Page 10 of Saved by the Vampire Goddess (Dark Wine Vampires #1)

Chapter ten

Evelina

Minnesota Ark Prime—Same night

W e finish the movie, and I think he might try to kiss me, but he holds back. I’m equal parts relieved and disappointed. But I can sense it, how the tension is tighter between us than it was, how our easy, casual touches aren’t so easy or casual anymore.

I did that with my kiss. I created the crack in the wall.

At dawn, I retreat to my sleep pod. The next night, I take another evening off. We pore over cookbooks together, our shoulders touching, searching for recipes based on the ingredients available. The spice garden I have is awesome, and with my help, he cooks a Mediterranean chicken kabob.

“That was fantastic,” he says, wiping his mouth on the cloth napkin. Then his eyes sparkle. “What would you like to do now?”

Oh, I can take a hint. And yes, I’m the one who let the boundary between us move. But I’m not allowing it to move again.

I rise from the kitchen chair and put my glass in the sink. “Let’s check on Daisy.”

The old girl’s still begging for treats. We feed her watered mash and figure she’s fine for the night.

“What do you say about another movie?” I tug at his hand as we move through the doorway and back into the living area.

“Well, what about some music?”

I stop mid-step and turn to look at him.

He shrugs. “You’re a singer, aren’t you? Yet I’ve never heard you sing.”

My heart speeds up. I’d love to perform again. It’s been way too long since anyone asked. “Okay.”

He points at the instrument on a stand next to my desk. “Can you play guitar?”

“I’m more of a bass player than a guitar player. But I can fake it.”

I grab the guitar and sit cross-legged on my Berber rug, and he reclines on the couch.

After tuning the strings, I brace the instrument across my lap. What song should I sing? I strum an E-minor chord, my fingers starting the song, the melancholy melody rising easily, and I close my eyes.

Speed pounds through your veins You raced to feel alive Pulling on your arm I begged you not to try Afraid you’d end up in a box With our last word “goodbye” I watch you crash your car I scream to stop believing Refuse to let you go Never really grieving I lock my heart up in a box Protecting it from cleaving When the medics arrive They say it is too late Their fingers close your eyes Alone, I feel the weight They place you face up in a box Leaving me, you chose fate Can’t hold on, can’t let go Pack away mementos I find a space for you And tuck away the photos So now you stay here in a box On a shelf I don’t expose How did I wind up here Your body and my heart bound Why didn’t you choose me Heard my pleas to stay around Instead you loved that car too much Now you’re six feet underground

My eyelids flutter open.

He’s still on the couch, but tears stream down his face. “That was so beautiful. And sad.”

“It’s morbid.” Why in the name of Lucifer did I play that song? “I was in a dark place when I wrote it. I’m sorry. I should’ve picked something happier.”

His eyes go wide. “You wrote that song?”

“A long time ago, yeah.”

“Was it…real? The story?”

I don’t want to go there. Singing that song was bad enough. He doesn’t need to hear how I’m still obsessing about something that happened two centuries ago.

He rolls off the couch and kneels on the rug, resting a hand on my leg. “Please tell me.”

I don’t want to, but the way his golden-brown eyes beg wipes away my resistance, and the story pours out despite my resolve. “My high school boyfriend died in a car crash when I was sixteen, racing against a rival school.” The pain rises in my throat, choking my words. “I-I argued with him right before it happened, told him he was reckless and stupid and crazy to race. He’d been drinking, and it wasn’t worth the risk of getting hurt or losing his car. But he did it anyway and went off the road and into a tree, and just about took me under when he did. I wrote the lyrics the day we buried him.”

“You witnessed—”

“Yeah, I watched the accident happen.” I swipe at the tears wetting my eyes, then run my fingers through my hair and push the loose strands back. “I couldn’t do a thing to stop the crash. I was just a mortal girl back then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Geez Louise.” Stretching to reach the guitar stand, I prop the instrument back up. “I wish I hadn’t sung that song.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I want to know you.”

He tugs me against him, stroking my back, holding me tightly to his chest. With a sigh, I wrap my arms around his neck.

We’re silent a long while as we cuddle on the carpet.

Eventually, I clear my throat. “What should we do with the rest of the night?”

“Would you take me to New Rome’s reclamation bin?”

Not what I was expecting. “Uff-da. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, I know. But I feel disloyal for remaining here in this comfort when Tina is… When she might be… I have to try. I have to confirm for myself whether it’s possible to return…please, Evelina.”

Singing that song has turned me into a soft pile of mush. I heave out a big old sigh and finally cave. “Yeah, you can try.”

“Thank you.” He hugs me so tight he almost cracks my ribs. “Thank you so much.”

I hope I don’t live to regret this. Letting out big feelings is always a mistake, but it’s been three weeks, and he’s still asking. He’s never going to relent until he proves to himself that being booted from New Rome was a one-way trip.

“Well, you can’t go like that.” I haul myself off the carpet, grab his hand, and drag him after me.

“Hey!”

I slow down to mortal speed. I haven’t yet shown him the warehouse. When we reach the elevator, I tap the down arrow and the doors slide open. He hesitates, and I pull him inside. “It’s just an elevator.”

“Ugh. Hardly any of ours work. No parts to repair them. You take your life in your hands if you use one.”

“This one’s fine. The Lux keep it repaired.” I push the button for the second floor of the basement.

Once the door closes, he points at the lit button. “That makes no sense.”

“The basement is five floors—we’re going to B-2, the second floor below. Ten stories are above us—numbers 1 through 10. Vampires have scavenged and filled this climate-controlled warehouse with all the pre-Collapse supplies, equipment, and tools we can find that are in decent shape.”

His jaw hangs open, and I use my index finger to push under his chin to close his trap.

When we come to a stop, I grab the handheld tablet from the wall charging holder outside the elevator. It’s about the size smart phones used to be, and I speak into the tablet’s microphone. “Find men’s skiwear.”

The map grid of this floor lights up on the screen. An illuminated pathway appears beneath our feet. I head down the main hallway, and he trails after me.

“This is endless,” he says, glancing around.

Yep. He’s right. To the left and right of us are tall racks filled with containers ranging in size from the New Rome reclamation bin to smaller polymer boxes. The rather monotonous utilitarian racks and the two-story-high ceiling feel overwhelming until you get used to the magnitude of what the Lux planned.

He points. “What’s in all those containers?”

“Men’s clothing, shoes, accessories, and the like. We prioritized what we scavenged, first grabbing any goods that would perish quickly, which we cleaned and stored.”

“This is King Midas wealthy.” His head continues to swivel as he rubbernecks.

I shrug at his comment. “Doncha know, this here doesn’t belong to me. Like I told you already, when my contract is over, I get to select what I want to take with me, but the Lux put a limit on it. The rest stays here, preserved for the benefit of future generations, when the domes can finally come down.” I stop at the rack highlighted on the tablet. “It takes less space this way—we only hang the really nice suits.” He gawks at the plastic bins filled with men’s clothing. “Men’s extra-large ski clothing and accessories,” I say into the handheld. Extra-large has worked so far for his casual wear. I don’t see why we’d need to change it now.

The sound of gears spinning starts, and the racks separate, rolling apart on wheels to create an aisle, and a robotic arm lowers a bin. He jumps away.

I ignore his reaction. “Ski clothes are probably the safest bet.”

“What is ski ?”

I explain, and his eyes get big. I forget how much is still new to him, and then I get reminders like this. Once the bin reaches waist height, I tell the robotics to stop, pop the sealed lid open, and peel back the protective lining. I hand him a pair of long underwear and tight black ski pants. “Put these on.”

“Here?” He looks at me with hunger, and his scent shifts.

“No, we’re not doing that . My gear is in the garage, but no sense making you change in the cold. So try them on here.” I smile, trying to release the sexual tension snapping in the air.

I catch the slight disappointment on his face before I turn my back on him to find a turtleneck shirt and puffy insulated ski jacket, the type that always reminds me of the character in the Michelin tire commercials back in the day and is rated for freezing temperatures.

I don’t dare stare at him, but I get a good view of his long, muscular legs and taut abs reflected in the shiny metal supports holding up the storage racks. I’ve seen his naked body before during his first time in decon, when he was half dead, but it’s not remotely the same. Once his pants are on, I hand him the shirt and jacket. “Try these on.”

“Um, the pants are a bit tight.”

“Turn around.” I stick two fingers in his waistband, then tug on the leg. “Yeah, the pants are snug, but they’re supposed to be snug. Bend over.” I get the benefit of seeing the cutest set of buns on display. “See? They stretch. Now try on the other stuff.”

He rises, still looking disgruntled, and pulls on the shirt and coat. “I’m hot in these.”

I eyeball him up and down. “Yep, you are.”

For cripes’ sake, Evelina!

He grins widely and steps closer. “Glad to hear you say so.”

I should’ve kept my mouth shut, and I spin away, finding him some warm boots, gloves, and a full face respirator to protect his lungs and eyes, along with a knit hat. I throw everything but the respirator at him. “Put it all on. Let’s go.”

He’s still grinning but does as I ask.

Once we’re in the garage, I gear up at vamp speed, even though Valroy turns away and gives me privacy without my asking. Then I offer him the option of riding in the trailer out of the wind, or climbing behind me on the snowmobile. He chooses the latter.

Of course he does.

The wind shrieks in my ears as it buffets us around. We’re moving at a measly fifteen miles an hour, so it’s not our speed causing the instability. Snow isn’t falling, which is good, but the wind chill is cold enough to freeze the tits off a bear.

Despite all that, he’s still hanging on, hugging me tight, his groin pressed against my butt.

I try not to picture what we could be doin’ instead of being out here in the cold.

When we arrive at New Rome, the first thing he does is to get up close and personal with the dome. The surface is polarized or something akin to that, to keep the weather outside from interfering with the artificial light inside, and we appear to be looking in a mirror. He cups his hands together and tries to peer through the transparent skin.

Then he pounds on the surface, which doesn’t work.

I hold a flashlight for him, predicting his actions and illuminating the ground and dome’s reflective surface as he stomps around. I don’t need the extra light, but he does—I don’t want him tripping on the icy ground and breaking a leg in the dark.

He looks over his shoulder at me, and his brow furrows with frustration, wrinkling the black neoprene mask he wears under the full face respirator. “It’s completely impenetrable?”

“You know it is.” He’s already quizzed me on all of this. Before we left, he shared a few crazy ideas he’s had. I hand him my sword, knowing it’s futile. He’s never gonna be happy unless he tests the dome himself.

Double-handed, he wields the broadsword by stabbing, carving, and slicing at the dome’s skin until he’s panting heavily. Nothing works.

His next strike is so forceful that the sword bounces back and comes within an inch of slicing off his ear.

I huff, crossing my arms. “Try not to kill yourself.”

With a scowl, he tosses the sword on the icy ground. “It’s useless.”

“Hey, that’s my best sword.” I stoop to retrieve my baby and, removing a cloth from my pocket, wipe the blade clean, then sheathe it. “Don’t treat it that way.”

He bends over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “Where did you…get a sword like that…in the middle of Minnesota?”

“I cleaned out a Renaissance Faire armorer. The blacksmith died in the Collapse, so she’s not making any more. Treat mine with respect, got it?”

He straightens, his breathing now under control. “What about the device you used to break my chain?”

I didn’t think he’d remember the eBeam, given how much he went through the night I rescued him, but I remove the device from its holster and angle the business end away from us. The beam hits the dome at a glancing blow, lighting it with sparks, before ricocheting onto the ground, sizzling the frozen surface, leaving the tundra black.

I return the eBeam to its holster. “Satisfied?”

He grunts, clearly not happy.

I slide my freeze-resistant handheld from my zippered pocket and check the weather readings. The handheld is small and waterproof, but the virtual screens can be glitchy this far from my habitat. “We better get going with your experiment. The weather’s getting worse soon.”

He pounds his fist on the dome one more time. “Fine.”

Him and his last crazy idea. I know it won’t work, but I watch him climb in the bin and settle on the floor against the dome. The bin's three times the size of pre-Collapse industrial trash containers, so there's plenty of room for him to stretch out. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

I close the reclamation container’s top. My gut isn’t liking this idea, but I promised him the opportunity to try, so I press the green button to activate the bin. The container’s clear, made from something the Lux invented called plastic steel—the hardest artificial material for building stuff.

The plastic steel container inches forward, sliding through the dome’s skin as it always does. Except I can see he’s not going in. The dome’s skin isn’t letting him. Decon liquid sprays down on him, as it does on all the stuff we scavenge, but his full face respirator protects him from breathing in the chemicals.

He pounds on the dome with his fist, then tears at the surface with his fingers, and when that doesn’t work, he rams into the dome’s skin with his shoulder. Nothing is working.

The container’s thick plastic steel wall almost touches his butt. He presses his full body against the dome, trapped between the hard container and the dome’s skin. He flattens his chest and lets out a grunt when the container meets his spine.

I can’t do this. I can’t watch another guy I care about die before my eyes, squashed into pulp, and I slam my hand on the emergency stop button. Grabbing the container’s handles, I pull with all my strength, prying it back from the dome until the container slides out with a pop as the inner air pressure releases and I throw open the lid.

Valroy falls on his ass, sprawled on the container’s bottom, panting and covered in decon spray. “Why did you do that?”

“You were about to get yourself killed, ya f’n idiot.”

He growls at me. “What if it worked? What if it lets me through rather than kills me? My cause is righteous. I’m not a vampire who’ll go on a killing rampage. The angels will certainly see into my heart and let me through.”

“Good grief, they aren’t angels. They’re as fallible as you and me. And it’s not just vampires they were afraid of. I didn’t want to tell you ’cause I didn’t want to upset you.”

He rises to his feet, hanging on to the bin’s edge to keep from slipping on the decon. “Then tell me now.”

“When the Lux put up the domes, they didn’t have enough resources to erect them over everyone. Lots of mortals were left outside to die in the climate collapse. They didn’t want them breaking in and overcrowding the domes, reducing everyone’s chance of surviving. So nothing alive can go through the bin, not even mortals.”

He huffs. “And they call themselves angels?”

“Yeah, deciding who to save—and who to condemn to die—was a harsh, cruel, arbitrary decision. And they’ve not changed a thing about it since. They can’t.” I clench my fists, restraining my desire to grab him by the collar and haul him out of the bin. “Ya got to face it. You can’t go back and rescue your sister any more than I could’ve rescued my boyfriend from his own stupidity.”

Swinging around, I get on the snowmobile and start the engine.

He grabs the lid, as if to close it. “I want to try again!”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I holler over the noise of the motor and the howling wind. “There’s nothing to try. Now, get on or I leave without you. I’m not watching you kill yourself.”