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At the same time… tonight has me a little rattled. Yesterday has me rattled. This whole assignment has me rattled, and though I’m not quite at the point of imagining hitmen in the shadows or feeling like I’m in imminent danger… Cas has a point.

I open my mouth, then close it, then catch Cas’s eye and feel another warm,annoyingpulse of sensation in the bite mark on my neck.

“Fine.”

The word comes out clipped, short and breathless on the edge of an irritated sigh, and I’m not sure who’s more surprised, me or Cas.

His smile is warm, but lacks any of the superiority I might have expected to find there. Instead, he simply inclines his head, gives me an address to plug into my phone’s GPS, and says he’ll see me when I arrive to give me a house key and show me where I can plug in.

He leaves, and I stay standing right where I am for ten seconds, thirty, a minute, until the sound of a car’s horn somewhere nearby jerks me out of my stupor and I walk slowlyback to the van. After taking a few minutes to make sure everything is fastened down and stowed away for the drive, I climb into the driver’s seat and rest my forehead against the wheel.

What the fuck am I doing?

I’ve got no answers, no explanation for it, nothing to do but turn the key in the ignition and slip my phone into the mount on the dash, opening up the map that will take me straight to the vampire I was never supposed to get this close to.

12

Casimir

Triumph and satisfaction and the remaining buzz of Ophelia’s decadent blood run through my veins as I surreptitiously glance down to my driveway from a second-floor window.

Our conversation when she arrived here was short, succinct, to the point. It was nothing more than business as I gave her a key that will let her into the main house where she can use the bathroom and the kitchen and any other room she pleases—not that I expect she will—then directed her to an outlet where she can hook up her van’s electrical, and bid her goodnight.

It was an effort to stay neutral, to not let all that warmth and pleasure at her being near show itself on my face.

I shouldn’t be feeling any of it. There’s no reason having her close should draw on those same instincts that gripped me while I had my fangs in her, the same instincts that have always had me by the throat when Ophelia is near.

Shaking my head, I abandon the window and wander down the hall to my bedroom.

It’s not a room that gets much use.

Which makes it a fine fit with the rest of the house, beautiful and hollow as it is. A showpiece in the truest sense, purchased and polished and existing as nothing more than a place to comeand go from, to take care of paltry needs as they arise, though any much simpler dwelling would have done just as well.

Vampires my age have little need for sleep. Though I might indulge in a nap or a night of unconscious slumber when the mood strikes or when my physical strength is depleted, I’m also more than fine going weeks, maybe months, without.

I don’t need to avoid the sun as I did in my younger years, the bright rays no longer burning new vampiric eyes or itching against cold, marble flesh as they did in the first decades after my transformation.

Vampires harden as we settle into our new forms, no longer vulnerable to all the lesser slings and arrows of life. Our aging slows down to a trickle, and means we might live a millennia if we don’t meet some unfortunate, violent end. We’re stronger, faster, more durable than humans, with heightened senses.

All of it means I can come and go as I please. I can enjoy the night, or the day. I can live a life free of mundane needs. Even eating is hardly necessary beyond what I might do for pleasure, and though fresh blood strengthens and invigorates me, a year between feedings is no great strain.

The benefits of time, I suppose, and the curse. The dreadful ennui of having a vast, yawning existence stretching before me and yet feeling less and less human with each passing year to enjoy it.

At least until tonight.

Because with Ophelia’s blood in my veins, the hands of time itself might have reversed.

Muscles and sinew and synapses long dormant have sprung back to vibrant life. I’m invigorated and exhausted at once, like I could run to New York and back, but also like I could sleep for ages. Dreamless, soul-deep sleep I haven’t experienced in as long as I can remember.

It’s one more reason I never should have invited her here.

When I offered to drive her home, I certainly never intended to. But seeing where she was parked—in the middle of some darkened industrial park, in a lot lit by only a single dim lamp mounted to the building, with no security cameras and not a single other soul in sight—the offer sprang out without my meaning it to.

And now, having her so close is a comfort and a warning both. A reminder of what I can’t have, what I can’t want, what I won’t allow myself to be foolish enough to feel again.

I shrug out of my suit jacket and leave it hanging carelessly on a chair at the side of the room. Loosening my tie and undoing the top two buttons of my shirt, I walk to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, splashing my face with a few handfuls of cold water before I finally meet my own gaze in the mirror.

Gods, I look a mess.