Page 48

Zeno leaned over me, gripping the frame of the door above my head, staring down at me with a casual expression. As if standing over me, only inches from my face, was a daily occurrence.

Too close!every cell of me screamed. “What are you doing?” I snapped.

One of his brows arched. “Closing the door? It’s not my fault you stood there for so long.”

I tried to avert my eyes from the towering man, but they fell onto his left hand. Zeno’s arm was slack, his fingers curled loosely around the neck of a bottle. The light of a sconce glinted across the shiny glass surface.

“Burgundy pinot noir, 1963,” Zeno read, holding the bottle up. He spun on his heels and headed down the hall. “Follow me.”

I followed him to the little library, where a small dining table and duo of chairs were waiting for us. He placed the bottle between two glasses and took his seat at the far end of the table. I mirrored his actions and looked at the unusual setting. The table was new to the room. Its tablecloth was as crimson as the wine in the bottle, with the crystal glasses probably never used. In contrast, a thin film of dust covered the room, which consisted almost entirely of grays and browns—all except the books on the shelves, which had been opened and wiped clean of dust by yours truly. I hoped Zeno didn’t notice.

The cork let off a satisfyingpopas it dislodged and flew onto the table. Zeno poured the wine in a smooth arc, and it pooled at the bottom of my glass, revealing a deep red color with purplish undertones. The fragrance wafted up toward me, delicately floral yet earthy. Nothing like the cheapo wine Emily used to drink.

“Should you really be drinking?” I asked, trying to ignore my watering mouth.

Alcohol was a known blood thinner, and Zeno was nearly due for his next donation, meaning he was probably borderline on clotting factors as it was.

Zeno scoffed and filled his glass. “Pah. If I had to go without wine, I’d rather not live.”

“Did Noor say it was okay?”

“She would rather have a living patient—” he sat across from me and gave his glass a swirl “—so she acquiesced. I get my cheese and wine once a week.”

I took the chance to study Zeno as he took a slow, even sip with closed eyes. What a lovely painting that would make. He opened them, and I quickly reached for my glass, spilling a few drops of wine on the tablecloth. If the vampire cared, he didn’t show it. Instead, Zeno sat forward with his elbow on the table and his jaw resting on the back of his fist. In his other hand, he continued to swirl his glass.

“Try some,” Zeno implored, gesturing toward my drink.

I took a sip, and a complex array of flavors washed over my tongue.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s delicious.” I returned the glass to its original spot and tried to ignore the fresh stains on the table.

“And?”

I folded my arms tightly. “I don’t know. What else am I supposed to say?”

“You could have pointed out its raspberry notes, or comment on its smoothness.”

“I’m not a wine connoisseur,” I grumbled. “I avoid drinking when I can.”

Zeno took another sip, tilted his head to the side. “Because of what happened to your mother?”

The query was as cool and dry as the wine we were drinking, as though he were simply asking me what I did for a living, or if I had any siblings. I gave him a strange look. “I thought we were talking about you, not me.”

Zeno shrugged so broadly that I thought his wine would tip over, but it didn’t. “Tit for tat,” he crooned. “That’s what you say in English, right?”

I took a gulp of wine, disappointed not to feel it burn as it went down. I grimaced at the dryness filling my throat, the tannins tasting like cotton balls. Bitter, just like my answer was about to be.

“Yes, because of what happened with my mother. She drank herself to death. It started out with wine, but after Papa passed, wine didn’t cut it anymore. That’s when she turned to his moonshine.”

Guilt marred his features ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, Cora.”

“It’s all right. I wasn’t there for it, anyway.” I forced a small smile. “I ran away, I guess.”

Zeno ran his fingers through his hair, his usual nervous gesture betraying his attempt to look impartial. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

I fidgeted with my skirt, glancing back and forth between my hands and Zeno, who was growing more anxious by the second. The only person I had spoken about this with was Emily, back when I first moved to London. Sweet Emily, who had held my hand and whispered,It’s going to be okayas I cried into her chest. Who only spoke of it again in the heat of an argument:I should have known you’d run away from me. You always do.Time hadn’t dulled the sting of those words.