Page 22 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

Did I fuck the vampire last night?

I wake up alone in bed and it’s cold . “Ryet?”

I push the covers off me, get up, pull on a fluffy white robe that’s hanging on a hook, and go out into the living room.

He’s there, bent down in front of a wood stove. He looks over his shoulder at me, absently stoking a small fire. “Hey. You must’ve been tired.”

“What time is it? How long have you been up?”

He glances across the room to the clock. “Almost nine. I’ve been up for hours. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. You should’ve woken me. I would’ve kept you company.”

“Went to the gym, took a shower.” He nods his head to the small kitchen to my right. “Got us some coffee.”

I look over at the kitchen and see a drink holder with two cups, steam spilling out of the little drink holes, like he just got back from somewhere. And I can feel it. The draft that lingers in a room after someone comes in from the outside.

“I’m going to assume you slept well, but I’ll ask anyway. How was it?”

How was it? It’s kind of a loaded question. How was the sex? How was feeding him my blood? How was sleeping next to him with his arms protectively around me? How was the dream I had where I let the vampire fuck me? “All of it was good.”

And it was.

Even that dream.

Ryet shoves a piece of wood into the fire, closes the door of the stove, and stands up smiling as he turns to me. “All of it, huh? That doesn’t leave me any room for improvement.”

Why does he make me so happy? I mean, it’s not like we’re having intellectual conversations. It’s dumb banter. Worthless, throwaway words. He’s not promising me things, either. We’re just… easy, I guess. And easy is maybe the ultimate definition of happy.

I walk over to him and lean into his chest, my fingertips sliding down his soft burgundy t-shirt until I find the top of his jeans. I hook my fingers into his waistband, looking up into his eyes, and his grin is wild. “You do things to me,” I say.

That wild grin becomes downright feral. “What kind of things?”

“You… make my heart skip, Ryet. How, though? I barely know you. And trust me when I say this, you don’t know me at all.”

His expression doesn’t change. The grin is still unchecked, but I can tell that my words are bouncing around in his head. “You’ve got secrets, Syrsee?”

I nod. I need to tell him who I am. I need to tell him what I’ve been doing. I need this to happen because we’ve gone past a point of no return and this omission is going to ruin anything we have brewing here if I don’t confess very soon.

But how the hell do you tell your new love interest that he’s dying—as the vampire Paul told me in a dreamwalk—and that I’ve been feeding him my blood to make him better? How does one start that conversation?

He huffs out a little laugh. “Wow. That must be some secret you’ve got.”

My words come out with my breath. “It is.” And they are serious words. Words that cut the air between us. Words that come with a moment of silence afterward, so what I’m saying can sink in.

“OK. So… you wanna get it off your chest?”

I’m just about to say yes when he turns his head towards a large window overlooking the resort, like he’s listening to something. I didn’t pay attention to the view when I came into the living room because my mind was solely on the man in front of the fire. But I do now. And it’s stunning. Like take-your-breath-away stunning.

Snow, sky, sun, mountains, and… a helicopter. Landing on the rooftop helipad of a nearby building.

That’s what he heard and why he turned his head. “Fuck.” He says this under his breath. Then he turns to me. “My boss is here. I’ll be right back.”

He’s already moving away from me when I grab his arm. “Wait.”

He turns, but his attention is no longer on me. “Syrsee. I’ll be right back, OK? Just have some coffee and”—he’s releasing my grip on his arm as he says this, sliding my hand off him—“and… I swear, it’ll just be a minute.”

Then he’s moving towards the door. And before I can even come up with a reason why he should absolutely not go talk to his boss before we have our chat about my secrets, he’s out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

Now what?

Let Paul be the one to tell Ryet who I am? Because that’s why he’s here. I know it. I can feel it. And whatever happened last night with Paul, it wasn’t real, obviously. Because he just got here. It was just a dreamwalk.

It wasn’t real .

Here’s the problem with my delusion. Maybe, back before I could hear things, and see things, and feel things inside my dreamwalks I could talk myself into thinking they were nothing more than a fantasy. No. Wrong word. Not a fantasy, but just a regular dream.

I’m not fantasizing about that fucking vampire. I’m not.

But now that I have all my senses—now that I can feel their touch—oh, God. I close my eyes, wincing. What the hell have I been doing?

Did I fuck the vampire last night?

I can’t. I can’t think about that. I untie the robe, let it slip down my arms, and go hunting for my clothes. I need to see Ryet before Paul tells him.

I pull my pants up my legs, slip my shirt on, slip my feet into my boots, and shrug on my jacket as I go outside and tug the door closed behind me.

This cabin is up on the side of the mountain. Higher than the lodge. So I scan the walkways below me, looking for Ryet.

I spot him just as he pulls the door open to a building that looks like a greenhouse, the helicopter still on the roof, and disappears inside.

It’s cold out here, and beginning to snow, so I automatically shove my hands into my pockets. Then I lean into the wind and follow the pathway down to the building where the vampire Paul is waiting.

I’m only a few steps into this journey when the helicopter is in the air again. My heart thumps wildly, fear filling up my whole body. Did Ryet just leave with Paul?

I squint as the helicopter slowly moves through the air—I’m at a much higher elevation, so for a moment I’m almost eye level with the person in the cockpit.

Just one person. The pilot.

So that means Paul is here to stay.