for a wedding."

"You didn't say hi?"

I raise both my eyebrows with irritation.

Greg chuckles slightly, "Well, that's your trademark. You still treat women like possessions, huh?"

I don't answer his question. Because Greg is right; I never considered women important in my life. But that was before I met Eleanor.

"How about inviting her for dinner?" Greg suddenly suggests. I exhale again, shaking my head. "She won't accept it."

Greg looks at me with a slightly suspicious look. "What exactly did you do for her to hate you, Nick?"

Hate me? It's worse than that; she has forgotten me.

"I erased her memory," I reply curtly, shifting my gaze to the files in his hands. "Is that the Karpstak case I asked for?"

He doesn't answer my question; instead, he furrows his brows at me. "What do you mean? You erased her mind?"

"Yes." I reply impatiently.

Greg looks at me with a perplexed expression. "Since when?"

"A year ago. Greg, I really need that file now."

"A year ago? Nick, are you sure she forgot you?" he asks, looking uncomfortable.

I give him a patient look. "I met her a few times... to test it. She doesn't remember me. Can we change the topic now?"

But the furrow in his brow deepens after hearing my answer. "Nick. Eleanor, she didn't forget you. Do you remember when I bit her?"

"How could I forget?" I reply coldly.

"I erased Eleanor's mind after biting her." Greg's eyes lock onto mine, "But she remembers me. Not fully, but she recognizes my voice, she still remembers the whole incident. Other humans wouldn't remember a thing."

Greg is one of the best Volders in erasing human memories.

"Are you sure?" I ask with an uneasy feeling. But Eleanor didn't recognize me when we crossed paths in San Francisco.

What about today when we met again? I lean back against my chair and close my eyes. Memories flood back to the moment we locked eyes in the restaurant this afternoon. Her gaze didn't waver from me...

She remembers me.

"Nick..." Greg's voice interrupts my thoughts. He's looking at me seriously. "You have to let her go. Whether she remembers you or not."

"I know," I reply with frustration.

He stands up, buttoning his jacket. His sympathetic look replaces the serious one. "You made a promise, Nick." He murmurs before leaving my office. I wait until the door is closed before grabbing the empty wine bottle on my desk and angrily throwing it against the wall.