Page 41

“Still getting used to it?” I asked softly. I decided against telling her she was already heavy handed before she was a vampire. I remembered how she used to comb my hair when she was flat ironing it. I had to remind her I have 4C hair, and she was used to combing her 3A textured hair. She would ease up, but she was so good at doing my hair I sometimesjust let her rake that wide-tooth comb through my hair without complaining.

“Everything is so freakin’ loud.” She whispered. Her hands hovered over the glass as if afraid to touch it again. “And I can’t seem to gauge how much pressure to use. Yesterday, I almost grabbed a doorknob out of a door.”

I nodded, remembering how Zand explained this adjustment period to me. “Zand says it gets easier.”

“That’s what Harlen and Donté keep saying too.” Morgan sighed, her fingers finally wrapping around the glass again, this time with exaggerated care. “But how long is eventually? A week? A month? A year?”

“I don’t know, but for now, sometimes you’re going to be as graceful as Naomi Campbell walking the runway for Versace. Other times you’re going to be Marlon and Sean Wayans walking the runway in White Chicks.”

I had no proper answer for her. The timeline of vampire adjustment wasn’t something I had to personally navigate.

“Girl, please don’t tell me I look like Brittany and Tiffany Wilson.”

“I mean, you did dye your hair blonde.” I teased.

Morgan let out a giggle. “And did.” I loved seeing her laugh again.

The heavy textured curtains parted suddenly, and Layla glided into the room. The Castle’s PR manager moved with the effortless grace that seemed common to all vampires. I wondered how long she had been a vamp. Her tall frame was accentuated by a form-fitting black dress that made her look like she’s stepped off a runway. Her blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder. She looked exactly the same way she looked the first time me and Morgan came to The Castle, and she plucked us out of the line to escort us inside.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” Layla asked. Her voice carried a faint accent I had never been able to place. Her eyes drifted from me to Morgan, then to my plate. “Can I have Marco pour you more wine? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“No, I’m fine,” I replied. “Everything’s perfect, thank you.” Layla seemed too high up on the totem pole to be checking in on us. Zand had a kitchen with regular waitstaff. I was sure Layla was busy, and this was way below her pay grade.

Layla nodded, but her gaze lingered on Morgan, the new vampire. There was something in Layla’s expression, not quite hostility, not quite curiosity. Morgan got attention from women and men, but nothing about Layla screamed lesbian or bisexual.

Morgan noticed Layla’s lingering gaze and met her stare. A small creased formed between Morgan’s brows. It was a‘what the fuck you looking at glare’that only someone that was close to Morgan recognized.

“And you, Ms. Hayes?” Layla asked. “Is your beverage satisfactory?”

The pause before “satisfactory” stretched a beat too long, infusing the word with something that could be judgment. I really didn’t know.

“It’s fine.” Morgan’s voice was clipped. “Thank you.” Morgan growled.

Still, Layla didn’t skedaddle. She didn’t catch the hint. She stood there, assessing Morgan with the kind of measured gaze one might give to a puzzle they were trying to solve. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask me. Mr. Valentine has given instructions that you’re to be afforded every comfort.”

“We will let you know.” I interjected, sensing Morgan’s growing discomfort with Layla’s presence. “Thank you, Layla.”

With one final glance at Morgan, Layla turned and slinked her tall ass back through the curtains. Her exit was as smoothas her entrance. But the extra time at our table was weirdo behavior.

“What the fuck was that about?” Morgan muttered once we were completely alone again.

“What do you mean?”

“The way she looked at me,” Morgan said, leaning forward. “Like I was some kind of science project. People act weird around me now that I’m a vampire.” She picked up her glass and took another sip. “They either avoid me completely or stare like I’m going to snap and drain them dry any minute. And check it, they all vampires too.”

I considered this, thinking about the dynamics at play. “Maybe it’s not just that you’re a vampire.” I suggested. “Maybe it’s who turned you. Harlen is sort of new around here. I know he’s Zand’s brother, but you and me were here before he was.”

Morgan’s eyes widen slightly. “You think that’s it? That I’m guilty by association?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Vampire politics are complicated.”

“Tell me about it. Even so, it makes no sense. Like you said, I was coming here with you. I’m not some new person.”

I watched as she sat down her glass again. Her hand trembled slightly. The tremor was barely perceptible, but it spoke volumes about the strain she was under. Morgan had always been the confident one, the one who barreled through life with unwavering strength. Seeing her struggle with basic movements broke my heart.

“How are you really doing?” I asked, pushing my plate aside. “And don’t tell me fine. I want the truth.”

Morgan’s shoulders sagged a little, her carefully maintained facade cracking just enough to let me glimpse what was beneath. “I feel...” she began, then stopped, searching for the right words. “I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. Like everything’sfamiliar but wrong at the same time.” She flexed her fingers, watching them move as if they belonged to a stranger. “I can hear people talking on the dance floor if I focus on it. Coco, I can smell what shampoo you used this morning. It’s overwhelming.”