Page 49 of Road Trip with a Vampire

“I did get good with swords. And knives,” he continued.

“I had a lot of time on my hands to learn new skills. One thing eventually led to another, and I attracted the attention of rich vampires who needed…er, shady work done. A lot of the offers I got were intellectually stimulating, but it didn’t much matter.

I was out of options. And money.” He paused and looked away.

“Immortality with no savings is terrifying.”

“I know,” I said. I knew all too well. I was comfortable now, but only after centuries of work and the beauty of compounding interest. There had been many hungry years along the way.

“It didn’t take long for my reputation as a skilled fang for hire to grow. The work was easy. A lot of it was even fun.” His eyes were sad when they found mine again. “The job for you was supposed to be easy, too.”

I stared into my now-empty mug, unable to look at him when I asked the question that had been burning me up all evening. “And what was that job, exactly?”

A long pause before Peter cleared his throat. “Fly to Chicago. Crack a safe for a group of vampires who had way more money than sense. Get paid an exorbitant sum. Go home. Easy as pie.” He shook his head. “Of course, nothing went according to plan.”

“Your job wasn’t to kill me?” I had to know.

“No,” he said emphatically. “That was never part of the arrangement. You have to believe me.”

“Then how did you end up in California?” This was the part that still didn’t add up. “If you were paid to crack my safe in Chicago, why did you tell Reggie you wanted to go to California?”

Peter shifted in his seat uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the floor.

“When I was trying to get into your safe, I went to your website to search for clues. I saw your pictures. Saw how fierce and strong you are. How beautiful.” He offered me a sad, bashful smile.

“I visited more than strictly necessary, if I’m being honest. I was so captivated.

It’s not surprising that when I woke with no memories, you were still top of mind.

Even when I didn’t know my own name, some part of me still wanted to find you. ”

The look he gave me was so full of misery and desire, I had to set my mug down or risk dropping it. Whatever I’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that.

What did I do with this?

“The truth is…” he continued, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The truth is, I think I started falling for you even before I met you.”

His words lodged themselves in my heart, warm and bright. An emotion I didn’t recognize flooded me at the pain in his voice.

I couldn’t handle this right now, after everything that had happened.

“You know, I’d forgotten all about the safe until today,” I said in a wobbly voice that wasn’t quite my own. I needed to shift things back to safer ground. Right now. “It was nothing but an elaborate practical joke.”

Something like a smile touched the corners of his lips. “Really?”

I nodded. “It had a whoopee cushion inside and some of my fanciest spell work on the outside. And that was it. Reggie and I made up stories about it just to see if we could get people to zap their eyebrows off trying to break in.”

“Huh.” He shook his head. “Well, I kept my eyebrows. But lost my memories. After I’d tried literally everything else to get into that safe, I tried some nonsense spell The Collective assured me would disarm the wards.

All that happened was I got blasted across the room and hit my head on the floor.

Then poof .” He threw up his hands. “I woke without a single memory in my head. If it hadn’t been for John Richardson’s red plaid pocket square, I’d probably still be in the same position.

” He shook his head. “You have no idea how much I hate that stupid thing.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “A lot of vampires have terrible fashion sense.” Peter didn’t, though.

His T-shirts and jeans always looked gorgeous on him and let him fit in wherever he went.

It was likely intentional, I thought wryly.

Wearing clothes that helped him blend in was probably part of his job description.

Before I could dwell on the uncomfortable truth that I’d been thirsting over a fang for hire’s work attire for weeks, I checked my phone to see how much was left of his twenty minutes. My heart skipped a strange, uncomfortable beat when I saw that the time I’d promised him was almost up.

Before I could tell him that, he asked, very quietly, “Do you believe me?”

I set my phone down and looked at him.

Yes , I thought. I believed him. For many reasons, not the least of which was the way he was looking at me right now.

Like he was hanging on my every word. Like a negative answer to that question might end him.

But how did we get past this? I could, and had, forgiven a lot of people for a lot of things.

I didn’t think I could forgive this. No matter how much I might want to.

“It doesn’t bother me that you take shady jobs for money,” I began.

He looked at me, face brightening. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” I said. “We all do what we have to do to survive. Gods know I’ve done my share of shady things. But,” I continued, holding up a finger when I saw the hope in his expression, “I can’t get involved with someone who was paid to do shady things to me .”

He held my gaze for so long it felt like my heart might break into pieces. Slowly he stood to his full height, then crossed the room to where I still sat perched at the foot of the bed.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” he breathed as he gazed down at me, his eyes shining. It sounded almost like begging.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Was there? “I don’t know,” I whispered. I needed time. Time to sort out my head and my feelings. Time away from him. And I needed sleep. Gods, I needed so much sleep. “I just don’t know, Peter. I’m sorry, but your twenty minutes are up.”

His face crumpled. “I understand.”

When he got to the door to my room on his way out, he paused, hand on the doorknob.

Then he said, with a conviction I’d seldom heard from him, “I will never be worthy of you after what I’ve done.

But you are the first good thing to happen to me in longer than I can remember.

I will spend the rest of my existence trying to make it up to you. ”

Without another word, he was gone.