Page 87 of Vampires of Eden

Oh my fucking God. I don’t know how to respond to any of this, so I bypass it altogether. “Um… is it alright if I see him?”

“Of course. Follow me?” Raphael stalks ahead, his posture perfectly straight. But not rigid or terse. Self-assuredly despite his harried state.

I follow him, internally flustered and feeling like an emaciated corpse that’s climbed out of my grave to visit this place filled with too much color, light and life.

Of all things—me? Sexy?

Bullshit.

Iusedto be sexy. Once upon a time and long, long ago, when I was healthy and properly nourished. When my skin was supple and my eyes were a brilliant hue of lavender. I walked with strength in my body and confidence in my musical aptitude, which I had been lauded for ever since I was a child.

Truth be told, I was arrogant. When Josefina showed romantic interest in me, I didn’t bat an eye. I thought,Ofcourse, a beautiful purebred princess would want me. Why shouldn’t she?

I know how this aristocracy feels about purebreds being with ranked vampires, but my mothers never taught me to look down on myself in that way. So, I didn’t care about what society said. I thought I was above those ugly rules and mindsets.

Turns out, I wasn’t.

As we climb a wide staircase leading to the second floor, I scratch the back of my head. Here I am again, getting close to a purebred that’s far above my “station.” I don’t want Josefina and the past to have power over me, but… did I learn my lesson or not?

“Like I told you via text,” Raphael cuts into my steady stream of self-doubt. “He’s um… not totallywithit, if you get what I mean? He’s a bit primitive, but totally harmless.”

“He’s delirious,” I say, remembering the feeling of being cut off from Josefina. An emotionally and biologically significant source in my life for years. “His system has been abruptly torn from its familiar source. He’s in a state of shock.”

Raphael looks over his shoulder, surprised. “You know about this stuff?”

“A bit,” I say, glancing away. “It would be better if you did this slowly and not cold turkey. What is the reasoning for this sudden change?”

At the top of the landing, Raphael slows. There are skylights above us in the slanted ceiling, framing the bright blue sky.

“He told me about the offer you and Leoni made—for him to come live with you and learn the vineyard? I support this. I like it, but I don’t want him leaving this house still sucking on Oliver’s blood bags. Does that make sense?”

“I suppose. But if he needs more time, he needs more time. You can’t force this kind of situation. There’s too much emotional investment.”

“That’s what annoys me.” Raphael throws his hands up, emphasizing his frustration. “Lexie is ‘emotionally invested’ all by himself. He’salwaysbeen and I knew this would happen—someway or another. Because Oliver never even tried. He barely paid Lexie any attention. So now, he’s making himself sick over this little punk’s blood. Do you think Oliver is somewhere sick because he stopped feeding from Alexander? Heck no. He doesn’t care and he never has. I’ll bet he’s perfectly fine and moving on with his life. I want the same for Lexie. I’m sick of this.”

Well, that was a lot to unload on a literal stranger.

I take a deep breath. Since he’s obviously comfortable being candid with me, I follow his lead. “I understand what you’re saying, but ultimately, this isn’t about howyoufeel. It’s about what Alexander feels and what he needs. We have to go at his pace. We can’t rush him.”

If I could have weaned myself off of Josefina’s blood slowly and with care, I wonder if I’d be malnourished like this? Maybe I could have kept my health and vivacity. Maybe I wouldn’t have struggled with pain and torment that later resulted in hate and bitterness.

Raphael looks at me and grins. “Yes, you’re right.Wecertainly do, don’t we?”

Embarrassed to hear my own word thrown back at me, I wave a hand. “I meant generally speaking.”

“Sure.” He turns and steps forward. “This way.” He guides me toward the end of the creamy, sun-filled hallway and past a series of smaller but equally lovely portraits of Eden scenery and wildlife framed in gold.

When we’re in front of another set of double doors, he knocks softly with his knuckles as a warning, then opens one and peeks inside.

“He’s been sleeping a lot,” Raphael explains as he opens it wider. “But he won’t feed or talk to me. I gave him the first bag last night. He drank half of it and seemed alright. But then he vomited. I found him passed out in bed. Blood everywhere. Horrific. He’s been strange ever since.”

Stepping into the room, a shiver runs through me and I bristle. The air feels charged with raw displeasure. Pain, even. Theusual citrusy-sweetness I perceive from him is sour. Not awful, but not right. Not zesty and enticing like normal.

Raphael walks over to the bed and the room is cast in filtered light because sheer curtains have been drawn over the very tall windows. Alexander’s mahogany four-poster is beautifully dressed with a fluffy duvet, and I can see his blonde head poking out from underneath and resting atop one of the cloud-like pillows.

The manservant-best-friend-brother leans over Alexander. Despite his earlier outburst, his voice is soft when he speaks. “Lexie? You have a visitor.”

He doesn’t respond. I step up beside Raphael so that I can view Alexander’s face. Aside from the very dark blue-black circles underneath his eyes, he doesn’t look too bad. Raphael tries once more.