Page 25 of Lash

"Will you tell me?"

A long pause. "Perhaps another time, if you really wish to know. It is not a happy story."

"You said you remember me when I was young."

"Yes."

"What do you remember?"

A thoughtful breath, the gentle rub of his chin on my shoulder. "I remember a summer's day. Where were we? Not in Zagreb. Your father's beach property, I believe. We left very early in the morning. Your mother was still alive, then. Your father carried you to the car and we drove all morning. The sun was bright and warm. I was in the car behind yours. Your father's driver parked and you shot out of the car before it was fully stopped. Your mother shouted at you, something about needing sunscreen, I think."

I smile to myself. "I don't know if I remember that specific day or not, but trips to the beach cottage with Mama and Tata I remember quite clearly."

You were neither a child nor a teenager. I do not remember how old. Perhaps eleven?" A pause. "I was very young, then, myself. Eighteen, I think, maybe nineteen. It was my first job that wasn't washing dishes and sweeping floors. Your father was proud of himself for being so progressive as to hire agypsy.” He spits the word so it drips vitriol. "I remember your joy. It was like the sun. I remember envying you. You were so free, so alive, full of so much joy." He's murmuring to me in English, and the foreign rhythm of his words is lulling, soporific.

"I loved the beach when I was a little girl."

"Do you not anymore?"

I shrug, shake my head. "I don't know. I suppose I do. I have not been in a very long time. After Mama died, the beach cottage was too hard for Tata to bear. I don't know if he even owns it anymore."

"I remember you running like an escaped colt. You threw off your shirt and fell in the sand trying to get your shorts off while running. I remember your mother laughing at you when you fell. She caught up to you and slathered you in sunscreen. All you wanted was to get into the sea, but she made you wait until it was dry."

"Mama and her sunscreen," I say, laughing quietly. "I used to lie out on the balcony at the compound and sun myself. I wore my bikini. I wanted so badly to be a grown woman with big breasts like Mama.” I laugh again. "Now I am a grown woman, but I still do not have big breasts."

Lash chuckles. "I know how that feels. When I was a boy, I wanted so badly to be tall. I would measure myself every day, hoping for even one centimeter of growth. Even as a teenager, I kept hoping I would have a growth spurt. I would dream of waking up one morning towering over my mother. I never did." The humor drains out of his voice. "You may not have largebreasts, Tatiana, but they are perfect. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met."

"Even though you knew me when I was an awkward little girl?"

“Many years separate the girl you were then from the woman you are now."

"Trips to the beach with Mama and Tata seems like another life," I whisper.

"Truly, it does," he says. "I was not innocent even then, but I had not yet become what I am now."

"What are you now, Lash?" I ask.

I pull away so I can see his face, and his dark eyes glitter in the dim light, and his beard is soft and ticklish against my jaw.

"A ghost with bloody hands," he whispers. "Amulo.”

"I do not know what that is," I murmur.

"A vampire. Undead. Returned from death to cause havoc."

"You are alive, Lash." I touch his cheek, and the flesh is warm. "You feel my touch, yes?"

I hear him swallow. "Yes."

Warmth, safety, security—these feelings birth boldness, erase the shreds of dreamstuff still lingering in my belly, replacing it with heat and desire.

I curl closer, my hands clasped under my chin, one finger touching just below his lip. I feel his breath catch. Touch my lips to his. "You feel my lips?" I whisper so softly that he must feel the words as much as hear them.

"Yes.” It's a breath. "But Tatiana—"

I move my lips on his, and it’s not exactly a kiss—more of a hint of a kiss, a promise of one. "Lash, I know."

"You do not. You cannot."