Page 30 of Road Trip with a Vampire

I shook my head. “It’s not. Remember how you said fixing cars was as easy for you as breathing?

That’s me with fire. It’s harder for me not to use that power than it is to indulge.

” I closed my eyes and flopped back down on the couch beside him.

The vodka I’d drunk was beginning to go to my head, making me feel warm and fuzzy around the edges.

“Anyway, you can probably guess what a nihilistic witch who ran with a bad crowd might have gotten up to with that ability.”

“Mm,” Peter agreed. “Some regrettable arson, I assume?”

I huffed a humorless laugh. “Got it in one. Most of the people who got caught up in my arson nonsense were assholes who only got what they had coming to them.” I turned my head, worried about what Peter’s reaction to that might be.

When I saw nothing on his face but patient, rapt attention, I continued.

“There was this one group that called itself The Collective who—”

“The Collective?” Peter interrupted, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Stupid name, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “Indeed.”

“It’s fitting that they have a dumb name,” I continued.

“They’re these pretentious assholes who can trace their bloodlines to a group of very revered sires from centuries ago.

Literally nobody cares about that, but to them it’s a huge deal.

They’re absolute jerks to everyone else because of it.

” I snorted. “I might have accidentally-on-purpose set a fire at a party they threw in the 1800s that burned the place to the ground .”

Peter raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Reginald covered up my involvement in that mess for years,” I continued.

“Him getting on The Collective’s shit list for it is the only thing I feel guilty about with regard to that nonsense.

As for the vampires who died in that fire?

” I shook my head. “I hadn’t intended for anyone to die, but I’ll admit I haven’t lost a single wink of sleep over it in all the years since it happened. ”

“I cannot imagine anyone more insufferable than a vampire who feels superior just because of who created them,” Peter said.

“Right?” I said, feeling vindicated. It was fleeting, though. I’d saved the worst for last. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “Other accidents, I did lose sleep over. I more than lost sleep.”

As if he could tell I was struggling, Peter’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, massaging gently.

I turned to look at him, surprised at how close we were sitting.

When I’d begun sharing my story with him, I’d made sure there was plenty of space between our bodies.

But inch by inch, revelation by revelation, we must have crept closer, as if pulled together by an invisible magnet.

Now our legs were pressed together, knee to hip, our faces mere inches apart.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be soothed by his gentle, knowing touch.

“Do you want to tell me the rest of it?” Peter’s voice was a quiet rumble beside me. “No pressure, but I’m here if you want to share.”

I nodded, bracing myself.

“About a decade ago,” I began, my voice just above a whisper, “I planned a practical joke with an old vampire acquaintance of mine that got…out of hand.” I started picking at a loose thread on the hem of my shirt, no longer able to look Peter in the eye.

If Peter judged me now, I didn’t want to see it.

“What was the practical joke?” he asked gently. Still massaging my shoulder.

“It was stupid,” I mumbled. “I created a big windstorm to herd people into a rec center outside of Chicago. My friend walked in there dressed as Timothée Chalamet, hoping to give everyone a big thrill.”

“Who’s Timothée Chalamet?”

“I’m not totally sure,” I admitted. “He’s an actor, I think. Popular among the youths. Anyway, my friend was very proud of having thought of this joke, and I went along with it because I thought it sounded funny. But it went badly.”

I chanced a glance at Peter’s face to gauge his reaction. He looked like he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Did you set fire to this building, too?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“The building caught fire,” I admitted. “But this time, it wasn’t only me that caused it. It was a sort of gusty wind meets fire eaters competition situation.” I gave him a sad smile. “Probably the first one in history.”

He huffed a gentle laugh. “Probably,” he agreed.

“No one died,” I continued. “Everyone who was injured ultimately made a full recovery, thank the gods. But hearing dozens of innocent people screaming and crying because they were hurt, because they were terrified, and knowing I had played a role in it…” I trailed off, shuddering. “A lot of them were children , Peter.”

“No one died,” he murmured. “Right? You just said so.”

“No one died,” I agreed. “But they could have.”

“But they didn’t.”

I shook my head. “Regardless, it was the wake-up call I needed.”

Peter kept massaging my shoulder, kneading muscles I hadn’t even known were knotted up. I let him do it, enjoying his touch, even though I didn’t deserve such comfort. “Is that why you stopped using magic?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Though, when I think back on it, I realize it had been a long time coming. I didn’t like who I was or who I’d been. I needed to move on.” I shook my head. “The trouble with notoriety, though, is sometimes you don’t get to move on. A person’s past can be a trap they can’t escape.”

“So you…left,” he said. “Made a new identity for yourself.”

I nodded.

“How?”

“I staged a car crash, headed west, and didn’t stop until I got to California. I told no one from my old life I had done this.” I smiled. This part I was proud of. “When I got to Redwoodsville, I introduced myself to everyone as Zelda Turret. The rest is history.”

For long moments, there was nothing but the soothing pattern of Peter’s fingers on the back of my neck, my shoulder, still working their own kind of magic as he pondered everything I’d told him. I closed my eyes, willed the judgment I knew was coming to never arrive.

“Fascinating,” he said at length.

I snorted. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.” A beat. “I do have one question, though.”

My whole body tensed, bracing for the worst. “What is it?”

“Why yoga?”

An incredulous laugh bubbled out of me. “After everything I just told you, that’s your question?”

“After the sort of life you’ve led, it just seems an odd choice.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. “I like yoga,” I said, giving him the simple answer I’d eventually landed on myself.

“It was an unexpected discovery for me, too, after centuries of doing things I’m not proud of.

But I am proud of myself when I teach other people to find their inner peace.

” I paused, thinking. “It’s helped me find my own peace, too. ”

It wasn’t until our fingers were entwined and resting on Peter’s lap that I realized he had taken my hand.

“Thank you for sharing your story.” Peter’s voice was whisper-soft, his eyes on mine. We’d moved even closer to each other on the couch. The chill of his touch seeped into my bones but was comforting. Welcome. “You didn’t have to let me in. It means a lot to me that you did.”

I swallowed. “I just wanted you to know that…” I trailed off, not completing the thought.

What had I wanted him to know? My intent had only been to show him I understood what he was going through.

That he could reinvent himself if his resurfaced memories painted a picture he didn’t like. By the end, though…

By the end, perhaps I wanted him to know the real me as well.

His gaze darted between my eyes and my lips, and for a long, breathless moment, I thought he would kiss me again. Gods, I wanted him to. I made myself hold back, not wanting to push after what I’d just shared with him, letting him take the lead.

Slowly, and with obvious restraint, he leaned in close, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to my cheek.

“You are incredible,” he whispered fiercely against my skin. I shuddered at the unexpected endearment, at the way his hand tightened in mine.

My voice was shaky when I found it again. “You don’t think less of me now that you know the truth?”

“No.” He pulled back so he could look into my eyes again.

His gaze was full of steely resolve and a heat that had me wishing he would kiss me for real.

“If anything, knowing what you really are, what you have built for yourself through nothing but sheer determination…” He trailed off, closing his eyes.

“That required such strength of character, it takes my breath away. So no. It doesn’t make me think less of you, Zelda. Not at all.”

The sheer relief I felt over finally sharing my past with someone after ten long years and having them accept me for who I had been left me feeling lighter than air. As though unburdening my secret was also unburdening my soul.

“It doesn’t?” I asked, unable to fully believe it.

“Not at all.” He held my gaze, eyes blazing. “It just makes me want you more.”