Текст книги "A Bargain So Bloody"

Автор книги: Vasilisa Drake

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Chapter Thirty-Five

“Better,” Demos said. “Again.”

I nodded and lunged for the training dummy again. It had been three weeks since I’d had my cycle. I’d reluctantly rested, as instructed, and the moment Charlotte cleared me to resume exercise I’d thrown myself into it with renewed vigor. I was determined to train my body, especially since Raphael categorically refused to work with me on the mental training.

It’s a safety precaution, he’d said. It’s better for me to know if you’re in pain or afraid.

I didn’t agree. It was better for my fears to be my own, not exposed to a vampire who might tire of them at any moment. Which was why when I stabbed the training dummy for the twentieth time that morning, I was picturing a certain vampire king.

“Sam, you keep that up and the poor thing won’t be able to have any training-bag-children,” Amalthea called from the sidelines after I landed a rather low blow.

I took that as praise and readied for another swipe. I was so, so tired of being weak. I was getting stronger, physically at least. Amalthea had gifted me new training leathers just last week, after my body no longer fit comfortably into the old ones. My ribs were covered in a layer of fat and muscle, my fists no longer shaking as the punches lacked any weight. But even as I viciously attacked the training dummy, I knew the anger that fueled me was simply a cover for fear. An inanimate opponent was one thing. A bigger, stronger opponent was another.

The shame of how easily Titus had disarmed me lingered.

I hadn’t gone back to the alcove to listen to the music since. Each day, on the way back from training, I wandered near, wishing I was braver. Wrapping myself in the music made me feel so alive, so free. But now when I thought of being there, all I could picture was Titus and his threats. I studied in my room, my dagger never more than an arm’s distance away.

“Let’s take a break,” Iademos announced.

“I can keep going.”

I wanted to keep going. Wanted to stop being so godsdamned weak.

“You say that every day,” he chided. It was true. “Your body needs rest as much as it needs exercise.”

Fine. I returned my training dagger to the rack, and we joined Amalthea for lunch. Today, it was a tray of sandwiches filled with things like cured meat, scrambled kobold eggs, vegetables, and a succulent spread. Demos, of course, didn’t partake. More pity him.

While we ate, Amalthea regaled us both with the latest court gossip. Unlike the solitary life I’d carved for myself, Amalthea spent her evenings around various members of vampire society, attending dinners, soirées, and, last night, gambling parties.

“I can’t believe they let you play,” Demos grumbled.

“Are you suggesting I cheat?” Amalthea retorted primly.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” he replied.

She slammed her plate down in indignation. “I’ll have you know, even if I didn’t cheat, I would win.”

“So… you do cheat?” I asked.

She shifted her ireful gaze towards me. “Not you too.”

“That’s not a denial,” Demos pointed out.

“Is it cheating when they listen to my heartbeat to try to figure out if I’m nervous? Or stay utterly still when a mortal would at least fidget? Of course not. So using my gifts isn’t cheating.”

Demos rolled his eyes. “Who did you fleece this time?”

“Lazarus. He had it coming.”

Lazarus. I remembered the name. The vampire from the ball, the one who mentioned the abomination. Thinking of the ball made me think of Titus, and thinking of Titus made me remember his taunt—that I didn’t know enough about the Vampire Kingdom. That I let them treat me like a pet, never to be taken out. Goading words, but there was a grain of truth. I’d barely seen a fraction of the castle—what did I really know about Damerel? What did I want to know?

I wasn’t going to be here for long. I was getting close to finishing the first part of the grimoire.

And yet I could still hear Titus’s voice: You should learn more about your new owners, Samara Koisemi. See more of the mountain.

“I… I’d like to see more of the city,” I said, interrupting the current bickering between Demos and Amalthea.

Both turned to me, and I shrank, my shoulders curling in on reflex.

“What changed?” Amalthea asked. “You’ve declined every other invitation I’d given you.”

That was true. Because Amalthea’s invitations involved spending an evening in fine dresses that didn’t quite fit around vampire nobles, and I’d prefer an evening solving the mysteries of the Black Grimoire any day over that. “I didn’t say I wanted to talk to anyone. Just… see what it’s like.”

And just like that, Amalthea was won over. “You couldn’t have a better tour guide. Let’s get out of here.”

Demos grabbed the witch’s wrist as she sprang up. Unlike me, she didn’t stiffen at the contact, just glared back. “Not so fast. Do you really think Raphael wants her wandering around? She’s the king’s Chosen.”

“She’s the king’s Chosen, so if she wants to parade naked down Main Street, she damn well can,” Amalthea retorted. “You’ve been tutoring her for weeks. Do you have so little faith in your skills to think even if she was attacked, even if we weren’t glued to her side, she couldn’t fend off an attacker?”

She was quickly regretting her request. “Guys—”

“Fine,” Demos snapped, looking at me. “You can go. If you beat Amalthea in a sparring match. Thea, no going easy on Sam.”

“Fine. Sam, let’s do this.” She jerked out of his grip and marched over to the weapons rack and plucked up a random short sword.

“I said no going easy. Take the staff.”

Amalthea’s sound of exasperation carried as she dropped the training sword and picked up a wooden staff. I hadn’t fought against one of those yet. She turned back, and for the first time I realized she was in a loose blouse and trousers instead of her usual ornately embroidered dresses. Fashionable for training clothes, but still… different. Had she known this was coming? I didn’t have time to process the implication, because Amalthea had grabbed my usual practice weapon and tossed it to me.

Actually, it wasn’t going to me, but was aimed squarely at Demos’s head. He snatched it from the air with vampire reflexes and extended it to me, hilt first.

“Oops. Guess my aim is a little off.”

“Enough playing,” Demos groused.

Her staff was a little taller than she was, her feet already in a fighting stance while she maneuvered the stave in quick circles. I stood reluctantly, no longer so confident in the skills I’d learned. Drills were one thing, but I hadn’t attempted any kind of sparring yet. “Demos, I don’t think I can win.”

“You may not,” he agreed.

Well, wasn’t that comforting?

“But if you already have doubts, you’ve lost before you’ve begun,” he continued. “Amalthea is good with a staff, but she’s rusty. She rarely practices, because with her foresight, she rightfully reasons she can avoid almost any deadly confrontation. But that will give you an edge. You’re smaller, faster. A staff gives her reach, so you’ll have to get in close. Just remember, the dagger isn’t your only weapon. Even if she does win, it’ll be good practice.”

He gave me a quick pat on the shoulder and shoved me forward. I stumbled, trying to find my balance. It was the first time he’d touched me outside of the slight corrections of my form.

“Ready?” she asked.

No. “Yes.”

“First to a killing blow wins. Begin,” Demos said.

Amalthea lunged for me. I barely managed to clumsily shift out of the way in time to right myself as her staff jabbed at me again. Amalthea might cheat at cards, but it became immediately apparent she wasn’t about to go easy on me. She was relentless, and all I could do was move back, trying to avoid getting knocked out by her staff.

“Fight back,” she said as she thrust in my direction.

I kept dancing around, looking for an opening. This wasn’t a simple puzzle where I had as much time as I needed for a solution—I had to try to think, fast, while Amalthea advanced.

I wouldn’t win. Not while I kept retreating.

The next time her staff came down, I lifted my wooden practice sword. The weapons collided, but I managed to shove her stave up.

“Good,” Demos called.

Good. Or very bad. Because Amalthea redoubled her efforts, her staff moving quickly. I managed to block several blows, getting close enough her staff couldn’t build the momentum it was meant to. But I wasn’t perfect. Her wooden pole knocked into my forearms once when I misjudged the angle, and pain reverberated up to my shoulder.

Feel it later. Fight now.

Vicious instinct drove me, unlike any that had awakened in me before. Sweat dripped down my neck, my chest pounding against the tight fighting leathers. Amalthea was also growing tired, her round face covered in a thin sheen. Had her movements slowed? She’d been chasing me for as long as I’d been running.

A heavy blow to my leg alerted me to the fact that, no, Amalthea was not utterly exhausted.

Shit. I lifted my dagger again, but it wasn’t made to fight against a staff. I went back on the defensive, dodging blocks, jumping backwards while I tried to formulate a plan. Amalthea followed me, as expected, but her blows fell into a pattern. Head, chest, leg, chest, head, chest, leg. She’d switch sides or angles, but as her body tired, so did her mind.

Now. When the next chest blow came, I was ready. Instead of dodging, I deflected. Not fighting her staff but shifting it enough to make her need to adjust her balance. Surprise at the broken pattern made her stumble to regain balance, just barely. I swung my right leg out, sweeping under her left.

She fell. I dropped my dagger and grabbed the staff, my hands opposite hers, and shoved back until she was pinned under me. I pressed down against her clavicle.

Hard.

Harder.

“Yield,” Amalthea sputtered. “I yield.”

I blinked. Sparring. We’re just sparring. I scrambled off Amalthea, offering her an arm to stand. She took it and grinned at me, her eye twinkling with pride. “Well played, Sam.”

“For someone blessed with foresight, you should’ve seen that move coming,” Demos said, coming over to us. “Maybe we should have Sam give you lessons.”

“Just for that, first round at Tilda’s is on you,” she groused. “If you’re satisfied, then, I’m going to scrub this dirt off. We’ll go out this evening.”

True to her word, Amalthea disappeared off to her rooms to wash the dirt of the training floor off her back. Demos stayed with me for a little after to walk me through some of my mistakes.

“You did well, all considered,” he said as he finished.

I swallowed. I’d barely won against a human. If a vampire came at me, I’d be dead. I said as much.

“Sam, no one is going to attack you,” he assured me. “I know the Witch Kingdom has prejudices about vampires, but we’re rational creatures. A bit emotional, a touch capricious, and yes, we drink blood. But beyond that, have any of us behaved in a way that truly frightened you?”

Yes. Years ago. But I didn’t want to answer that. “If you think I’m safe walking around Damerel, then why make me spar with Amalthea?”

He grinned, the first real boyish look I’d ever seen on the vampire general. “Because it’s time someone other than me knocked that witch on her ass.”

Considering she was getting her way, I wasn’t entirely sure that’s what had happened, but I nodded along anyway.

If that was what worked for the two of them, so be it.

Damned if it made any sense to me.

Wherever Tilda’s was, we weren’t going there first. Amalthea pulled me, arm in arm, while Demos trailed behind us glaring at passersby. The mountain had three levels, which Raphael had explained. The top part, the castle, was actually home to very few members of vampire society. The second was where almost all commerce took place. Vampire nobility also lived in the center ring of the second level. The third and final level housed the commoners, mainly vampires since most humans worked in noble houses. By most, Amalthea estimated, that was around ninety-five percent of the population.

“How do vampires even have nobility?” I asked. “If vampires can’t procreate, can’t create a bloodline, you can’t inherit titles.”

Amalthea shook her head. “They do have bloodlines. Vampires are tied together through their lineage. If a noble wants to add someone to their house, they petition Raphael to turn the human and take them in. Not all vampires belong to a noble house, but there are also clans among the commoners, distant relatives without power.”

What a strange system. “So that’s how they get around not having children,” I murmured.

Amalthea didn’t say anything to that, which was odd, because she hadn’t stopped talking since she appeared at my door this afternoon with an ornate change of clothes, and shoes that pinched my feet enough that I suspected all was not strictly forgiven from the sparring ring.

“What aren’t you telling me? I thought vampires are infertile.”

“It’s true, vampires can’t conceive naturally,” Demos said, joining the conversation. “But the desire for children is strong enough some have taken to a… workaround. If a child is turned, they’ll grow normally until reaching maturity. They live in a half-state, taking both food and blood as sustenance. They bear the weaknesses of both vampires and humans, so they tend to be guarded jealously by their parents.”

“Their vampire parents,” I clarified. “They’re turning babies?”

Horror roiled inside me.

“No one would turn an infant,” Amalthea assured me. “But that’s more due to the fact it’s forbidden to turn a witch, and they must wait long enough to be certain they’re a void.”

By seven, then. Most witch children showed signs of their powers by their fourth birthday, but some took longer, needing a trigger to reveal their powers. Seven was considered the cutoff, when even the most hopeful parents resigned themselves to their child’s fate as an unremarkable void. Ironic—a vampire would rejoice to have a void, while a mortal parent would mourn.

My seventh birthday hadn’t been a happy one.

“You’ll find it’s not so different from any other city,” Amalthea continued, chasing away the uneasy subject with an airy wave of her hand. “This is Dressmaker’s Way, my favorite street to peruse.”

The road was lined with dozens of shops matching the namesake, glass windows displaying styles I’d seen Amalthea wearing weeks ago. Although we were inside the mountain, it was surprisingly bright. Demos had explained the city had devised a system of sustainable torchlight that allowed streetlights encased in glass to line the roads. Inside them, oil was replenished from a central source. Part of me wanted to ask to see that mechanism, or at least look at one up close, but I was too embarrassed to ask for such an inconvenience. There was an ingenuity to many parts of the city. When you didn’t have magic, you had to be clever in other ways.

The dresses, made without so much as an enchanted bobbin, must take ages. The one to my left had an ornate bird perched on the shoulder and sleeve, tail feathers winding down around the hips.

“You could try it on,” Amalthea said. “Or perhaps have something custom made. They’d certainly welcome you as a walk-in.”

Likely because Amalthea struck me as a frequent and generous patron of the shops.

“Spare me,” Demos grumbled, walking past us. Amalthea kicked out her leg, trying to catch the general unaware, but he didn’t trip or so much as stumble. “I doubt this is what Samara wanted to see.”

“What do you want to see?” Amalthea asked.

Want wasn’t the right word. “The humans. The ones you said donate their blood.”

The thought turned my stomach, but I wanted to believe it wasn’t as bad as I imagined. That Titus was wrong. That I could see with my own eyes what went on and disprove what I’d feared all my life.

My two companions exchanged a look. I could read the stiff expression on Iademos’s face. It said: Absolutely not. Amalthea, who normally would’ve been contrary, for once seemed aligned.

“I deserve to see how the other voids are treated,” I pressed. I deserved to see the role everyone thought I fulfilled for Raphael.

“It’s not that we aren’t willing to take you,” Amalthea gentled, “but it’s obvious you’re particularly, let’s say, sensitive to these things. Even the thought of blood drinking turns your pale skin ghost-white. Damerel has many wonderful things to offer. Let’s show you those for now.”

Demos nodded in agreement, and we set off to continue the tour of the commerce section.

But I didn’t agree.

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Chapter Thirty-Six

Tilda’s was a boisterous tavern located in the narrow wedge at the side of the mountain.

Amalthea and Demos were greeted warmly, by name, when we arrived. The serving girl, a vampire with her hair tied back into two parts, gave me a curious look. In fact, the entire bar was filled with vampires. There were two levels: the main floor, and a second that ringed around the top. No one had to tell me it was a popular location. I hadn’t been this surrounded since the ball, maybe not even then. My heart pounded, breaths growing shallow. Amalthea held my hand, giving a reassuring pulse as she maneuvered us inside.

“You wanted to see the kingdom? This is the place to be.”

A band played on the raised platform across from the bar top. A trio of players, two vampires, one human, took up the stage. One had a small fiddle, the other an instrument unlike any I’d ever seen, with billowing folds going in and out and white keys on the side. The human moved around the stage, crooning.

Demos secured us a table right by the stage that was surprisingly vacant, then left to get us the round of drinks Amalthea reminded him he owed us. I sat with my back to the wall, trying to focus on the music instead of my increasing nerves.

Amalthea gave me a concerned look. Guilt pricked at me. I was the one who had insisted on going out. It wasn’t fair for me to ruin the fun for others, but being surrounded by vampires—increasingly inebriated vampires—wasn’t something I could just put out of my mind.

“The Vampire Kingdom is rather musical,” I said over the din.

“It is?” she said, leaning in.

I gestured to the stage. “I mean, everywhere you go there’s someone playing. Each day, a new performer takes the stage in the castle.” Not that I’d let myself enjoy it these past few weeks.

“Oh.” A strange look came into her eyes. “That’s a new development. Raphael’s become quite the patron of the arts as of late.”

I frowned. She’d laced meaning into the last of her words, but I couldn’t guess what she was referring to. “Why is that?”

She tilted her head towards me. “Perhaps because you mentioned you liked it at the ball. That was when he sent a missive inviting musicians from all over to perform.”

For me? Was Amalthea right, and Raphael had sourced dozens of musicians just for me to listen to, because I’d confided in him my love of music? But he’d made no mention. Hadn’t asked me if I’d noticed.

Though with the blood bond, he must have sensed it—how my mind struggled to accept the joy I felt when I listened to a violinist dip their bow or a guitarist twist their fingers over the strings.

Something warm and light swirled in my stomach, much like when a song resonated in a way that set it apart from others.

I didn’t have the time to reply before Demos returned, setting two glasses of wine on the table between us while he kept a mug of something more to his taste in his left hand.

“Where’s my ale?” she groused.

“I thought you’d like something more refined,” he said innocently.

“I’ll show you refined.” She lifted her hand and made a vulgar gesture that had me recoiling. But she lifted the glass anyway and took a long drag.

I didn’t drink from mine. The two fell into an easy banter and didn’t take offense at my silence. My attention roamed from their latest argument to the music, and over to our surroundings. I hadn’t spent much time in mortal bars, naturally. But aside from the fact there was no real food served, and everyone had the same white hair, it wasn’t altogether so different from what I imagined. Packs of men came in, slapping each other on the back as they eyed groups of women. One table held a competitive game of dice, judging from the crowd built around it that seemed to cheer and bemoan the rolls with equal enthusiasm. Unlike the castle, where nearly all the servants were human, here the vampires worked as well. One serving girl polished glasses while chatting, her posture easy as a young-looking vampire leaned against the door.

And then he walked in.

Raphael wasn’t wearing the regalia I’d become accustomed to seeing him in within the castle walls, but there was no mistaking him as anything but an extremely powerful predator. He strolled into Tilda’s without an ounce of hesitation. The room didn’t come to a halt, not exactly, but it did quiet, the closest to him bowing as he walked past them.

Right over to us.

“You found us quickly,” Amalthea grumbled, finishing off her first glass of wine.

Raphael slid into the seat next to me, his body sprawling. His arm came around the back of my chair, not quite touching me, but close enough if I leaned back it would be. “Demos sent word before you left.”

The witch’s expression would have turned a lesser vampire to ash. Her sweet face looked so fearsome I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked softly, while Amalthea and Demos got into another argument over nothing.

Because of the bond, I was sure he could feel the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me. But something in me had relaxed, just slightly, the moment he’d walked in. As if instinctively, I accepted I was completely safe. “Yes.”

Suddenly, a cry went up in the room. “A round of drinks on the house, to honor King Raphael keeping the kingdom safe from the scourge yet again!”

The scourge. I twisted away from Raphael to study the speaker. The bartender, a stout woman with large biceps, hefted four mugs in each hand, liquid sloshing inside them. A cheer went up and the free alcohol was quickly distributed. Around us, mugs clinked together. A serving girl brought our table a fresh round, including two towering mugs of non-blood ale for Amalthea and me.

“Water,” he told the serving girl, who nodded with vampiric speed.

Demos regaled Raphael with the story of how we’d wound up here, and the look Raphael gave me when he heard how I swept Amalthea’s leg… some long-forgotten embers of pride glowed in my chest. Before long, it was the general and witch volleying back and forth while Raphael and I listened. The waitress brought back a glass of icy water for me, and I took a large gulp, relishing the cool liquid. The bar wasn’t uncomfortably stuffy, but I’d grown much warmer since Raphael had filled the seat next to me.

“I have a question for you,” Raphael said, while the two were immersed in a debate over some recent political debacle.

“A question for a question.”

“Deal. Why do you not partake in drink?”

The untouched ale and wine were still in front of me. I ran my fingers over the rim of one, trying to gather my thoughts. “Shipments would come to Greymere each month. When they included liquors, fights would break out over them. Nelson—the one who found us when we escaped—he was nasty. Cruel. Petty. Since he was also in charge, he always got at least one bottle. He’d drink the whole thing down. It was understandable. No one wanted to be in Greymere, exactly, but not all the servants were sentenced like I was. Sometimes it was a good way to dispose of an unwanted noble son, like in Nelson’s case.” He’d been arrogant. Thought himself better than the rest of us and never let us forget it. “He’d drink a whole bottle in a night, and it would change him. Instead of being so ornery and nasty, he was… nice.” I dripped the syllable in every ounce of derision I could. I remembered the first time I’d been around, as a child. I’d learned to hide better when he got like that. “I associate it with him. That drunken, out-of-control bumbling. I never want to be anything like him.”

Raphael was silent for a moment. I kept my gaze trained on the glass in front of me, not meeting his gaze.

“You could never be anything like him.”

“You didn’t know him,” I countered.

“I know his type. And all the liquor in the world couldn’t malform you like that.” A pause. “I’m not saying you have to drink. But if you wanted to indulge, I would watch over you.”

I twisted my lips. “It doesn’t exactly seem pleasant.”

Raphael shrugged. “At its most extreme, it’s not. But many enjoy it in moderation. Even if you wind up knowing you don’t like it, it’s a shame to let one bastard—who was a bastard sober, from the sound of it—take away part of life.”

That was Raphael, always able to cut to the heart of the matter so quickly. Was I being unfair to myself by refusing to submit to any pleasure out of fear? I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the glass, tipping it towards me. The pale-yellow liquid caught the lights of the tavern, a vaguely citric smell wafting over.

Finally, I looked at the vampire king. “You’ll watch over me if I drink?”

“I’ll always watch over you.”

I took a sip.

The world didn’t end. My mouth tingled slightly at the sensation, adjusting. “I don’t feel any different.”

“A child wouldn’t even feel that little,” he teased.

So I took another sip. More confident this time. Then a third as I realized I did like the taste. I didn’t rush to drain the glass, but soon enough it was finished. I joined in to break up the latest fight between Amalthea and Demos—apparently, the two even had opposite opinions on appropriate bathing temperatures.

“Does it matter as long as you can take a bath?” I interjected. “I went twelve years without being able to.”

“You certainly smelled like it,” Raphael added, nostrils flaring in memory.

“Just as well, so you wouldn’t want to bite me. Vampires are so sensitive.”

Demos snorted. “I’m not the one who called bathing in anything less than scalding water ‘unspeakably cruel.’”

“I’m simply saying, if you have the option of a better experience, there’s no reason to deny yourself,” Amalthea countered, then focused on me. “You never talk about your life before. How you wound up where you did.”

There was an implicit question there that left my three companions looking at me expectantly. Normally, I avoided any mention of how Raphael had found me—or the time before. I assumed Raphael had given them some description, but since I hadn’t told him much either… “I was sentenced when I was eight.”

“Sentenced… to prison?”

I shook my head. There was a distinction—proper prisoners got to sit around, at least. Got regular meals. “To serve the prison. Greymere drives witches mad, so only voids can work there, but a life cut off from magic is inconvenient even for voids. Most serve short terms. It’s a miserable, filthy place.” Maybe the drink was affecting me. Or perhaps I just wanted to be able to tell someone. “I was sentenced to serve fifteen years, and then I could be released. Or so I thought. The night Raphael and I escaped, I found out that was a lie. They had no intention of letting me go.”

“But you were a child.” Amalthea’s voice was soft with horror. “What could possibly have been so terrible you were sent there?”

I took another pull of ale, savoring the burn down my throat. With every sip, it was easier to understand why others liked it. “Such is the king’s justice.”

“Not all kings,” Raphael growled.

I hadn’t looked at him while speaking. His expression was fierce, nearly terrifying. But I knew, in my bones, it wasn’t directed at me but at the injustices I’d faced. There was a comfort in that, in someone being angry at the old wounds I’d thought long since scarred over.

The night continued. I spoke no more of my past, but Demos and Raphael took turns telling stories from theirs. The two had known each other for over half a millennium, which left plenty of fodder for entertaining tales. I listened and drank more, eager to chase away the memories that had stirred. The wine made it easy.

“I think you had a bit much,” Raphael said as I stumbled out the door ahead of him, catching myself on the wooden frame.

“I fuh—” Hiccup. “Feel great.”

And then I nearly landed face-first onto the stone walkway. Powerful arms scooped me up, and before I knew it, I was pressed against Raphael’s chest, one arm cradling my back, the other under my legs. I nestled into his hold, liking the way his scent wrapped around me. There was a low rumble in his chest, and something like, “Go on ahead without us.”

Amalthea’s and Demos’s voices were distant as they bid us goodbye. I twisted to look over at them and then back at Raphael. He was wearing an expression that was utterly foreign to me, so soft and concerned. His white brows furrowed as he looked down at me, the red eyes I’d once found terrifying were warm with affection. Gods, that wine was good. He had the slightest stubble covering the sharp planes of his face. I lifted a palm to his cheek, marveling at the prickly sensation. He halted while I ran my fingers over his skin. Vampire stillness. I liked that I was getting to touch him. I’d tried to stop noticing how beautiful he was—first, because he was a vampire. Then, because of everything else. But now, those parts of my brain were as quiet as the empty streets.

“I forget human tolerance is vastly lower than a vampire’s,” he said, the low tone of his voice washing over me.

I curled in closer, dropping my hand to his neck. “Drank less than Thea.”

The rumble of his chest was soothing. “Sometimes I wonder if Thea might be part fish.”

My brain was too slow to understand what he was saying exactly, but it was with that same dry humor I’d come to recognize so I laughed all the same. And then suddenly I was all too tired and too comfortable to stay awake. I dozed for what could have been hours or minutes, waking up only as we reached my (recently replaced) door. The little rest I’d had left me wide awake and even more aware of the male who carried me.

“You smell so nice,” I murmured, savoring the closeness. It felt so right. “I wish I could taste you.”

His fingers tensed around my legs. “And here I so often think that about you.”