I’m not prepared for a deep British voice to reply. "Do you remember nothing, then?"
I turn, shocked to see the man attached to the arm standing in the bathroom door. He’s as naked as I am, but this doesn’t actually bother me. Believe it or not, I have a relatively low modesty scale and am perfectly comfortable in my own skin. Even Molly is shocked by this. So I don’t attempt to cover up when he stares at me, and I don’t avert my eyes from him, either.
For the record, the man’s body is a specimen of god-like perfection, and I do not make that claim lightly. He’s tall. At least six-four, with washboard abs, a face chiseled from marble, piercing blue eyes, and dark hair that looks purposefully disheveled even though I know he just got out of bed. I’ve had my share of lovers. Never one-night stands, as I said, but I’ve been around the block a time or two. And never have I ever seen a . . .
"I see you drank your cocktail?"
I pull my thoughts back to the matter at hand, which is most definitely not his . . . man-bits.
"It was drugged," I accuse, trying to seem imposing and likely failing.
He smirks. Smirks! As if this weren’t deadly serious. "I can see how you would think so, and you likely have a lot of questions—"
"So you admit you drugged me?" I ask. My fear is pulsing at the surface of my mind, but I shove it down. I can give into that later, once I’m safe. For now, I must stay strong. Focused.
"I did not drug you," he says. His voice so deep, so smooth, that I nearly melt into it.
"Then what’s wrong with me? Why don’t I remember anything?" I hold up my left hand and point to the enormous rock. "And what’s this? Did we get married?"
I think I will die of embarrassment if he says yes. What kind of person gets drunk, marries a stranger in Vegas, and then forgets it? And I live here! I’m no random tourist. People will find out. I can only imagine Mildred’s face when she hears about this. She’ll never let me live it down, and she may be pushing eighty, but that old bat has no plans to retire. I’ll never hear the end of it.
"We did get married. Though, that wasn’t part of the plan. And that’s not actually the most significant thing that happened to you last night."
I look down at his hand, and he’s also wearing a wedding ring. It’s similar in style to mine but more masculine. They seemed to have been made for each other.
"What’s your name?" I can barely get the words out from the mortifying shame of it.
His lips curl as if amused by my distress. Cocky one, isn’t he? "Sebastian Kingston, at your service," he says as he gives a little mock bow.
"Do you know my name?" I ask, the challenge clear in my voice.
He raises an eyebrow. "Ember Elaine White. You’re a twenty-nine-year-old librarian who lives alone and is considering getting a cat but hasn’t found the right one. You fancied becoming an English teacher at one point, but discovered a deep love of the library and thus chose library sciences when it came time to declare your focus for your Master’s program. But you didn’t stop there. You went on for a PhD and then spent a year traveling the world exploring all the great libraries before settling into a position in Las Vegas. You like chocolate, but never with fruit. You hate lemons, but you love the smell. And when you get really excited, your face scrunches up in the most adorable manner."
I exhale deeply and lean against the sink, suddenly exhausted. I don’t think anyone but Molly knows that much about me. Maybe not even her. I’m a private person. I’m not on social media. I prefer books to gadgets. I don’t share every little detail of my life everywhere. I’ve often thought I was born in the wrong era, but I do relish my independence, despite lingering social sexism, and would not want to live in a time where I would be considered property.
"Did the drugs make me say all that?" I whisper. I’m no longer attempting any bravado. Now I’m just confused and scared.
He steps forward and raises a hand to gently brush a strand of hair out of my face. "Ember, there were never any drugs. At least not while you were with me. This is possibly a side effect of being turned."
"What are you talking about?"
"Watch my face and try not to panic."
That kind of language isn’t helping matters any, but I steel myself for what’s about to come.
His lips part, and the shift happens so fast I almost don’t notice. But there they are. His canines have elongated into sharp daggers.
Adrenaline surges in me, and I attempt to move away from him, but he grabs my arms and forces me to face my reflection. "Look, Ember. Look at your mouth."
My curiosity overrides my fear, and I face the mirror as he stands behind me. He’s a full head taller than me, and I should be able to see him in the mirror, but I can’t. He’s invisible.
But I’m still visible, and I look at my own teeth, now elongated in my mouth.
"I’m . . . I’m a vampire?"
I need clothes for the discussion that will follow. And I need him to be wearing something as well. Unfortunately, all I have to wear is a slinky silver dress Molly insisted I wear out the night before. It’s better than nothing, I suppose. Though that could be debated considering wearing nothing is infinitely more comfortable.
Once we are both reasonably dressed, Sebastian calls for room service, though, I question why, wondering if they serve blood.
Yes, it finally hit me that the crimson cocktail I guzzled down this morning wasn’t blood oranges or a Bloody Mary. It was just blood.
But Sebastian said I will still need food for a bit as my body completes the transformation. Until that time, I’m more vulnerable than I was even as a human. But soon, my strength and stamina will increase, and I will find myself capable of things I never before imagined.
As we take our seats in the living room, he continues to explain. "You aren’t fully a vampire yet," he says. "That’s why you could see yourself in the mirror this morning. That will fade until you no longer have a reflection."
"How did this happen?" I should be more scared. Or angry. Or something. But I find myself mostly curious. An otherworldly event occurred last night, and I need to understand it.
"For reasons I’m still trying to piece together, you were targeted by a group of rogue vampires who are wanted for a series of murders throughout the world and, most recently, here in Las Vegas. You would have been their next victim had I not found you in time. I had the choice between letting you die and turning you. I chose the latter."
A knock at the door interrupts us—room service has arrived—and I use the extra moments to compose my thoughts. I nearly died last night? And what of Molly? Where did she end up? Is she dead? Also, as a completely vain aside, how will I ever apply makeup properly if I can’t see my own reflection?
I visually search the room for my cell phone and see it peeking out from under the bar. I stand and am about to get it when the door crashes open and the room service cart goes flying, sending orange juice, pancakes, muffins, and fruit everywhere.
Sebastian growls in a primal kind of way. "Ember, to the bathroom."
His command is an odd one, but given that he appears to be fighting three very large men, I don’t argue.
Once in the bathroom, I close and lock the door before scrambling to find something with which to defend myself. The only thing I can find is a curling iron, so I plug it in and hope it’s the kind that heats fast.
My hands are shaking as I clutch it and wait, listening as a battle ensues on the other side of this door.
I feel as if I’ve walked into one of my books. Vampires? Great battles in a hotel suite? Drinking blood for breakfast?
I’d pinch myself to see if I were dreaming, but I know I’m awake. I know this is all somehow real. And I know I can’t let it derail my focus right now. Not if I want to survive the day.
After a moment, the sound of fighting subsides. I hold my breath and wait to see who comes to the door.
The curling iron is hot now.