Wicked Soul

Chapter 21-1

TWENTY-ONE

LIV

“Raven says your hot friend is a vampire. Is that true?”

I blinked at Skye’s excited face as I paused mid-unwrapping my wooly scarf from around my neck. It was eight thirty on Monday morning, and my brain had yet to wake up. That’s why I only managed an unconvincing, “Uh, what?” at my colleague’s unexpected question.

“Oh, my stars!” she gasped, mouth dropping open even as her eyes sparkled with elation. “He is!” She pulled the scarf from my frozen hands, spinning me half a round before lifting my hair out of the way to scan my neck. “Did he bite you? Did it feel good?”

“What? No, of course he didn’t! And he isn’t a…” My denial died on my lips at Skye’s raised eyebrow. Sighing, I shrugged out of my coat. “Fine. How did Raven know?”

“He had cold hands and is pale as a ghost. And she said she tried to feel for his pulse and couldn’t find one. She was a bit worried about you, but he seemed so nice.”

I rolled my eyes as we walked out of the staff room to the front of Dark Dreams to set up the cash register. That explained the many text messages I’d woken up to Saturday, about ‘checking in’ on me. “She checked his pulse?”

“Well, you know…” Skye made a flapping motion with one hand. “It’s one of her things, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed, because anything else would have been rude. Raven did tarot cards and palm readings for customers every Thursday, and claimed she had prophetic dreams. And it wasn’t necessarily that I didn’t believe her—I did have a stack of spiritual books at home, after all—it was just that her abilities always happened to pop up whenever they would get her the most attention. And she did dye her hair black and insist on being called Raven.

Of course, this time she’d been pretty spot on.

“Did you sleep with him?”

I shot Skye an exasperated look. “No! It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not seeing him again?”

“Well…”

“Oh, you are!” Skye leaned over the counter, shoving a couple of crystal skulls aside to level me with her blue eyes. “Tell me everything.”

I’d never really had proper girlfriends. School had been difficult, and I’d been branded the odd one out early on. And since I’d left Denver, I’d never stuck around anywhere long enough to make real friendships. As a result, gossiping about a man was kinda unfamiliar territory for me. Especially when that man was a vampire with completely platonic interests in me.

“I just find him really interesting. It’s a friendship—I’ve never really seen blood donation as a sexy thing, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh-huh. Nothing sexy about a hot man sucking on your neck.” Skye’s voice was dry as tinder. “How did you meet him? And don’t tell me that book club story again, I ain’t buying what you’re selling, girl.” She wagged a finger at me.

I sighed. “Fine. We both got kidnapped by some crazy fanatics. They tried to feed me to him, but he politely refrained. And then proceeded to save my a*s. And before you ask—all I was doing was reading a vampire romance.”

Skye gaped at me, some of the excitement replaced by horror. “You were kidnapped? And you didn’t think to tell us? f**k, Liv, did you go to the police?”

I grimaced. “Of course I didn’t. Best-case scenario, they would have hounded me for information about Warin, and I didn’t particularly want to sell him down the river after he saved my life. Not to mention that worst-case scenario, they’d have taken me as a vampire sympathizer and held me for the more unpleasant kind of questioning. Which, by the way, is why I’d really appreciate if this whole vampire discussion doesn’t get any further, okay?”

“But what about the people who kidnapped you? What if they find you again?” Bless her, she really did look genuinely worried for me. A small twang of warmth in the pit of my stomach made me reach out and pat her hand—I’d enjoyed working for Dennis more than I’d enjoyed any of my other retail jobs before, and it was in large part thanks to how sweet everyone was. The thought that if I stayed around this time, perhaps they’d turn into friends one day flitted through my mind as I took in Skye’s worried frown.

“You don’t have to worry. They won’t find me. It’s… been taken care of.”

“But—” Skye’s protest died at my grim look. “Oh.”

I forced my lips into a smile. Time to change the subject. As much as I understood her interest in learning more about Warin—hell, I’d bombarded him with questions about his kind myself the moment I realized he wasn’t going to eat me—no one would benefit from dwelling on what exactly had happened to our kidnappers. The less you know, and such. “So how about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

It wasn’t until I was standing in the supermarket on my way home from work that same afternoon that I realized I had no idea what to serve a vampire guest.

The thought of not putting up at least a small spread for a visitor just seemed all kinds of wrong, but as I frantically spun around myself in the aisles hosting corn chips and salsa dips, it dawned on me that Warin would be pretty f*****g difficult to cater for.

I couldn’t even open a bottle of wine. Or, well, I could, but it’d be entirely for my benefit.

It was only when I’d spun around myself for the third time that I spotted the sign for the butcher’s at the far end of the aisle—and an idea finally took form. Clutching my chips-and-dip filled basket, I hurried to the counter.

“Hi, can I have…” How much did a vampire even eat? “Four pints of pigs’ blood, please?” I shot the older man behind the counter a beaming smile, hoping I wasn’t giving off any “creepy cultist” vibes.

“Oh, how refreshing. It’s so rare to see the younger generations make some of the good old-fashioned dishes from scratch. Blood sausage, is it, dear?” he asked.

“Uh-huh, grandma’s recipe. She’d roll over in her grave if I ever so much as thought to buy it factory-made,” I lied. My grandmother was unfortunately still very much alive, and the only thing she’d ever taught me was how to hold back tears to avoid getting a whooping for “being a big baby.”

Not that that kind of edifying family tales were likely to put my new blood-pusher at ease.

I waited for the butcher to shuffle to the back to get my goods with some impatience—I only had a couple of hours before sunset, and I still had to clean my apartment and ideally transform my work-worn self into something less undead-looking. Of The Walking Dead-variety. Warin pulled off the whole undead-thing pretty well.

I didn’t manage to stop a loud giggle-snort at my own wit from escaping my throat, making the other patrons in the vicinity turn to look.

The kind butcher chose that moment to reappear from the back, four pint bottles filled with dark-red, viscous liquid. “Your pigs’ blood,” he said with gusto. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a mother pull her child closer.

“Thanks. Can’t wait to make that blood sausage,” I said loudly, snatching the bottles from him two at a time to put into my basket.

The mom only gave me a pinched frown before she walked away, child in tow, and the old lady by the deli-counter didn’t look convinced, either.

Great.

I was so gonna b***h Dennis out for making us wear black clothes to work.

I drove home in my ancient Ford Fiesta, shoved the bottles into the fridge, and began Project Oh-s**t-I-Didn’t-Clean-Over-The-Weekend-Like-I-Meant-To with only about an hour left until sundown. In my usual, well-organized fashion, I was only just done with the impressive pile of dishes on my kitchen counter when my door buzzer went off.

I looked up, noticed it was pitch-black outside, and muttered a curse. I’d decluttered most of the living room and dining room—and by “decluttered,” I mean I’d shoved everything into my bedroom—and managed to run a brush through my hair and change out of my goth work ensemble, but the space certainly didn’t represent anything from a Better Living magazine.

Or an immaculately kept vampire mansion, for that matter.

I pushed aside the sudden rush of insecurity over the difference between my home and Warin’s. If we could be friends cross-species, a class difference really shouldn’t be the dealbreaker.

Wiping my hands on my butt—like a lady—I walked over to my door phone and picked it up. “Yeah?”

“It’s Warin. We have an appointment.”

I couldn’t hold back a grin at his formal tone. “Sure do. Hang on, I’ll buzz ya in.”

I pressed the buzzer and heard the street door opened and shut, followed by a knock on my front door less than two seconds later.

I pulled it open, and my face split into an automatic smile at the sight of him. “Hey! So glad you could make it.”

“Hello, Liv,” he said politely. He looked so proper as he stood at my doorstep, gray woolen coat buttoned up and both hands folded in front of him, it made a nervous giggle bubble out of my chest.

I mentally facepalmed myself and waved him in as I turned to get the blood out. “I’ve been looking forward to this—it’s rare I get to do live model drawings. “

Warin didn’t answer, and when I turned back toward him halfway to the fridge, he was still standing in the door opening.

“I cannot enter without a spoken invitation,” he said softly.

“Oh. Oh!” I blinked, entirely taken aback by the unexpectedness of his request. “Uh, come on in, Warin.”

“Thank you.” His voice was still soft as he stepped over the threshold and closed the door.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched him shrug out of his coat and hang it on the coat hanger I’d put up next to the door. Something not remotely connected to his magnetic blue eyes made a shiver travel up the length of my spine at the realization that I’d invited an undead creature into my home. Not that I hadn’t known what he was when I asked him to come by, but… there was just something deeply unsettling about that very real reminder that he was something other than human.

“You are fearful,” he said as he turned toward me. His face was blank, but his eyes seemed… saddened.

“What? No.” I waved him off and resumed my previous smile. “It’s just kind of odd, ya know?”

“I can detect fear quite easily,” he said, touching his nose with a finger. “There is no need to lie, Liv. I can leave if you are uncomfortable.”

He could smell me? Well, that was just all sorts of disconcerting. I sighed. “All right, it’s kind of… a tiny bit terrifying that you have to be invited into my home, like in one of those awful scary stories. But I’m not scared of you—you could have eaten me like, a million times by now, if that was your grand plan. And!” I skipped to the fridge and swung it open. “You seriously can’t leave now—do you have any idea how awkward it is to buy blood at a butcher’s? I don’t think anyone but the butcher himself bought that I was gonna make blood sausage. Pretty sure everyone else thought I had some sort of Satanic ritual planned.”

I pulled out one of the pint bottles of pigs’ blood and held it out toward him as a peace offering.

He stared at it for a long moment before he lifted his gaze to mine. “It was very kind of you to go out of your way for me. You needn’t have gone through embarrassment for my sake.”

My shoulders slumped. “Don’t tell me you ate already. I have four pints of this stuff.” His cheeks did look slightly flushed.

“I would never turn down your kind gesture,” he said, offering me a faint smile. “Thank you. I will have a glass.”

I beamed, relieved I hadn’t committed some form of vampire faux pas. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right over,” I told him, gesturing to the sofa.

I turned to my small kitchen and busied myself pouring the blood into a glass. It smelled pretty horrid, and it took everything I had not to gag. I was going to pour myself a glass of wine, but after getting the stench of pigs’ blood in my nostrils, I couldn’t face drinking any sort of red liquid. Instead, I got myself a drink of Mountain Dew, grabbed both glasses, and turned toward the sofa.