Page 7 of The Vampire's Mate

Of course, that sense of safety and relaxation flies the coop with his next words, leaving me even tenser than before. He freezes me with a heavy stare, his lips curling up into a dark smile.

“What’s in it for me?”

4

HOW DO YOU FEED?

What’s in it for me?

Shit. I should’ve known there’d be a catch. Even if Jesse were human, I don’t know him. He’s a stranger. And I invited him into my home and expected him to divulge all his vampire secrets.

“Relax,” he says, carefully placing the book he’s still holding back in its spot on the shelf and moving toward me slowly with raised hands. “I was just kidding. Well, mostly. I do need one thing from you.”

I fight the urge to cover my neck with my hand, clenching my fist around the pen I’m still clutching, and say, “What’s that?”

“You can’t tell anyone about me. Not that I live here or that I’m hanging out with you. And more importantly, don’t ever mention my name.”

“Why not?” I ask, some of the tension draining out of me now that I know he’s not asking for a nibble and suck in return for his knowledge. “Vampire are out of the closet, so to speak. Who cares if anyone knows you live here?”

“I have my reasons,” he says cryptically.

I cock my head and narrow my gaze. “If I don’t tell anyone about you, you could kill me and hide the body, and no one would ever know.”

I can tell he’s suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Again.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“Fair enough,” I say with a nod. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you.” He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms as he asks, “What do you want to know?”

He walks around the coffee table to sit on the other end of the couch. I angle my body to face him, my desire to learn overriding my fear of his proximity. Pressing the tip of my pen to the paper, I meet his gaze.

“Everything.”

He laughs, and the sound is rich and full-bodied, vibrating in my bones. His face relaxes into a smile, and he lifts a hand, rolling it in a circle motion.

“Ask away.”

“Garlic?”

“I can’t eat it,” he says giving me a pointed look, “but I love the smell. And no, it doesn’t repulse, repel, or otherwise harm me in any way. God, I miss Italian food.”

“You’re obviously not allergic to the sun,” I deadpan, my eyes darting to the window with the curtains drawn wide. He’d been standing in that shaft of sunlight as he looked at my books.

“A myth derived from vampires’ desire to remain hidden. The old ones only ever went out to find sustenance at night, and the stories got twisted over time. I do wear sunblock, though. Sunburns, just like other wounds, heal quickly, but peeling skin is so gross.”

My lips twitch at that very human response.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“I was twenty-five at the time of my death and rebirth,” he says. “But I was originally born in nineteen fifty-two.”

“So, you’re…”

“Twenty-five,” he says forcefully, and I can’t help but laugh.

I guess he doesn’t want me thinking too hard about the fact that he’s actually in his seventies. Or is he? His body appears young, strong, and virile. I decide not to think about it too hard.