Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Women such as myself?” I ask archly.
He doesn’t respond. But the word homely appears in a still and silent corner of my mind. And I absolutely bet it’s what he means. Asshole.
“How long were you in that room for?”
“A while.”
“Did we even have the right to vote the last time you were awake?”
“Yes. That happened in 1920,” he says. “You don’t wear a wedding ring. Are you a spinster or a widower?”
“Neither. I’m single. Spinster isn’t a term that’s used now.”
“No boyfriend?”
“No. And no girlfriend or partner either.”
“So you live with your family?”
I snort. “I have my own place. Thank you very much.”
He does the furrowed forehead thing. Like he is judging all of my life decisions. Again.
“You may not realize it, but there have been multiple studies done proving that single women living alone are one of the happiest subsets of people in the world.”
“Is that so? What does this button do?” He pushes something and music blares out of the stereo. A song by Halsey. “Is this if you want to torture someone at the same time as you’re driving?”
“No, it’s for enjoyment. Halsey’s great.”
We stop at a red light, and he examines the sports car beside us with interest—along with the handsome Asian man sitting behind the wheel. They exchange smiles, and I would really rather not be part of whatever he is doing. Hunting for sex or blood, or I don’t know what.
The air tastes different in the city. At that house it tasted of dust and stone inside, and sweet jasmine and the perfume from the climbing roses in the garden. But here there’s smog and a dash of salt spray from the distant Pacific Ocean. It has a definite aftertaste. As do the people nearby.
I turn away before I can fixate on the sight of all that blood rushing beneath their skin. Hunger will not control me. I am not an animal, no matter what he’s done to me. The light turns green and away we go.
“What are the rules for being a vampire?” I ask.
“Do as I say.”
As if.
It’s truly ridiculous how attractive he is, with his flawless skin, deep blue eyes, and glossy, thick hair. The driver’s-side window is down, and a breeze tousles his locks. He’s like something out of an ad for cologne or designer jeans. Though, I guess that helps them ensnare the next meal.
His gaze is constantly on the move. Taking in the people on the sidewalks, other vehicles on the road, and the buildings we’re passing. High-rises amaze him, and the digital advertising billboards fascinate him to no end. Along with a group of scantily clad people spilling out of a bar. And following close behind them is a woman who absolutely cannot be human.
“That woman,” I say in horror. “She had amber eyes, and her teeth…holy shit!”
“Sounds like a werewolf,” he says. “Such things have always been here. You’re no longer susceptible to the human unwillingness to see what’s in front of you. To excuse away the things that scare you. Don’t be so shocked. What you consider unnatural is really just the parts of our world you have yet to experience.”
None of this makes me happy. “So, what do you want at my work?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But it’s interesting that they had the house keys.” He runs his tongue over his fangs as he looks people over as we drive. “The style of clothing has certainly changed.”
“Your suit is dated. But people wear all sorts of things now. Dressing in vintage clothing is common enough.”
He nods.
“Have you ever even seen a TV?”
“Yes. I bought my first one at the 1939 World’s Fair.” He points toward the circular Capitol Records Building. “They’d only just started work on that the last time I saw it.”
“How old are you exactly?”
“Have I mentioned that your manners are appalling?”
“You attacked me, drank my blood, and turned me into a vampire. Do you really want to discuss manners?”
“Drinking blood is a matter of survival,” he says. “I won’t apologize for it. And I could have left you to rot. I still might.”
Here’s the thing. The idea of becoming a vampire is seductive, in theory. Movies make it look so good. Live forever and all that. But the actual process of being attacked and exsanguinated is traumatic as fuck. Not to mention all of the changes to your body. The demand that you leave your everyday life behind and embrace…whatever this is.
I press my hand to my chest, waiting to feel the beat of my heart. It doesn’t happen. I hold my breath and wait. And wait some more.
“You don’t need to breathe,” he says. “You’re just doing it out of habit.”
“How were we even invented? Who made the first vampire?”
“Invented?” He laughs. “You make us sound like Frankenstein’s monster. The truth is, no one knows for sure. Or no one I’ve ever met. I believe it’s some sort of magic, though the how and why of it are lost to time.”