Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“I don’t think you’re much of one at all,” I say plainly.
He bursts out laughing at that, his smile giving the dim room all the light it needs. The hair on my neck stands up again but this time not in a frightened way. In a pleasurable way. Which I suppose is frightening in itself.
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the floaty sensation in my stomach. “Why are you in Venice?” I ask him.
“Me?” he asks when he stops laughing. “Why not?” Then his features harden slightly, his mouth turning down. “I suppose I want to see Venice, experience it, while it’s still here.”
“Still here?”
“This city won’t be here forever,” he says as he picks up a pencil and begins scribbling something down on a library card. “With the way the waters are rising each year, they say it will all be underwater by 2100.”
I purse my lips in puzzlement. “But you’ll be long dead by then,” I say without even realizing what I’m saying. It’s what a normal person would say, of course, they wouldn’t know the truth, that he wouldn’t be dead by 2100, because he’s immortal.
Though technically he could be dead next week, I think to myself. By my own hand. But he doesn’t know that.
“Are we to only care about things that happen in our lifetime?” he asks, his eyes solemn, brows lowering so that it casts dark shadows. “There’s no harm in caring about things that happen after you’re gone. Someone has to inherit the earth, don’t they?”
Yeah, you, I think. I remember in one of my classes at university, a fellow witch said she found sympathy for vampires for being immortal, for being the ones who would truly have to deal with the effects of climate change because they would be the last ones on earth. She then went on to mention how vampires were behind a lot of the clean earth initiatives, but she was ignored for that. Witches don’t like to hear about vampires doing any good. It goes against all our beliefs, all that we’ve been indoctrinated to.
“Tell me something, Dahlia,” he says, his voice going lower, rougher, enough that it causes my scalp to prickle, like I’m getting a head massage. He leans forward, his hands splayed on the table. Strong, large, and capable, with two silver rings, one a bird skull signet, the other a candle. “This might sound strange but…do I know you from somewhere?”
I stare at him in surprise. “No…”
He tilts his head and I feel his eyes starting to probe me, feel myself tipping forward slightly, as if I’m standing on the edge of his irises, the shades of brown, black, and gold spreading out before me like a pond in the night, inviting me for a dip.
“Because,” he says, and now his voice is inside my head, moving around like a snake, “I feel like I’ve met you before.” He practically hisses the words.
My eyes flutter, wanting to close, wanting to fall into the pool of his gaze, to sink, not swim, and I have to fight against the pull, like a fish on a line.
“Have you ever been to San Francisco? Where did you go to university?” he says abruptly and suddenly I regain my balance again. I felt like I was about to fall over, but I’m standing straight, the book still in my hands.
I manage to swallow. “Uh. Um. I went to university in Scotland. And no, I haven’t been to San Francisco. Why?”
“Just a place I frequent. As is Scotland. Where?”
“Aberdeen.” I feel breathless.
“No kidding,” he says. “I spent a lot of time there. I had a very good friend who lived in Cruden Bay for some time.”
“Oh?” I manage to say. “When? Maybe you were there while I was studying. Perhaps you saw me on the street, or maybe we met briefly at a party.”
He chuckles, looking back to his library card. “I’m much older than you think. No, I don’t think I was there when you were at school. Guess you just have one of those faces.”
“Maybe I remind you of another girl you turned down for a drink,” I muse.
He pauses, glancing at me for a moment. “You would think I wouldn’t make that same mistake twice, then.”
Okay. Is that a sign that I should ask him for drinks again? Or is he going to rectify it? But the professor doesn’t say anything, just hums a little tune to himself and continues writing on the library card. I do detect a playful smile just teasing the corners of his full lips.
So close. I feel like I’m so close. But perhaps I’m doing this wrong. He’s a hunter through and through. A bloodsucker. An animal. A predator. And I’m the prey. I shouldn’t be going after him guns a’ blazing, so shameless, putting myself on a platter for him. He’s used to pursuing, not being the one pursued. It probably gets him hard just the thought of hunting down a woman.