Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I am spinning. Dizzy. And the hot water has changed my temperature. I’m no longer cold. Not at all cold. Even Paul’s body, leaning into mine, feels cool to the touch compared to me.
“Any more questions?”
I have a lot of question about that night. But I’m suspicious too. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re being reasonable. And not fighting me.”
“You mean because I’m kissing you and letting you touch me.”
“Because you’re giving in, Ryet. Which is not the same thing as giving up.”
“How much more will you tell me if I give in completely? Will you tell me about them?”
He doesn’t ask who I’m talking about. He doesn’t have to. “If you give in completely, Ryet, I won’t need to tell you. Because you will remember all on your own.”
“What?” I turn to face him. But in that same moment the purple is gone, the dreamwalk fades, and it’s just me, alone, in a steaming-hot shower.
“Paul!” I yell it. Go searching for him. Trying to find the dreamwalk. Trying to find him.
But as stupid as this sounds, after all these decades, I have never actually done that before, so I have no clue how to do it now.
“Paul.” All I can do now is call for him. Beg him. “Paul!”
But he’s gone.
And now I know how it feels, don’t I?
I have left him hanging like this hundreds of times.
So I guess this is what I deserve.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - SYRSEE
Did I fuck the vampire last night?
I wake up alone in bed and it’s cold. “Ryet?”
I push the covers off me, get up, pull on a fluffy white robe that’s hanging on a hook, and go out into the living room.
He’s there, bent down in front of a wood stove. He looks over his shoulder at me, absently stoking a small fire. “Hey. You must’ve been tired.”
“What time is it? How long have you been up?”
He glances across the room to the clock. “Almost nine. I’ve been up for hours. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh. You should’ve woken me. I would’ve kept you company.”
“Went to the gym, took a shower.” He nods his head to the small kitchen to my right. “Got us some coffee.”
I look over at the kitchen and see a drink holder with two cups, steam spilling out of the little drink holes, like he just got back from somewhere. And I can feel it. The draft that lingers in a room after someone comes in from the outside.
“I’m going to assume you slept well, but I’ll ask anyway. How was it?”
How was it? It’s kind of a loaded question. How was the sex? How was feeding him my blood? How was sleeping next to him with his arms protectively around me? How was the dream I had where I let the vampire fuck me? “All of it was good.”
And it was.
Even that dream.
Ryet shoves a piece of wood into the fire, closes the door of the stove, and stands up smiling as he turns to me. “All of it, huh? That doesn’t leave me any room for improvement.”
Why does he make me so happy? I mean, it’s not like we’re having intellectual conversations. It’s dumb banter. Worthless, throwaway words. He’s not promising me things, either. We’re just… easy, I guess. And easy is maybe the ultimate definition of happy.
I walk over to him and lean into his chest, my fingertips sliding down his soft burgundy t-shirt until I find the top of his jeans. I hook my fingers into his waistband, looking up into his eyes, and his grin is wild. “You do things to me,” I say.
That wild grin becomes downright feral. “What kind of things?”
“You… make my heart skip, Ryet. How, though? I barely know you. And trust me when I say this, you don’t know me at all.”
His expression doesn’t change. The grin is still unchecked, but I can tell that my words are bouncing around in his head. “You’ve got secrets, Syrsee?”
I nod. I need to tell him who I am. I need to tell him what I’ve been doing. I need this to happen because we’ve gone past a point of no return and this omission is going to ruin anything we have brewing here if I don’t confess very soon.
But how the hell do you tell your new love interest that he’s dying—as the vampire Paul told me in a dreamwalk—and that I’ve been feeding him my blood to make him better? How does one start that conversation?
He huffs out a little laugh. “Wow. That must be some secret you’ve got.”
My words come out with my breath. “It is.” And they are serious words. Words that cut the air between us. Words that come with a moment of silence afterward, so what I’m saying can sink in.
“OK. So… you wanna get it off your chest?”