Destiny

by Rachelle Mills et al.

  Well damn. This was not how he’d envisioned her seeing him this close to naked. He thought about making a run for his bedroom so he could grab jeans and a t-shirt, but that would only instill more awkwardness and make him look like a coward. It was time to own it, then. If he couldn’t easily do anything about his absent clothing, he might as well see if she’d enjoy the view.

  With measured movements, Henry grabbed his breakfast plate, leaned back in his swivel chair, crossed one ankle over the other, and rested his feet on his desk. He looked up at her with a brilliant smile just as she sailed into his office wearing a simple red gingham sundress. It looked like she was wearing a picnic blanket and a rather winsome one at that—perfect for lying down on. Her mouth fell open when her eyes landed on him.

  Seeming to catch herself, she snapped her mouth shut. “Hi. Where…are your clothes?” she stammered.

  He scooped up a piece of pancake and took a bite, savoring the taste of the butter and bloody maple syrup.

  “And…are those pancakes?” She wrinkled her brow.

  “I told you I had a backup plan for those Batty-O’s.” He cut off another piece with his fork. He stabbed the bit of pancake and offered the fork to her. “Want a bite?”

  She shook her head and stared. He watched her face as the puzzle pieces inevitably slid into place.

  “Do you live here?”

  Goddamn it. His turn to stammer. “N—Maybe.”

  It wasn’t a huge secret or anything, but he could see how some people might find it weird. Especially people he was trying to get into bed with.

  “Is that why there’s a full-sized kitchen back there?” she said, pointing down the hallway.

  “Possibly.”

  “Is that why you’re always here first in the morning?”

  He sniffed. “Can’t fault a guy for getting to work early.”

  Her tone became a bit more incredulous. “Is that why you’re always here when I leave?”

  He shrugged. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I have a strong work ethic.”

  The staccato of a surprised laugh escaped her lips. “You live in your office.”

  Henry set the fork on his plate with a decisive clink and narrowed his eyes at her. “You make it sound like I sleep under my desk and brush my teeth at the water cooler. I have a bedroom.”

  He scratched his thigh absently and watched as she followed his hand with her gaze. Heartened by that development, he rose and sauntered toward her, plate in hand. He still had to fight that urge to run; he wasn’t exactly used to casual and bizarre seductions.

  He gave her his most charming half-smile. “Sure you don’t want a bite?” he asked again, standing in front of her and daring her not to look at all of him.

  Emma kept her eyes on his face, her sweet red lips parted. Her eyes flashed, but she was silent. His brain demanded to know what had happened to his previous strategy of gradually winning her over—what had happened to subtlety? Subtlety died a quick, violent death the minute she walked in on you in your drawers, he reminded himself.

  To his surprise, Emma picked up the sticky fork, giving him a defiant stare. She turned the fork on its side and sawed off a small piece of one of the silver-dollar pancakes. He was helpless to take in her every move. She swirled it in the maple syrup covering the plate and brought it to her lips. Henry stopped breathing a moment. She pulled the morsel off the fork with her mouth and chewed. Then smiled.

  Letting the fork fall back on the plate with a clatter, she commented with the barest hint of unsteadiness to her voice, “For being dead, you’re a decent cook. Even if you do use blood in your syrup.”

  Henry breathed in. He was very much alive. He wanted to lick the taste of maple syrup off her lips. Was it possible that all was not lost? He was happy to test the waters a little more, so he set the plate down on a nearby bookshelf. She stood just inside the doorway, so he leaned a hand against the wall closest to her to give her a better view of himself. He didn’t have an eight-pack or pecs made of marble, but he regularly went running in the Foothills at night. He thought he had a decent torso on display. Judging from the way she was staring at the dusting of hair that trailed down from his abdomen and disappeared into his boxers, she thought so too.

  Emma cleared her throat and glanced up at him, seeming to be striving for nonchalance. Then she squinted.

  “Why is it so bright in here?” she asked with a frown.

  He looked back at the collection of lamps behind him. “SAD lights are an amazing invention.”

  She tilted her head in question. He grimaced. Hmm, maybe they were a bit much?

  Suddenly, she grinned in understanding. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a seasonally affective vampire?”

  His eyes widened, and he scoffed. “What vampire isn’t? I had to do something to keep my mood up. I was not about being that broody and sullen all the time. I take Vitamin D supplements, too.”

  Panic flared up in him as the words fell out of his mouth. How had this shifted from watching her slowly eat pancakes to talking about SAD lamps? Apparently, he liked talking to her about absolutely nothing as much as he wanted to kiss the shell of her ear and pull her roughly against him. Christ, he was a mess.

  Emma crossed her arms in front of that entrancing chest of hers. “I want to laugh at you, but that’s actually really smart.”

  A slight blush heated his face. “Thanks.” He was always getting flak for being a square, so he appreciated the half-compliment. Even Grant only begrudgingly took Vitamin D because Henry nagged him.

  She peered around him to look at the books littering his desk. “What are you reading?”

  He glanced back to follow her gaze. “I wanted to brush up on my criminal defense,” he admitted. “I’ve been researching more recent case law.”

  “Ah. Makes sense.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “What are you doing here on a weekend, anyway?” he asked.

  He wanted to bang his head against the door. Most lawyers worked for at least part of their weekends, including him. More importantly, why on Earth would he ever question why this stunner of a woman was in his house-slash-office? There was no reason to let the conversation fall back on work.

  She shrugged, the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder a little. He stared, fascinated. He wanted to pull the strap down and kiss her smooth skin.

  “I figured I would catch up on my own cases. I’ve got a brief to write.”

  He barely registered her reply as he continued to look at her shoulders.

  “You know, for court?”

  Henry jerked his head up. He instinctively opened his mouth to offer to help her but closed it as the cogs in his cobwebbed brain started to turn and creak. That sounded like a thin excuse. He looked her up and down but didn’t bother to hide his perusal.

  “That’s a hell of a dress to be wearing for brief writing.”

  She gave a short, awkward laugh. “I didn’t want to show up in rags on the off chance…someone was here.”

  Triumph!

  “You wanted to wear that dress in case you saw me,” he accused.

  Emma avoided his gaze. “No—I mean. Rick could’ve been here too. Or maybe a client.”

  “Sure.”

  “And I’m seeing my sister later. Going out to eat. Food.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I am!” She casually tossed up her arms. “Besides, it was warm outside. I didn’t want to be uncomfortable,” she claimed.

  “Like you are now,” he said with a rakish grin.

  Henry took one small step toward her. Her chest was flushed. If they stopped thinking so hard, it would be so easy for their bodies to just melt into each other.

  “I’m sorry,” she retorted. “I just can’t get over the fact that you live in your office.”

  He didn’t buy her disdain for a minute. He might have caught her off guard like this, but that didn’t change the fact that instead of donning office clothes or casua
l jeans, she’d worn that winsome red dress on the off chance she ran into him. It was very telling that she hadn’t darted from his office the moment she saw him or when he’d offered her a bite of his breakfast. Dare he hope Emma had changed her mind about him on her own?

  “It’s a matter of practicality,” he explained. “I’m not about to mess around with a morning commute and dodge the sunrise every day if I’m trying to keep a mortal schedule. Besides, I don’t think you really mind.”

  “And why is that?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  He let out a half-laugh. “If I didn’t live here, then you wouldn’t have run into me like this.”

  Deciding that perhaps fortune favored the brave, he nudged one shoulder strap of her dress so that it slipped down her arm. Emma looked down at the out-of-place strap but didn’t readjust it. Encouraged, he was tempted to nudge the other off her shoulder too but decided he would leave it. For now.

  Emma smirked. “Eating pancakes in your boxers.” Her gaze flicked lower again.

  Jesus, she might kill him. He spied a small smear of red maple syrup on the corner of her mouth.

  “Yes. Good for you for voluntarily eating blood sober, by the way,” Henry said slyly.

  He reached up and wiped the stray syrup from the corner of her mouth. As she drew in a quick breath, he sucked the sweetness off his thumb. She looked up at him. He watched in satisfaction as her pupils dilated, and he heard her pulse ratchet. He wondered if she would let him kiss her. The simplest way to know would be to ask…

  But before he could get there, Emma switched gears. She tilted her head to one side and wrinkled her brow.

  “I didn’t think vampires consumed anything but blood. Why do you eat, anyway?”

  Henry forced himself to look away from her. Once he’d mentally caught up with the conversation, he said, “Why do you eat? For sustenance. We need blood to survive, but for one, food is delicious. Also, it helps keep our energy up between blood feedings. I find it easier to mix a bit of blood into everything I eat and drink so that I don’t attach either a stigma or a fetish to it.”

  Fat lot of good that was doing, considering that he spent the same amount of time thinking about her neck as he did her smile and her soft curves.

  Emma laughed and looked up in thought. “So it’s like adding Metamucil to your orange juice. But…does drinking blood mean you’re actually cursed…or undead?”

  Henry clenched and unclenched his jaw to remain calm. This had completely derailed from sexy territory to talk of fiber supplements and physiology all too quickly. How were they supposed to get anywhere if they both had the attention spans of squirrels? It was probably his fault for being such a curiosity.

  This whole seduction thing was a lot harder when you tried to rely on instinct and chemistry instead of tried-and-true plays from the 1890s. He was basically naked! She was into him. This should not be that complicated. Maybe if he answered her questions quickly, he could redirect this conversation to something more stimulating.

  He shrugged. “Blessing, curse—that’s just a matter of perspective. I’ve still got a heartbeat. I breathe. All my basic functions are the same. As far as I could discern from research and testing, vampire blood has the power to reconfigure a human’s basic makeup. We freeze at the age we were when we first consumed vampire blood while still human. Then we remain that way…indefinitely.”

  She was listening and nodding but gazed at him intently. They were on that maddening edge of a cliff, waiting for the other person to jump first. How did anything ever happen with two cowards in a room? He leaned forward, barely an inch, but nearly groaned when she slid past him to claim one of the chairs in front of his desk usually reserved for clients.

  “How does vampire blood work, then?” she asked, smoothing down her dress over her lap.

  Henry couldn’t help but follow her. But instead of taking his swivel chair or even the other guest chair, he leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He stood just in front of her, but she didn’t lift her gaze to meet his eyes. Yet there was no hiding from him; he was pleased to hear her emit a brief but shaky exhalation. Good. This wasn’t over yet. Adopting the air of a lecturer instead of an almost naked man in an office in front of his employee, he gathered his thoughts. He would do his best to educate and entice at the same time. He was nothing if not a fan of efficiency.

  “The way my body processes blood is what keeps me from aging and lets me heal from injuries faster than normal. Like with mortals, blood cells cycle through to keep everything going.”

  She leaned forward in her seat, captivated.

  His voice lowered. “The difference between my body,” he motioned toward his chest, “and…yours,” he extended his open palm toward her, “is that the cells eventually break down without regenerating.”

  Emma’s mouth fell slightly open while he gestured between their bodies. Good. She was paying attention. She swallowed, seemingly trying to regain her composure.

  “Similar to aplastic anemia but brought on by paranormal forces. It’s why I need to get blood from others,” he said, staring at her neck unabashedly.

  “Do you have to consume human blood specifically?” She rested a pensive fist against her face, apparently not ready to give up.

  Henry’s lips thinned. What other vampire had this goddamn problem? What happened to society thinking that vampires were sexy? There had been a time when vampires would declare “Mine!” and humans would moan and fall into their arms. He used to be good at this. He uncrossed his arms and scratched the back of his neck, losing some of his confidence.

  “While we can survive on animal blood, human blood is ideal,” he continued. “It keeps us stronger and our cognitive functions in better shape. It doesn’t matter if it’s mortal blood, though. That’s actually how I get my blood—through what supernats nicknamed a blood CSA.”

  The spell broke as Emma let out a snicker. “Like when you subscribe to get boxes of turnips and okra from local farmers?”

  “Yes, but with blood instead of turnips.” Henry gently kicked her chair leg to chide her. “Don’t make fun of it. It’s how I eat.”

  “You have to admit that it’s a little funny.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

  “Sure, but the blood CSA is another reason why I haven’t turned away these supernat cases. Fairies, witches, and even werewolves sell their blood at a low rate so that vampires don’t have to rely on mortals so much as blood sources. If it weren’t for them, I’d have a higher risk of being discovered.”

  Emma sobered some while she took that thought into consideration. As she stared into space, Henry lowered his gaze to her neck. Her pulse jumped beneath her skin. When he’d been mortal, he’d never really noticed such a simple thing in a woman. But there it was, her pulse, throbbing. He wanted to taste her blood as much as he wanted to press soft kisses against her skin.

  He was definitely, absolutely, and utterly fucked.

  “If you’re basically frozen, does that mean you can’t have kids?” she asked bluntly.

  Henry frowned and rolled his shoulder to get rid of a knot. That was not where he thought the conversation was headed. Henry looked down at her, unable to stop an awkward blush from creeping up his face. What the hell did she care if he could have kids? After a moment, he got over his embarrassment and shook his head.

  “Turning renders vampires sterile. We still do things normally, but vampire reproduction is governed via the exchange of vampiric and human blood. Eggs and sperm perish with the initial shock of the transformation. Then the vampire blood sends the body into stasis as a means of coping with the change.”

  “That’s awesome,” she said, her eyes aglow.

  He blinked. He couldn’t say he’d ever heard that particular response when people spoke of sterilization.

  “Pardon?”

  “Built-in permanent birth control—that’s pretty sweet. And since you have healing powers, you have STI protection too. Lucky,” she sai
d with feigned petulance.

  Henry laughed. “Well yes, that is an advantage.” Then he looked at her with curiosity. “You mean you don’t see kids, a golden retriever, and a white picket fence in your future?”

  Discussing birth control should’ve been a natural segue back to something sexier. But no. Now he was curious about her life goals apparently. None of this was his business, really. On the other hand, he didn’t know what was considered an appropriate conversation topic for the two of them anymore. This was as good as any.

  Emma shook her head as simply as if he’d asked if she wanted something to drink. “Kids are nice to play with for an afternoon here and there, but they’re not for me.”

  An involuntary grin crossed his face; she was a kindred spirit. “I know the feeling well.”

  She blinked and jerked her head back in mock surprise. “You mean after all these years you haven’t found yourself a charming vampiress soulmate who you want to adopt a handful of werewolf puppies with?”

  Henry rolled his eyes, grinning. “Sorry to disappoint, but fated mates don’t exist in the Underworld. Vampires have to gamble on relationships, just like the rest of you.”

  She shivered. “Sounds depressing.”

  “A lot of us can get sulky, so maybe that’s why. I’ve dated and had some relationships with supernat and mortal women alike, but nothing ever stuck. I didn’t find any supernat women I clicked with in the long term, and dating mortals is hard if you’re hiding part of yourself from them. Telling them you’re immortal is a huge step because you never know how they’ll react. Then there’s the whole issue of one person aging while the other doesn’t. Though all relationships have something. If it’s not age, then it’s finances, infidelity, or general malaise.”

  Emma opened her mouth but frowned and snapped it shut. For being reasonably intelligent, he had an uncanny knack for saying the wrong thing when attempting to seduce her. Now the thought of a complicated relationship hung in the air. It was way too soon to be thinking about any of that, and he didn’t want to kill what they had between them before it even really started. He wanted to suck his words back into his mouth, chew them aggressively, and swallow them.