Dracul Read Online Free Page B

dangerous.”
    “Do you think you might have rabies?”
    “No.”
    “Aids?”
    Constantine has wiped most of the blood from his face, and folds the used paper towels into a tight wad, cramming them into his jacket pocket. “Something like that. My blood is dangerous. I don’t think I lost any in your attic, but to be safe, don’t go up there. I will retrace my steps and make sure I didn’t drip anywhere.” He gives me wide berth as he exits the kitchen.
    I follow at a distance. Blood doesn’t scare me. I like my steaks rare, and my mom taught me how to butcher meat from a young age.
    It’s not the blood that’s creepy.
    There’s something weird about Constantine.
    Not that he looks weird, or anything. He’s studying the stairs, looking for blood, as he heads back to make sure he didn’t leave any traces behind.
    I’m studying him, trying to figure out what’s so strange about him.
    His nose is a little big. Not crazy big or ugly big, just sort of on the largish, prominent side, and kind of hooked near the tip, like an eagle’s beak.
    It fits his face, though. He has a broad forehead, high cheekbones, a full, wide mouth that I have yet to see bend into anything brighter than the somber smile he gave me when we parted ways this morning. That was a guarded look, like he was trying to decide whether to tell me something.
    That’s what’s so weird, isn’t it?
    The man is full of secrets, things that either don’t make sense or don’t add up.
    There’s something strange about him, something more foreign than the accent he’s tried with limited success to hide.
    What’s he doing here, getting rid of my bats for me?
    What’s he after, really?

Chapter Three
     
    “The bats should be gone for good,” Constantine assures me as he descends the stairs, his steps deceptively light for a guy of his size. He’s smooth. Most guys my age are still getting used to their recently-expanded proportions, especially anyone of his height. But he seems at ease in his frame.
    How old is he?
    He skips the bottom step and lands gracefully on both feet, pivoting to face me. “If they give you any further trouble, call me.”
    “I don’t want to bother you.”
    “I live just up the street. It’s no trouble.”
    “They’re mostly only active in the middle of the night.” I’m not going to lie. I’m studying his face as we talk, trying to sort out what’s driving him, why he’s after these bats in the first place. Personally, I don’t like being awakened in the middle of the night for anything—certainly not to rush outside in the freezing cold to pursue a flying rodent for a near-stranger.
    So why is Constantine so eager to do so?
    He’s studying my face in return. “I don’t care what hour it is. If you hear them, call me. I will come.” He nods sharply and steps toward the front door.
    I step after him. “Why?”
    “Why?” He lifts an eyebrow. How did I miss noting that feature? The man has eyebrows like wings—lofty, jet-black arrows jutting skyward.
    “Why do you care so much about the bats?”
    “They are dangerous.” His hand is on the doorknob now.
    “Because of rabies?” I ask for what must be the fifth or sixth time today.
    Constantine exhales slowly. “What these bats have…” He turns the doorknob, pinches his lips together tightly, and closes his eyes. When he snaps his lids open, he speaks in a rushed whisper. “It is worse than rabies.”
    And just like that, he has the door open, he’s through and gone, the door closed before the gusting February wind can chase any chill inside.
    Still, I’m shivering. Totally not from the cold outside, but from the shudder that gripped my spine when Constantine spoke.
    Does he not know how bad rabies is?
    I googled it. Rabies is crazy bad. And I read a lot of comprehensive articles on the subject, some of which outlined other bat diseases. None of them mentioned a disease that was worse than rabies.
    You’d think, if there was such a thing, it