Page 68 of Road Trip with a Vampire

“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’syour 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 Iamproud 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. WhathadI 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 realmeas 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.”

Fifteen

A leather journal embossed with the initials P. E., page 210

[a rough architectural sketch of a small two-bedroom home, undated, labeled “South Harbor home; fit for a family one day, hopefully”]

Peter watched me as hewaited for me to say something, the furrow in his brow deepening the longer I stayed silent.

But the words got stuck in my throat. Words were laughably inadequate to convey how much I wanted him, too. Or my relief that even after hearing my story he was looking at me like I had hung the moon.

So instead of answering him with words, I climbed into his lap. I didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath when I pressed my forehead to his.

“You want me?” I asked, breathless. His eyes fluttered closed, my mouth hovering less than an inch from his. I knew he did, the truth of what he’d admitted radiating off him as surely as ifhe were on his knees, reciting a sonnet in my honor. But I wanted to hear him say it again.

“Yes,” he rasped. His hands found my hips and dug in, pulling me closer until I couldfeelhow much he wanted me. “You have…no idea.”