Ephrem stood at the front door – his hand poised above the doorknob. He stopped and looked back at her. “You should stay in your room.”
“I am not a damsel, Ephrem.”
“You have a concussion.”
“I’m fine. Don’t be such an overprotective aunt.” She walked over to him, but he held his ground. “Ephrem.”
The doorbell rang again.
He turned and opened the door.
She squeezed past him.
“Mistress, wait! It isn’t safe.”
Elsie stepped out onto the porch. She curled her hand around her throat. “Ambrose?”
A soft moan off to her left startled her. She looked over at her porch swing.
A body lay crumpled over on it.
She rushed to his side. “Ambrose!” She pulled his arm off his face. “Hildreth?”
He moaned again.
Ephrem walked over to her.
“You’re hurt. Who could have done this?”
“I can hazard a guess.” said Ephrem.
“No. Not Ambrose. He wouldn’t.” She looked up at the gargoyle. “Why would he?”
“As I said before, vampires don’t have right ways of thinking. Their minds are twisted and wrong and full of evil.”
“Evil?” Her head ached as she remembered him smacking it against the floor and lunging at her neck. “Take him inside and call 911. He needs help.”
Ephrem carefully picked the wounded man up and cradled him in his arms. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I just need some fresh air.”
“Very well.” He carried Hildreth into the house, leaving Elsie alone.
She sat on the swing and thought about Ambrose and Hildreth.
The scent of mocha, oak, and musk faded as Ambrose disappeared into the woods.