Page 25

“Well… it’s nighttime…” I gestured vaguely at myself, trying not to notice how different Seb looked out of his usual coat. His new burgundy trousers still hugged his legs in a way that— nope. Not going there. I forced my gaze away and made a beeline for the kettle.

I avoided looking at him while I filled it, staring at the white glazed tiles on the walls, and their spiderweb cracks.

“So…” I pushed the kettle to boil, finally turning to face Seb. “You’re a vampire.”

“I’m a vampire.”

A giggle escaped me before I could stop it. “How did that happen?”

“I was turned by another vampire. A very long time ago.”

“How long ago?”

He paused. “Almost exactly five hundred years.”

“Holy shit.” I spun away from him, pressing two hands on the counter. I’d thought him thirty-five at most. “Holy shit .”

Five hundred years.

I tried to wrap my head around the number, those centuries stretching out like an endless horizon where the sea meets sky. While I’d spent my adult life measuring time by tides and seasons, he’d lived through entire eras, watching empires rise and fall like waves against the shore.

He’d lived through the Renaissance, through wars and revolutions, while I’d barely managed to survive twenty-five years of existence. No wonder he carried himself with such quiet authority—he’d had centuries to perfect it.

“Are you okay? Your chest—”

“No. Not right now. I just…” I swallowed hard. “It’s hard to process. Five hundred years. It’s a lot. It’s… a lot of years.” I pressed my lips together to stop my burbling.

The kettle clicked off. I poured water into two mugs, added milk, and handed one to Seb.

“I remember very little about my human years, and my diaries from that period detail little aside from my descent into religious fanaticism. But I can tell you I was lucky enough to be born into a minor noble family in Toledo, Spain. But there’s about where the luck ran out.”

“So…” A million vampire questions danced on my tongue. “What about sunlight? Does it hurt you?” I couldn’t help but stare at him like he was a science exhibit.

“Sunlight…” He traced the rim of his mug with one finger. “It won’t turn me to ash, if that’s what you’re thinking. But still, it’s… unpleasant. Like a severe sunburn that happens very quickly. We can tolerate it briefly, with proper precautions.”

That explained that beloved heavy coat of his.

“And garlic? ”

“A myth.” His mouth curved into something almost like a smile. “Ironically, it’s one of the few herbs I can taste, just about. In large doses.”

“What about holy water? And crosses?” The questions tumbled out before I could stop them, memories of the small St. Christopher medallion my grandfather always wore while sailing flooding back.

Seb flinched—a tiny movement, but I caught it.

He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Sorry. No, technically, a cross has no effect on a vampire. But I personally can’t stand the sight of them.

” He paused, as if weighing his words. “I came of age when Catholicism was more than faith—it was law. The Spanish Inquisition.” His voice had gone quiet, distant. “Some scars last five hundred years.”

“The Spanish Inquisition? Like… the witch hunts, and the mass executions? Were you… tortured?”

Seb’s laugh was harsh, like glass breaking. He set down his mug with enough force that tea sloshed over the rim, spreading across the counter like a dark stain.

“No.” The word came out sharp, brittle. His eyes fixed on some distant point. “Not myself, I—” He cut himself off, jaw tight. “It’s not something I discuss. Those memories are… unclear. Like looking through murky water.”

Something in his voice made me wish I could take back the question. There was more there—something dark.

Staring at the tea spilled on the counter, it suddenly occurred to me he hadn’t had a single sip.

I sighed. “You can’t drink tea, can you?”

He chuckled. “Darn. I thought I was going to get away with that. I’ll have a few sips, as you made it for me. But no. As you may have gathered, my dietary requirements are rather more… haemoglobin-based.”

My fingers tightened around my own mug. “How much do you need? Like, per day?”

“Two bags, ideally.” He took a performative sip of tea. “I exist solely on bagged blood, usually from hospitals. It’s more… ethical than the alternatives.” His eyebrow raised meaningfully .

The steam from my tea curled up between us. The memory of him tasting my blood rose sharp and clear—his tongue against his thumb, those eyes blazing with something wild and hungry.

“Though lately, my supply has been… unreliable.” His jaw tightened. “Which has made things rather difficult.”

Was that why he always seemed so tightly wound? Living on the edge of hunger, controlling not just his strength but his very nature? The thought made my own throat feel tight with sympathy.

“And,” I said, heat creeping up my neck. “Does it taste nice?”

His dark eyes fixed on mine, and time stretched between us like the moment before a storm breaks.

“Not quite as nice as feeding directly, no.”

I swallowed hard and took another sip of tea, focusing on the warmth spreading through my chest rather than the weight of Seb’s gaze.

Movement caught my eye. Seb had pushed away from the counter and was walking towards me with measured steps, each footfall deliberate. My muscles locked in place.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. The space between us shrank until mere inches remained. This close, his scent soon washed over me—something floral like jasmine, from his shampoo, but underneath lay something wilder.

His hand reached out. I suddenly forgot how to breathe as his fingers caught the hem of my pyjama top, which had ridden up slightly. With careful precision, he tucked the fabric into my waistband.

My skin blazed where his knuckles had brushed against it. I tried not to focus on the proximity of his hand to my groin, but my cock took no notice of me, and heat rushed south.

“Why did you do that?” I said, embarrassingly hoarse.

“That strip of skin was tormenting me.”

Blood rushed in my ears, my pulse a wild drum against my ribs. The kitchen felt too small, too warm, the air between us charged like the moment before lightning strikes.

“Why? ”

His eyes, dark and intent, locked onto mine. “Because I find you incredibly attractive, and your blood is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of having in my mouth.”

Everything stopped—my heart, my breath, time itself. Warmth flooded my face and spread down my neck, across my chest.

The mug slipped from my fingers.

Seb’s hand shot out, snatching the mug from mid-air before it could smash against the floor. He placed it on the counter with impossible grace, as if catching falling objects was as natural as breathing.

I cleared my throat, willing my racing heart to slow. “Huh. And here I was worried that you were actually straight and this was all in my head.”

His mouth quirked up at one corner. “I’ve had lovers of each and every persuasion over the centuries.”

My mouth went dry. The casual way he dropped that information—as if centuries of sexual experience were nothing remarkable—made me feel impossibly young and na?ve. Here I was, at twenty-five, with almost the exact opposite sexual history.

Here was this immortal being who’d probably seduced his way through history—artists in Paris, dancers in New York—while I’d barely managed a few fumbled blow jobs with sunburnt tourists behind the boat shed.

“Are you trying to perform a mental calculation, to see how many people I might have slept with?”

I shot daggers at him. “No. I don’t care about that at all.”

“I imagine the number is high. Very high.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “My diaries inform me I had quite a lot of fun in Europe in the late eighteen hundreds.”

“You don’t remember?”

Seb’s face clouded over, his shoulders tensing.

He shook his head, a strand of damp hair falling across his forehead.

“My memory is tragically awful. Much worse than the average vampire’s.

I think it might be because—” He pressed his lips together.

“Anyway, they get fuzzier the further back I go. Only the last thirty-odd years are clear, and then things begin to get murky. I have over a thousand diaries in room 210. They help me to remember things when I need to.”

I shifted my weight, trying to sound casual. “So, when was the last time you were with anyone?”

“Twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years? ” The words burst out before I could stop them. “What happened?”

“James.” His voice went soft around the name. “I suppose you could say that he broke my heart.”

“Did he… die?”

“Not yet. He lives with his partner in a cottage in the countryside. They have this dog…” Seb trailed off, and I stared at him. How did he know about all this? Was he having them watched? “Their children have almost grown up now.”

I bit my lip, trying to infer what he wasn’t explicitly saying. “Did he know you were a vampire?”

Seb burst into laughter, brightening the kitchen. “Yes. He knew. We were together for years. And we wanted… more. But that wasn’t something he was prepared to do. Nor I.”

Do? And more what? More time? So many questions lined up on my tongue, but I forced them down.

“After he left, I experienced a… rough patch, let’s just call it.”

The vulnerability in Seb’s expression tugged at something in my chest. Without thinking, I took a step towards him, wanting to offer comfort but unsure how.

His shoulders had slumped, and those somber eyes held such ancient pain it made my own heartache from Tom’s rejection feel small in comparison.

“And I made a few mistakes .”