Hot blooded, p.4
Hot Blooded, page 4
Why not? I’m amused by her and all her many reactions to me. “What would you like to know?”
“You’re my first, um, vampire…” she stammers. The fire in her eyes speaks of her curiosity.
“It’s natural that you’re curious.”
She nods. “Right. It’s just, some of the things I’ve heard… like stakes, and garlic, and… I’m not sure…”
I chuckle. This girl is not like I expect. “Shall we take them one at a time?”
Despite her strange response to me, she’s still here. She’s trying to understand me and my world. I suppose there’s some small part of me that likes that.
Since Tressa is waiting so patiently, I decide to begin. “A stake driven into the heart of a vampire will kill us, that’s true.”
She nods. “I see.”
“I have no idea where the garlic thing came from. It’s tasty, but no, it has no effect on us.”
“Coffins?” she asks next. If I wasn’t so turned on right now, I would chuckle at her innocence. Tressa has piqued my interest in more ways than one.
“Urban legend.”
“Sunlight?”
I take a sip of my cocktail. “Bothersome, but probably no more than what a nocturnal animal experiences in the direct sunlight. It makes us a bit tired, but it’s not painful and doesn’t cause us any harm.”
She regards me with curiosity. “And you’re… immortal?”
I nod. I’ve found that to be an unfortunate side effect of my condition, and while I’m happy to exchange the truth with her, I decide I don’t need to be that vulnerable. I’m entitled to a few secrets.
We cover my increased strength and stamina next, as well as my need for blood. Tressa takes all of this information with a wide-eyed look and clutches her drink in her lap. But she doesn’t look frightened, only curious, like she wants to understand me.
“What about… Bats? Werewolves? Mermaids?” Her gaze moves to mine, and she watches me in wonder.
I chuckle. “Only on TV.”
Satisfied, she snaps her fingers. “I knew it.” Her laugh is soft. I like the sound of it immediately.
She seems pleased for a moment, and we each take another sip of our drinks as the evening breeze lifts a strand of hair from her collarbone. I watch the way it dances in the breeze before landing against the soft skin of her throat again. She’s dizzying and distracting, and I don’t know what to make of my body’s response to her. It’s curious, for certain.
Her mouth is by far her most enchanting feature—lush and full and pink—and I spend more time gazing upon it than I should.
“Is your brother like you?” she asks in a low voice.
An uncomfortable cramp settles in my stomach at the mention of my brother. Remembering his words from earlier makes my fists clench. Have you fucked her yet?
Maybe if I had I wouldn’t be sitting here practically salivating over the poor girl. There’s something to be said for working something out of your system.
“Yes. But he’s younger. Not as disciplined. And his cravings run a little stronger than mine at times.”
I shift uncomfortably in the chair. My brother is a pain in the ass, that much is certain. Still, it’s long past time to get this conversation back on track. I’d much rather learn about the enchanting girl seated across from me than talk about Alastair. “I’ve told you some of my secrets, now it’s time you tell me yours.”
I hear her quick intake of breath and her cheeks blush wildly. Her reactions to me are adorable and my body twitches with pleasure.
“A secret for a secret. Are you game?”
“How does it work?” Her voice sounds steady even if she looks uncertain.
“We each share one truth. Can you handle that?”
She lifts one shoulder. “If you can.”
I offer her a grin. “I’ll begin.” I lean back in my seat and cross one knee over my ankle, still watching her. “Tell me one truth about you that no one else knows.”
For a moment, I’m not sure if she’ll play this game with me. Her expression is open though, and her eyes meet mine. I feel her assess me, her gaze vigilant.
“I felt something when we touched.”
I felt it too—that hot, electrical pulse between us when her skin met mine for the first time.
Emotion stirs within me where it has lain dormant for half a century. It’s disorienting.
“Your turn,” she says in an encouraging voice. To be here, swapping secrets with my new librarian is the last thing I expected, but you couldn’t tear me away now.
Part of me wishes I were human. Maybe instead of the depraved things I crave, I’d have the urge to gather her in my arms and hold her close. Whisper sweet words into her neck, rather than sink my fangs into it.
“I haven’t met anyone as remotely interesting as you in the past hundred years.”
She swallows and her eyes flash with understanding.
“What do you dream of?” I ask her. Of all the mortal things I miss, dreaming is one of the more pressing ones. My nights are bleak and uneventful.
Maybe my brother was right. Maybe the boredom and monotony has gotten to me. Maybe I need this human—Tressa—to breathe some life into my tired existence.
She has this way of making me feel as though she really sees me. The real me. The one I never let others see. It’s equal parts unsettling and thrilling.
“Dream?” She tilts her chin, considering my question.
She’s asking if I mean for her to tell me her goals and aspirations. I guess I should be more clear. “At night. When you sleep. I haven’t dreamed since I turned.”
She blinks in surprise, surely cataloging another difference between us. “Oh.” She looks down at the floor like there’s something she’s ashamed of. “My dreams are not very pleasant.”
“Will you tell me?”
She stiffens. “Maybe. But not now.”
I decide not to press her. We’re all allowed the occasional off-limits subject.
Chapter 8
Reign
In the days that follow, I do my best to give Tressa her space. Our little chat leaves me feeling more unsettled than I expect. I don’t normally swap secrets with humans, and I don’t engage with my employees. But Tressa seems to possess a unique ability to draw things out of me.
Today, though I don’t want to stay away.
I find Tressa in the library, working and having her lunch. That’s no surprise. Since hiring her, her work ethic has been impressive. She spends most of her time in the library and leaves time for fun.
Her head lifts when she hears my footsteps against the marble floors.
“Reign…” She looks nervous. About what, I have no idea.
I get my answer when I wander closer. Approaching the table where she’s working, I find a half-eaten sandwich along with a fashion magazine that’s been flipped open to a quiz entitled, “What’s Your Sexual Style?”
She’s nibbling on the end of a pen, and I gaze down at the quiz. She’s already answered the majority of the questions. There are little blue check marks beside each box. A slow smile uncurls on my lips as my eyes scan the page.
“You’ve really never done number 7?”
She fidgets as I gaze down at the magazine. I can tell she wants to close the pages, or toss it across the room, but she doesn’t. She remains perfectly still.
“No.”
“Not even by yourself?”
“No.”
All varieties of kinky, unbidden thoughts leap into my brain.
Plundering my way through the buffet that is Tressa’s body sounds pretty fucking fabulous.
Rein yourself in, dude. Not happening.
She’s still fidgeting, and her wide eyes hold a wild look—panic and the excitement of being caught.
“One truth. Are you a virgin?”
“Reign,” she murmurs, and I hate myself for loving the way her tongue sounds moving over the word.
Before she can confess her truth, we’re interrupted by Mrs. Potts, who I’ve never once considered murdering until this very moment, but as she approaches, I imagine it in a hundred different bloody and violent ways.
“You’ve been in here working all day,” she chastises Tressa, carrying in a pot of tea on a tray with two mugs.
There are scones and muffins and when she gets closer and sets down the tray, I see it contains a decorative china set with delightful pink filagree swirling around the teapot and along the top of each mug.
I didn’t realize I owned this china set. What is Mrs. Potts up to? Is injecting some level of romance into this moment her motivation? I give her a curious stare and she chuckles nervously, fiddling with the tea bags.
I’m being set up by my caretaker. Like falling for Tressa would be some great hardship. I already know she’s got me under her spell. But I also know, she’s much too sweet and innocent for a man like me, and I would never allow myself to sully her.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Tressa says, admiring the spread, her gray eyes sparkling in delight.
Currant scones and lemon poppyseed muffins. Dried apricots and a small dish of shortbread cookies. I’ve never been treated so well at teatime before. Tressa’s been here a week and already has Mrs. Potts wrapped around her finger.
I lift my brow at the old woman, who smiles demurely before darting away.
Most of me wants to press Tressa for the answer to my question from before we were interrupted… my curiosity about her past is potent. But the gentleman in me decides to let it go… for now.
And so, when Tressa helps herself to a shortbread cookie, and says, “Describe your perfect day.” I let the sex quiz go. I’m sure Tressa will be relieved by that.
I help myself to a spot of tea and consider her question. “Intelligent conversation… about a variety of topics.”
Tressa nods. “That is important. Someone with whom you can talk.”
My mouth twitches with a grin. “Indeed, Miss Porter.”
“What else?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
She nods.
“Feeding from a beautiful woman,” I admit.
Her eyes widen, but only slightly. Certainly, she expects the truth from me, given how forthcoming our previous conversations have gone.
We quietly sip our tea for a moment and Tressa eats a second cookie. There’s something very peaceful about this moment. I connect with her on a level that I don’t with others.
“What about you? Your perfect day…” I’m more curious than I care to admit.
“Let’s see…” She taps her chin. “Time spent lost in a book. That’s a given.”
I nod. I can’t say I’m surprised by this, given her proclivity for my library.
“An environment where there’s no judgment. About me. About my past,” she adds. “And a place, a moment where I can just forget about everything else, and just… be.”
Something deep inside me pinches in recognition of what she must have been through in her past to feel like she needs to disappear.
It’s not lost on me that everything she desires is something I’m uniquely in the position to provide her. The urge to meet all of her needs, no matter how big or small flares inside of me. I’m not sure how or why, but seeing this human smile, ensuring she’s okay just became a priority. Oh, and not biting her, or fucking her and stuff.
Obviously.
Chapter 9
Tressa
I've spent every day for the past three weeks doing the same thing. Wake for the day at seven, enjoy a coffee and a light breakfast that Mrs. Potts sets out for me, and then I do fifteen minutes of light exercise—sit-ups and pushups and the like in my room while my bathtub fills. Then I bathe and get myself ready for work. Apparently, I’m a bath person now, because I can’t seem to pass up the chance to soak in this luxurious tub, even when there’s a beautiful glass shower in my ensuite bathroom too.
I head to the library by eight thirty and spend all day there. Mrs. Potts usually brings me a sandwich for lunch, which I eat while working at one of the large study tables. I stay until the late afternoon sun begins to fade and casts the room in long shadows.
Reign checks in on my work once or twice a week, but for the most part, he's left me to my own designs. I’m not sure what he does all day, but he works for a bit in his office, and he comes and goes in his sleek black car. I don’t know why it should fill me with such curiosity about where he goes, but I’m itching to know. It’s a good thing I have my work to keep me busy.
It takes me some time, but I think I've finally come up with an organizational system that will work. I’ve told him of plans to create piles of keep-donate-sell. Well, piles is the wrong word. Reign has too many rare and vintage texts to stack merely up in a pile. Can you imagine? So, for now, the east wing of the library, for instance, has become a holding place for all the texts I think we can purge.
They are neatly and categorically placed on tables. Reign seemed to approve of my plan. Once I have the donate and sell texts weeded out, then I'll begin a new shelving system complete with new computer software, so that he can easily look up and locate whatever book he desires. It will function as a real library. I’ve been giddy at the prospect of how glorious it will be.
It’s already such a wonder, but this will truly set it over the top. Knowing which books can be found where is important, after all.
There’s also regular maintenance that’s required on a vintage collection of books, cleaning and restoring are necessary, as is rotation.
In the evening, I go for a stroll on the manicured grounds outside and admire how bright and plentiful the stars are in Colorado. Reign and I have continued our conversations and everything about him continues to surprise me.
Pleased with my progress for the day, I save the spreadsheet I’ve been working on and close my laptop. Then I stretch leisurely.
It’s late afternoon and I’m considering ending my workday when Reign comes strolling into the library. The energy in the room changes when he enters, and all my attention somehow seems to focus on him. That same electric feeling crackles imperceptibly between us, swamping everything in a haze of lust and confusion.
It’s a silly reaction and I’m sure it’s entirely one-sided. Reign seems to enjoy my company and our talks, but it’s doubtful that he views me the same way that I view him—with arousal and desire. Which is quickly followed by a hefty dose of shame, because Reign is my boss, and I shouldn’t spend my free time fantasizing about him.
“Working hard, I see,” are the first words that leave his beautiful mouth as he offers me his hand.
I accept and let him guide me up from the chair. “Yes, but I’m about finished for the day.”
“Good. I was going to suggest you take the rest of the day off, you’ve been working too much.”
I lift my eyebrows at him.
“Not that I’m not grateful.”
I chuckle softly.
He leads us to the comfy club chairs beneath the large windows in the library. The day is cloudy and drizzling, creating an eerie gray vibe.
We make small talk for a while, while I try—and fail—not to notice how dashingly handsome he is.
“Why do you love books so much?” he asks, tracing a slow pattern into the skin on my wrist with the pad of his index finger. He’s gotten more comfortable touching me, and I’m really not sure what to make of that, little stolen touches here and there, but I wouldn’t dream of asking him to stop. His hand on the small of my back as he escorts me from one room to another. His fingertips at my elbow as he guides me into a chair. And now… just because. His skin is smooth and temperate. I like the feel of it… a lot.
His question hangs in the air between us.
For a moment, I consider lying—making up some story about how I’ve loved reading since I was a small girl, or that I imagine writing my own novel one day. I surprise myself by wanting to tell the truth. One truth. That’s our thing, right? After a moment, I find my voice. “It’s a long sad story.”
His fingertips pause on my skin, and he meets my eyes. “I have time.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity, because as an immortal, time is the one thing Reign has in spades, but a somber mood has already descended around us in anticipation for what I’m about to tell him.
“Are you sure you want to hear it?” I give him one last chance to back out.
He nods.
I take a slow breath. “It’s a story I’ve never told anyone. Unless you count a therapist once.” But I sob so hard through our session that I doubt she understood much. The story was too fresh then. The wounds not yet healed. Although I’ve learned they never actually heal. Only scab over a little, and if they are picked at, every awful emotion will come swelling to the surface again. Grief. Anguish. Guilt.
The guilt was the worst.
But Reign isn’t picking. Only asking. He’s giving me the choice. And maybe it’s because he is the way he is, the fact that he himself has, no doubt, walked through some hard things of his own, it makes me want to trust him. To open up to him. He’s not hidden anything from me.
“I never knew my father,” I begin, which is a little off-topic for the story du jour, but it will all make sense soon enough. “It was just my mom and I for a while. She’d gotten pregnant toward the end of high school, so she was young when she had me. And because she was young, she liked to go out and party and drink and pretend she didn’t have responsibilities at home.” I can’t really blame her. She was young and immature and unprepared for motherhood. Reign waits patiently, not saying a word. “Later, when I was about six, my mom had gotten pregnant and had another baby. My half-sister, Libby.”
Just saying her name makes my chest ache and throb.
Reign lifts my hand from my lap and holds it within his own, seeming to sense my inner discomfort. The rain picks up outside, lightly drizzling against the window panes across from where we sit.
“I often got stuck babysitting her. Libby’s father was still in her life and honestly? That bothered me, I guess. I’d never known my father. And she spent every other weekend with hers. But when she was at our house, I was expected to watch her the nights my mom went out, which was most nights.”
