by J. J. McAvoy
Get it together, Druella. “That was fast?”
“Your neighbor also began using his shower and is singing,” he grumbled.
I closed my eyes, and sure enough, I heard the terrible gruff voice from the man next door, signing the worst rendition of “Into the Groove” I’d ever heard.
“What you don’t like Madonna’s music?” I joked, handing him the clothes and trying not to look at his chest again.
“I do not know what this Madonna is or if that is the name of the man singing, but either way, I am insulted on behalf music,” he replied, taking the clothes from me.
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “You’re just going to suck up it sadly; homeless people cannot complain about my neighbors.”
“I am not homeless,” he said, taking the shirt and placing it over his head. “I have several estates across Europe, and those under me, as well as family that would manage whether I have been there or not.”
Several estates…across Europe!
What?
“Then why the hell are you in my apartment, asking for my help? Just go back to Europe and figure out what happened to you in 1920,” I snapped.
“Figuring out what happened in 1920 is not the problem,” he replied, his voice stern as he stared into my eyes. “Figuring out why I woke up in the middle of the forest, a hundred years after I planned to come to America to find my mate, only to have her find me is my problem.”
At this point, I was sure there was a problem with my ears. Him finding me? Me finding him?
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Chapter 3
“Are you sure you do not wish to shower also?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard my question. Lifting the pants to check them, he then tossed them back on the counter, taking off his towel to change right in front of me.
Meaning, he was naked again…in my apartment.
Not answering my questions.
Turning around, I glared at an unfinished painting of the Creation of Adam I was working on. “Is it really so hard for you to keep your clothes on? I feel like you’re trying to distract me, and it’s not going to—”
“If it’s not working, why are you turned around?” He spoke directly into my ear, making me jump a little and face him.
“So, you are doing it to distract me!”
“I’m doing it because I do not have properly fitting clothes.” He chuckled. “Though if it arises such a reaction out of you, then I may make a habit out of it.”
“Don’t!” I handed back his towel.
He rolled his eyes and put it around his waist. “Better?”
Not at all. Because I was still stuck staring at his damn chest. Why did he look like a damn fitness model?
“Ms. Monroe?” he said with a teasing voice.
“Just call me Druella or Dru—”
“Thank you. I’ve been waiting for you to give me permission for that.” He smiled down at me, and I didn’t know what he meant.
“Why?” I asked slowly.
“Because it is quite odd for mates to call each other by their surnames—”
“We’re not mates! Why do you think that? And what did you mean you’d find me, but I found you?” I didn’t understand any of this, and it was starting to bother me.
He placed his hand on my cheek, and I froze. With his other hand, he brushed the curls from my face. “Calm yourself. I will explain; I swear it, but before then, take a shower—you still smell of blood—while I search for clothes unless you prefer our current dynamic.”
I sniffed myself, and while he smelled like fresh vanilla, I reeked of grass, moss, and stale blood. The more I focused on myself, the more I felt the dirt under my fingernails and the twigs caught somewhere in my thick mane of curls.
“You better explain when I get out,” I ordered before pointing behind me. “There are some of my father’s things. You can check to see if there’s anything else you need like socks or something.”
“Will your father not be needing it?”
“He passed away.”
“My apologies—”
“No, it’s fine.”
He nodded, letting go. “Enjoy the Madonna.”
I couldn’t help it; I giggled, walking into my bathroom and closing the door. It was only then that I saw how horrifying I looked. My dark curls went in every direction, and my clothes were tattered and torn with the smallest drops of blood on my collar. There was even some dirt on my arms. The only thing that looked beautiful was my brown eyes; they seemed to shine. No, they did shine, as I had just feed.
This was the sight that made him want to mate with me? Obviously, he’d been hit on the head. That man, that vampire had lost his mind.
Or not. I noticed he’d folded the clothes he had worn and placed them in the corner. I could tell he’d used my soap and shampoo but only a little of both and put them in the exact spot and angle I’d left them.
I didn’t know if he was just being considerate, or if this was all part of some vampire ritual. And that bothered me. It left me feeling at a disadvantage. Stripping down, I stepped directly under the shower before turning up the heat as high as it could go. I was never physically cold or missed warmth until I stepped under a shower, and then suddenly, I remembered what heat felt like. I sometimes felt like I could stay under the stream forever. The warmth was sensual, and in that moment, his body flashed into my mind again, and I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him pinned against me. Would his grey eyes stare down at me, glowing in the darkness like they had in the forest? Just as I began to enjoy the thought more, the temperature changed, now cooling.
Damn it.
Turning off the water as fast as I could to preserve the warmth, I grabbed my towel and stepped out, only then realizing I hadn’t brought clothes with me.
Ugh.
Tiptoeing to the door, I opened it just a peek to stick out my head, hoping he’d still be searching for clothes. But of course, I’d run out of luck. Theseus sat on my couch, dressed in sweatpants and a V-neck shirt that seemed to fit perfectly, reading one of my books. He didn’t look up. He didn’t even take a breath. Instead, it seemed like he was trying not to breathe.
“Make your escape.” His voice was harsh, the playfulness I was getting used to hearing was gone. And I didn’t move, making him crack his jaw to the side. “This is not the time to be stubborn, Druella.”
“Nor is it the time for you to boss me—”
“If you do not calm yourself, Druella, I do not know how long I can sit here calmly, smelling your arousal. Go.” He glanced up at me, and his eyes looked pained. “I beg of you.”
His glare sent a bolt of shock through me, and I held my breath, running into my room and closing the door as fast as I could. Throwing myself onto my bed, I laid there for a moment, knowing full well he could hear every sound I made because I could listen to every sound he made as well. I could hear how hard he was gripping the book in his hand by the way the paper crackled. I could hear the amount of pressure he put on the couch as he sat upon it.
Why was I acting like this? I thought, sitting up. What was all the work for? This old vampire meant nothing to me. Yes, he was attractive, but that was the nature of vampires. Rising off the bed, I moved to grab my normal old pajamas but paused. It wasn’t important; he meant nothing to me, and yet, I still got up and pulled out my nicer, silkier nightgown. The one I bought just in case someone—a special someone—spent the night.
No. Then he’ll think I’m actively trying to get his attention.
I fought with myself for a good two minutes on what the hell to wear before throwing the silky nightgown back into the drawer and just picking an oversized sweater and some shorts. As I dressed, I heard the balcony door open, and I wondered what he was doing. Stepping out into the living room, I saw him sitting leaned against the door, staring up at the
moon, the book still clenched in his hand. I tilted my head to the side to see which one of my novels he refused to surrender. Of course, it was Pride and Prejudice.
Walking over, I slid between the door and his body, reaching to take it from him. He glanced back at me, the corners of his lips turned upward into a smile.
“Why are you women obsessed with this book even still? It perplexes me,” he questioned as I sat down across from him, hugging the pages to my chest.
I thought about it. “Firstly, I am sure men enjoy Jane Austen as well. Secondly, I could hardly speak for women all over the world. And lastly, I enjoy it is because it is like a fresh fairytale, where the female is impassioned, bold, and witty but with hints of Cinderella.”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Cinderella?”
“Come on. You know, servant girl goes to the king’s ball. She meets a handsome prince but has to return home before midnight,” I said, and he stared at me still. “Seriously? She leaves behind a glass slipper?”
“Ah…” His mouth parted slightly as he remembered. “The tale of the Little Glass Slipper, you mean. I do hope you not believe an Englishmen came up with the tale.”
“I’d never really thought about who came up with it,” I admitted. “It was one of those stories that have been told so often and in so many different ways that it just feels like it belongs to everyone now.”
“It is Greek,” he said so sternly that I tried not to laugh.
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really,” he shot back with the same inflection in his tone that I had. “It is the story of Rhodopis by the Greek geographer Strabo.”
“Personal friend of yours?”
He frowned, his lips in a hard line. “I am not that old, Druella.”
At that I couldn’t help it; I did laugh. “Sorry, please go on, what was the original about, or has it remained the same?”
“From what I recall,” he said slowly, and I could tell he was straining to think. “The tale came from the sixth century, a Greek woman named Rhodopis, who was kidnapped and sold into slavery by the Egyptians. One day while she is bathing, she has one of her slippers—though not made of glass—stolen by an eagle who flies it all the way across the Nile and drops it in the lap of the Pharaoh. He takes it as a sign of the gods.”
“Talk about convenient.” I crossed my legs and sat well. “So, the Pharaoh sends out his men to search all the land for her?”
“Exactly, and she is made the queen.”
“And they all lived happily ever after,” I said like I was reading the end of a story. “So funny enough, the story only became more realistic with time. I’m not sure who would ever believe an eagle would drop your sandal into the lap of your one true love.”
“I am sure you would most definitely believe it,” he replied.
“And you know me so well, how?” I shot back defiantly.
All he did was nod to the book in my hands. “Firstly, your entire home is completely and utterly filled with stories or paintings that require you to suspend belief. Secondly, you are a creature which is even less likely among humans to exist than an eagle who delivers slippers. Finally, how often do you explain yourself in firsts, seconds, and lasts?”
He was teasing me!
Glaring, I placed the book inside the doorframe of my apartment. “How about we just skip to the story where you explain…Oh, I don’t know—everything—like you promised. No more avoiding it.”
“I wasn’t avoiding it,” he lied, and I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew.
“Yes, you were, so out with it old man.”
His jaw cracked the side as he huffed a bit. Shaking his head, he glanced back up at the moon over my shoulder. “How much do you know of being a vampire?”
“You’re avoiding my question with a question.”
“I am not.” He shook his head sincerely. “But in order for me to explain, I need to understand how much you already know of what it means to be a vampire. What it means to us.”
No one had ever asked me that, but it had been something I had wanted to ask so badly. What did it mean to be a vampire? What were the rules? Where was the line? What next? I so badly wanted to ask but never really felt like I could. It made me feel like the dumbest kid in the middle of the class, asking something that was obvious.
I turned my body, moving to sit beside him and not across from him, so I could avoid his gaze. Instead, I looked at the moon. It looked like a glowing plate in the night sky. One of the things I loved about living in Washington D.C. was the fact that it was a big city that didn’t look like a big city with massive skyscrapers.
“Now whose avoiding questions?” he asked softly.
“I know almost nothing,” I whispered back. “I was human; I got into a car accident, and some vampire changed me. I woke with the need to drink blood. My senses: hearing, sight, smell, everything was heightened much more than humans. Once I realized what I was, I realized that the sun does not burn, and I can see my reflection just fine in a mirror. I don’t sleep in a coffin—I don’t need sleep at all. I know that witches are also real, and they hate us, so I should avoid them because witch fire is deadly…oh and mating rituals. That is about the extent of my knowledge.”
“And you have survived the last twelve months on only that knowledge?”
I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t look back. “Yes, it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t it impossible, either.”
“Didn’t your family notice?”
It was only then that I looked at him, and even though I knew he was staring, his face was a bit closer than I expected. I didn’t want to back down and let him know I was in any way unnerved by him. “I’ve answered your questions. Now explain.”
“I warn you, what I say will shatter everything you think you know—”
“Stalling,” I almost sang. His lips made a straight line, and I felt this urge to reach up to poke his cheeks. Why, I had no idea. “Well shatter my mind then.”
“Very well.” He nodded, and I gave him my undivided attention. “Then you should know that if the sun does not burn you, Druella, then that is because you were never human to begin with.”
“What?” There was that question again.
“Long ago, before me, before everything you see now, there were witches, and there were humans. The humans outnumbered and hunted the witches, and so the witches needed weapons to fight back. Someone took humans and turned them. Some turned themselves into new creations…vampires, us.” He didn’t stop there. He lifted his hand, turning it. “If you are a vampire who does not burn in the sun, who does not go mad with blood lust, who sleeps in the day, you have witch’s blood in you. You are considered a Noble within vampire society.”
“But I don’t sleep at all,” I said, quickly trying to separate myself from anything Noble.
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “You are young still, but by the time you get to my age, sleep will come as naturally as it did when you were a living child. You will enjoy it, too, as I do. Resting one’s mind is the comfort you forget about over the years.”
“So…” I said slowly, trying to understand. “You were a witch before your change? But I’ve never casted spells or anything like that while I was alive…or not vampire alive.”
“The witch gene can be like other genes and be recessive, meaning you could have lived on thinking and acting as a mortal without ever noticing. Though, I am sure you never got very ill as a child.”
I thought back over my childhood and nodded. “I used to have to pretend to get sick to fit in.”
“Well, that was foolish.” He snickered.
“I was a kid!” I cried out, and I elbowed him a bit, causing him to grin.
“You were a Wiccan child; of course, nothing in nature would make you ill. You were part nature whether you realized it or not. When I was a boy, I re
member fever had broken out through my village. It claimed my elder brother, Demetrius, and within two days, my younger sister, Thalia. She was a newborn, and within hours, she was gone.”
He spoke of his past so freely, so openly, that I instantly felt whatever little guard I held up come down. “But you were fine?”
“Yes.” He nodded, holding my gaze. “Because I shared the same mother, not father as my sister and brother. And though my mother had magic in her blood, it was not enough to carry to her children. Her family magic ended with her. I received my witch’s blood from my biological father, a random, unknown fisherman, who I never met or knew.”
I thought of it a bit more. “If it was your older brother and younger sister…”
“Yes, my mother had an affair, which her husband suspected, but once his children had died, it was all but confirmed, and people knew more of the ways of witches then. He sought to have her and me stoned, but we escaped by boat the night before.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know.” His face bunched as he tried to think. “I believe I was at least nine or ten. I was born around the summer of 841, in Athens, Greece. In history, there was a great storm in Thessaloniki, around 851. We had escaped there by the time of that. I remained in Thessaloniki until I was reborn there in 872.”
Wow. I couldn’t see it, and before I got myself sucked further down that rabbit hole, I pulled myself back to this century, the present.
“So, the vampires all the books are written about—the ones that can’t come out at day— with fangs, and who have to be invited in?”
“Those are the stories of Lesser Bloods.” He nodded but saw the confusion on my face. “Vampires who were once humans with no magic in their blood, though they don’t sleep in coffins, either. They never sleep. Most of them in the wild avoid us. Those that are trained enough to remain around among us are treated as…well lesser.”
“So that is it!” I gasped, grabbing his arm. “I swear, I thought other vampires were avoiding me while I hunted, and Mrs. Ming would always mutter something like ‘annoying Nobles’ or ‘my lady’ whenever she was irritated with me. But I never understood why. I just thought it was something common when she was human.”