by Sloan Archer
I tapped my fingers on the wineglass. I hoped Joseph wasn’t bored. And then I hoped Robert was bored—because if he wasn’t, it meant he was doing something enjoyable. With Serena.
“It’s a sporran,” Joseph said with an eyebrow raised. He held up the pouch that was situated right over his, uh, manhood. I hadn’t realized that I’d been staring at Joseph’s lower region, but I guess I had been, since he’d pointed it out. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who’d go around making up stories about women gazing at his crotch.
Well, wasn’t that just great? Now this fine specimen of a man thought I was a blabbermouth and a crotch peeper—so classy. Maybe next I could take him into the bathroom and show him how I could make bubble bath with my farts.
I took a sip of wine as I thought about how to respond. “Sorry I was gaping at your junk” somehow didn’t seem appropriate.
The pouch thingie was adorned in soft white hair and tassels of the same furry material. I reached out to stroke it and then reconsidered. Even though I felt it was an innocent action, I didn’t think Robert would appreciate me going around grabbing at other men’s groins.
I needed to stop that—constantly speculating over what Robert would say—or else I’d spend the whole evening stewing. I hated it, not knowing where we stood as a couple. And I’d hate it more if Robert showed up at Jerry’s wedding with Serena on his arm, which I was more than mildly anxious about.
I used to roll my eyes when people said that their romantic situation was “complicated.” Inwardly, I’d snort: No, really, it isn’t complicated at all. You either are or you aren’t with that person. Oh, how naive I was to have had such an attitude. Now that I had a little romantic knowledge under my belt, I was starting to appreciate exactly what complicated romance was all about. Love is a very, very, very complex emotion, from what I’d witnessed. And people who said otherwise were inexperienced, like I used to be, extremely fortunate, or complete liars.
I also believed that every person has had that one flash of clarity when they finally grasped that they made the transition from young adult to just plain old adult. Liz said that her moment was when she’d looked at a teenaged girl and gasped, “Isn’t she too young to be wearing a skirt so short?” Back before she’d passed away, Grams had told me that her moment occurred when she checked her bank account and realized that she had exactly one dollar and thirty-seven cents to her name, and that nobody was around that she could borrow money from—that she’d have to live off that small change for five whole days until payday.
And now there I was, having my very own adult moment: You mean, love really is complicated? Yes, it sure the hell was.
“Your sporran, is it?” I asked and Joseph nodded. “Is it made of . . . What kind of hair is that? It’s so supple.”
Joseph chuckled. “It’s horsehair.”
“Wow. It’s lovely. Is it functional?”
“What do you mean?”
Man, I’d thought Joseph was beautiful earlier, but this was just obscene. The way his eyes glittered when he smiled, like stars in some faraway galaxy . . . There was no expression for it.
No, there was one: Yum.
I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t be able to make it through the night without pouncing. My brainwaves were branching off into two completely opposite directions; I was either having filthy ideas about Joseph or worrying that I was somehow betraying Robert. But having naughty reflections about another man didn’t qualify as cheating, did it? And who knew what was happening at that exact moment between Robert and Serena?
Pull it together, Mercy!
“I’m just wondering what you put in your sporran,” I said. “Does it open, or is it only for show?”
“Oh,” Joseph said. He opened his pouch and showed me what was inside: a wallet, some change, and his car keys. “It’s basically a place to put small items, because kilts don’t have pockets. Traditionally, though, sporrans were used to hold coins and musket balls.” He gave the pouch a shake. “But don’t worry, I’ve left my musket balls at home tonight.”
I laughed. “That’s good to know.”
Once Joseph finished his drink, I put the tumbler in the sink and gave it a quick rinse—blood can be tremendously difficult to get off of glass. I asked him if he was ready to go. He was.
As Joseph helped me into my jacket, I said, “Thanks for coming to the wedding with me. I’d have felt so pathetic being there on my own.”
He smiled. “That’s the worst, isn’t it? Being at an event where everyone is coupled up and you aren’t.” Not that we’re a couple, I thought, though it shamed me to be thrilled by the implication.
Jerry and Tim’s wedding was over-the-top. Of course it was. But it was beautiful.
The happy couple left very few dry eyes in the house during their nuptials. (Joseph didn’t cry, but he didn’t even know Tim and Jerry.) They’d chosen cream as their color, with a smidge of gold thrown in. The flowers were crisp, plentiful, and white-white-white: roses, gardenias, calla lilies, orchids, and apricot blossoms. Their first dance as a new couple was to a soulful Motown ballad. The main meal was salmon, though about seventy percent of the guests didn’t eat. I was surprised not to see a blood fountain somewhere for the vamps, but maybe one was hidden away someplace. Jerry, who had hoped to be human for the nuptials, was unfortunately still vampire. (As I reminded Jerry, the effect of my blood was unpredictable.) Jerry took this in stride, stating that finding the love of his life made him happy enough and that expecting more would have been greedy.
The best part of the wedding (for me) was that Robert (and Serena) did not make an appearance. This was a fact Joseph was too wise to address and I was too proud to declare, though it was obvious that we were both relieved.
Jerry was savvy enough to overlook Robert’s absence, though his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw that I was there with somebody else (more so when I whisper-told him that Joseph was with the VGO). I was afraid that Tim was going to mistakenly call Joseph by Robert’s name when he came over to introduce himself, but he didn’t, which led me to believe that Jerry had tactfully pulled him aside and explained the situation. I loved Jerry for that.
Joseph was a pretty fun date. He danced in a cool, self-deprecating way and didn’t even mind too much when a gaggle of drunken human women tried to lift up his kilt to see what was underneath. When it came time to catch the bouquet, I didn’t bother getting up. Joseph tried to nudge me out of the chair, but the steely look I shot him put an end to that real quick. He laughed: Okay.
It was hard to believe that Joseph was affiliated with the most powerful (and lethal) vampire organization in the world, and that I’d been in front of him only a short time ago, pleading for my life.
After the wedding, Joseph and I had an awkward moment at the door. Had it been an actual date, a kiss would have been appropriate and welcomed. The boxes were all ticked: Mutual attraction. Tick. Fun evening. Tick. Sky illuminated by the moon. Tick.
Unfortunately, there were a few boxes not on the perfect evening list that were also ticked. Questions, really. Did the evening conclude at my maybe-boyfriend’s house? Was my ‘date’ a major player in a mafia-type vampire organization? Did I have a contractual blood obligation to my companion?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
When the quietness got to be too awkward, I invited, “Would you like to come inside?”
For a horrifying moment I thought Joseph was going to accept . . . But then I was feeling as equally horrified when it seemed that he was going to decline.
I’d never been so conflicted. And then something occurred to me: I hadn’t checked my cellphone once the entire evening to see if Robert had called. I didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed.
“You aren’t tired?” he asked.
Actually, I was pretty exhilarated. I’d had a great time and I wanted to continue having fun.
But, on the other hand, I didn’t know what Joseph was getting at. Though I’d gone out on occas
ional dates in the past, the only ‘real’ relationship practice I’d had was with Mathew and Robert. I didn’t understand dating rules and protocols the way most twenty-something singletons did. Was Joseph asking about my tiredness code for “Are you energized enough for sex?” I began to worry that I’d inadvertently used a code for “Do you want to sleep with me?” by inviting Joseph inside. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get romantic with Joseph—because, who wouldn’t?—but under the current circumstance, it would be hideously inappropriate to do so. But, oh boy, if I were single . . .
Well, too late now. I couldn’t take back my invitation so rashly without appearing discourteous. Or insane. And I figured that Joseph was versed enough with the ladies to know what I meant. Not only had we already outlined that what we were on was, in fact, not a date, but there had been zero romantic contact during the date: no handholding, no kissing, and no accidentally-on-purpose thigh brushes. We’d even kept a respectable amount of distance between us on the dance floor. The drunken kilt-lifting women had copped more of a feel in their thirty seconds of harassment than I had the entire night.
“Sure, I can come in for a nip,” Joseph smiled.
Oh God-oh God-oh God! He was coming in!
“Great,” I smiled right back.
I directed Joseph toward the living room and then went into the kitchen and fixed our drinks, blood and wine. When I returned, Joseph was sitting almost dead center of the sofa. So, no matter where I sat, I’d be right next to him. I regarded the armchair, which was clear on the other side of the room—no, it would be weird and insulting if I sat there.
I took a seat on the sofa and handed Joseph his blood.
“You didn’t decorate this place, did you?” he asked, looking around.
I chuckled. “Is it that obvious? No, that was all Robert.”
Joseph gestured toward the rug I loathed so much—the amoeba rug. “If you don’t mind my saying, that throw is atrocious.”
I threw back my head and cackled. “Right! I hate it, too! I get dizzy just looking at it!”
He took a sip of his drink. “Speaking of looking at things, what was up with the kid staring at you all night?”
Joseph used a lot more slang than Robert, who would never use a colloquialism like “What was up with . . . ?” It sounded quaint coming from someone so ancient, though I doubted anyone not chummy with Joseph would point this out. Correcting the grammar of a VGO leader seemed like a good way to get killed.
I frowned. “What kid? A kid at the wedding?” What would a vampire as old as Joseph deem a kid? I was a kid to him, if you wanted to split hairs, though he and I appeared similar in age physically.
“He was a teenager. You didn’t see him?”
I shook my head. “No, not at all. What was he doing?”
“He was watching you. All night long.”
“Like in creepy way—checking me out? Or like he knew me?”
Joseph thought a moment. “I wouldn’t say it was creepy, no. He was sort of . . . observing you. Like he was curious.”
“Hmm, that’s weird.” Could Robert have sent a spy to see how well I was getting along without him? Now I was just being paranoid.
“You can’t really fault him, can you?” Joseph purred. “You’re a very striking woman, Mercy. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night, either.”
I leaned forward to set my glass on the coffee table, just to have something to do, because I didn’t know what to say. At that precise moment, Joseph did the same thing, and our heads nearly butted.
As I sat back, Joseph reached out and curled his cool fingers around my wrist, pulling me into him. I stiffened, frozen with indecision.
Joseph’s face bore a mixture of wanting, displeasure, and surprise. No woman had ever spurned his advances, I presumed. His grip slackened and he sat back. Joseph began to speak, probably to apologize.
But I didn’t wait to hear what he had to say.
Instead, I sealed his lips closed with a kiss.
8
The passion didn’t last long.
It was the shortest kiss of my entire life. I guessed it was the same for Joseph. We didn’t even need to come up for air—it was that short.
I wiped a hand across my mouth. He did the same.
I said, “Well, that was . . .”
He finished for me: “Weird.”
I nodded. “Yah.”
“Do you, err, want to try again?” he asked.
“Sure. Okay.”
The kiss lasted longer this time, but the outcome was the same. When we finished, Joseph and I sat back and regarded each other. It started to pour outside, and the raindrops made pelting sounds against the windows.
“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way,” I began. “But that was . . .”
“Bloody awful.”
Suddenly, we were cracking up, as if nothing had ever been so hilarious. We were laughing so hard that tears were springing from our eyes like a dam had burst under our lids. I snorted like a little piggy as I wheezed for breath, making us laugh harder.
Joseph slapped a hand down on his thigh and then my knee. “I’ve had more passionate kisses with goats!”
“What?” I cackled, swiping a tear from under my eye with a knuckle. My mascara was probably all over my face. I didn’t care.
“I was a herder back in the day,” he explained.
“Oh.”
And then we were off again.
“I don’t know why this is so funny!”
“I don’t either!”
Our merriment eventually died down to the point where we were making those soft uh-uh-uhh noises people do after they’ve had a good giggle. Joseph picked up my wine glass and handed it to me and then picked up his own tumbler of blood.
He held his glass up and made a toast. “Here’s to us never, ever, ever kissing again.”
I chinked his glass against mine. “Agreed.”
We sipped on our drinks and then I said, “I mean, what in the hell was that?”
Joseph grimaced. “I have no idea. It was like kissing . . .”
“Like . . . a family member . . . or a random associate, like the mailman.”
“Totally!” he exclaimed. “I don’t get it. You’re hot, I’m hot—” he laughed again. “Yikes. That kiss was just so appalling.”
“So, where does that leave us?” I smiled.
He asked, “Where do you want it to leave us?”
“This is weird, because I don’t really know you, but I like you. Like as a friend?”
“I completely agree,” Joseph said, nodding. “I feel close to you. But, uh, not sexually.” Apparently. “And I suspect we’re in agreement.”
“So, maybe we can be friends, Joseph. If it’s allowed?”
His brow crinkled. “Why wouldn’t it be allowed?”
“Err . . . Because of the whole VGO thing.”
“Oh. You aren’t planning on skipping town, are you?” he said. “Reneging on our bargain?”
“No, not at all,” I said with absolute seriousness, so there was no room for interpretation on his part. “I made a deal, and I’m a woman of my word.” Though I didn’t like it. “I just didn’t know if you’d get into trouble for being all buddy-buddy with me.”
“It’s quite decent of you to be so thoughtful about my welfare after everything the VGO have put you through. I know our treatment of you has been harsh.” He could say that again. “But in case you didn’t notice, Mercy, I’m fairly high-up in the organization.”
“I noticed,” I said.
“You don’t think that the VGO sent me here, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
He asked, “Didn’t you find it odd that we didn’t send a lab tech to extract your blood?”
“Sure, I did. I almost passed out when I opened the door and saw you standing there,” I admitted.
Joseph smirked at that. “I made the choice to come here. I wanted to see you. I fancied you when we first met.”
&n
bsp; I smiled. Duh. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out better.”
With a shake of the head, he told me, “I’m not. I have very few female friends—genuine friends that I have zero sexual interest in—that I can talk to. And certainly no human ones. Vampires are very sexual beings, if you didn’t know.” Oh, yah, I knew. I’d spent enough time with Robert to know that.
Joseph sat back on the sofa. “I’m glad I came. I had fun with you tonight.”
“I had fun as well,” I seconded.
“As far as the VGO, there are very few members that I take orders from.”
Before I could stop myself, I sneered, “You mean you don’t take orders from Serena?”
He snorted. “Uh, no. No way.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, not a fan?” I said with sarcasm. “But she was such a lovely woman when I met her.” For a complete bitch face.
He chuckled. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Serena’s on her way out.”
I couldn’t believe Joseph would divulge such clandestine information to me, a lowly human. Then again, it didn’t sound as if he had too many vamps to answer to, so he could pretty much say whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted, couldn’t he?
With my heart thudding, I asked, “What do you mean, on her way out?” Could her departure have something to do with Robert?
“I mean that Serena’s going to be invited to leave us.” He said ‘invited’ acerbically, and in a way that implied She’ll leave or the VGO will make her ass leave.
“Why?” I figured that if Joseph didn’t want to tell me, he wouldn’t.
He shrugged. “Vampire stuff—politics. But, really, it’s more like she’s pissed off all the wrong members.”
“She did seem kind of . . . prickly.”
“Most vampires are prickly, Mercy,” Joseph joked. “But Serena has no respect for her position. VGO are comprised of greatness, and our members are held in high esteem. Serena has dishonored our organization one too many times.” Now he was venting. Perhaps it was easier for him to vent to an impartial human who had absolutely no political influence. Maybe his adverse opinion of Serena was a dangerous one to have, despite his seniority. With enough backing, even a peon immortal had the potential to overthrow a single leader.