Page 110 of Blood as Sweet as Roses

“Perhaps I can enjoy my dinner afterwards,” she says with a provocative grin.

Warmth pools inside me. “I’d like that, sir.”

Her smile deepens. There’s something strangely soft in her eyes. I get a little lost in her gaze.

“Have you been enjoying the hotel, these first few nights?” she asks, with genuine interest.

“Very much,” I answer. “I went to the water park with some of the other donors today. I’ve never been to one before.”

She frowns. “What sort of park?”

“Oh, a water park,” I clarify. I realize with a little jolt that she may not know what a water park is. I try to come up with a way to explain it to her. “It’s like a…place with a lot of pools. And they have huge slides with water running down them, and a pool that makes waves, like at a beach.Andthey have hot tubs!”

She takes a sip of blood from the glass in front of her. “That sounds quite incredible. Do you like that sort of thing?”

“I loved it! I’ve never been to a water park before, but I went on the slides more than anyone else did. There weren’t many other people there. I guess witches and shifters aren’t really interested in that sort of thing.”

Crimson tilts her head, curiously. “Do living humans go to water parks often?”

It’s strange to think that she doesn’t know. But why would she? “Not very often. It’s more of a special thing. My friends went a lot when they were young.”

“But you didn’t?”

I swallow. “My childhood was…complicated.”

She leans forward slightly, her brow furrowing. “I don’t mean to pry…”

“Oh, you’re not prying,” I quickly assure her. “I’m sorry, I just don’t talk about it very much.”

“You mentioned losing your mother,” she continues. “That must have been very hard for you.”

“It was,” I whisper. “I still think about her all the time.”

Crimson lets the silence sit between us. She has a way of watching me that doesn’t make me feel rushed, but invites me to speak next.

“I loved my mom. And she did try her best for us, but sometimes I…I also feelangrywith her.” I pause, the emotion rising up. I’m surprised at how difficult it is to share, but at the same time, how it feels like something relaxes inside me when I talk about it. “I know that’s wrong, and that I should try to sympathize…but I also wish she could have been there for me and my brother. I wish she could have given us a different childhood. I wish she was still here.”

“I think it’s natural to feel many ways about someone,” Crimson answers. “People don’t always give you the closure you might wantfrom them.”

There’s a sad lilt to her voice that tugs at my heartstrings. I’m not sure whether I should ask her this, but if I don’t, I might not get the chance again.

“Do you…think about your brother often?” I ask.

She goes very, very still, although it seems that something moves behind her grey eyes. Finally, she says. “Yes, I think about him very often.”

Her voice is flat, but not harsh. Still, I hope I haven’t upset her. “I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But she shakes her head, an almost imperceptible movement. “You can ask. I just don’t speak about it very much,” she echoes.

A quiet, comfortable peace settles around the two of us. She sips her distilled blood, and I nurse my glass of pinot noir. A server brings me my main course, a tender steak that I happily cut into. I take a bite, savouring the iron-rich taste.

“How is your brother’s treatment progressing?” Crimson asks.

I’m surprised that she remembers. We’ve chatted about it a few times, but I try not to burden her with things like that. “Oh! It’s going well,” I reply, using a rose-embroidered hotel napkin to dab the corner of my lip. “He called me earlier today, and told me that he’s looking at job openings. He said that he wants to get into the non-profit sector.” My heart swells with pride. “He wants to help other people who are struggling with substance use.”

“I’m sure his own experience will assist him in that regard,” Crimson says.

“I think so, too,” I say with a nod.