Velvet

“They don’t have Canadians in heaven?”


“I’ve never met any.”

“Ha!” He was funny.

“Come here.” He stretched his coat over me as I hugged my arms around his naked waist. “Good God, you’re cold,” he muttered when my hands touched his skin.

“Sorry.”

He closed the jacket more tightly around the two of us. “Vampire is a misleading term,” he started again. I couldn’t believe he was still going on about this, but I was dead, so I figure I’d let him steer the conversation. Maybe this was some weird Heaven Initiation Ceremony and Adrian was my angel tour guide. I could live with that.

“You don’t drink blood?” I asked.

“Well—yes.”

“That’s cool.”

“That’s cool?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking into his silver, luminous eyes. He had probably been my guardian angel the whole time. I always knew he was too good-looking. “It’s cool. The whole leaning-in-and-biting-the-neck thing.” Strictly for demonstrative purposes, I stood on my tiptoes and softly nipped his collarbone with my teeth, since I couldn’t actually reach his neck.

“Caitlin—stop.”

His voice was strained. I looked at him again with a smile, but the expression on his face dropped the laughter right back into the pit of my stomach. I was dead; was it possible to still be scared?

“You’re not dead, Caitlin,” he said through slightly gritted teeth, “you’re very much alive. So if you could just not move for a minute, that would be great.”

I was confused. The light and the snow and the whiteness covering everything; the cold air and the heat of Adrian’s body—wasn’t I dead? And if I wasn’t, why was he telling me all of this?

I shifted and he tightened his hold on me. “Just … don’t.”

His irises seemed to be swirling, which was a weird thing for irises to do. The grays mixed, melting into each other, re-forming like storms. I was just starting to get dizzy, to lose my sense of gravity, when he closed his eyes, tight. When he opened them again the irises were still silver, but they were motionless. He let out a breath and looked down at me.

“Where was I?”

“What was that?” I asked. “Your eyes went all crazy.”

He stared at me pointedly. “I’m thirsty.”

Ah.

“So if you would be so kind as to not bite me again, we might get through this.”

He loosened his grip on me a little and rolled his shoulders. “As I said, vampire is a misleading term. We only drink blood because our bodies can’t produce it. And it’s not a purely hematic diet—I probably eat three times as much as your uncle.” He smiled. “Great metabolism, ridiculous grocery bill.”

“I bet.”

He smiled, then frowned at me. “This all sounds crazy.”

I frowned back at him. “Yes.”

“But you’re still here.”

“You’re holding on to me.”

“And if I let you go?”

“You’re the only reason I’m standing.”

“Hmmm.”

“And I still mostly believe I’m dead. So continue.”

“Right. Well, my father—he’s a demon. From hell.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bummer.”

He smiled. “Some believe we were wiped out before the flood.”

“The flood? Like Noah’s flood?”

“That’s the one.”

“But you weren’t?”

“I have no idea—this is all a story, remember? I wasn’t there, no one left alive remembers. Some of us believe the story. Others don’t.”

“And what do you believe?”

He smiled a little, then let it slip away. “I’m still making up my mind.”

I grabbed his face and turned it, inspecting for wrinkles. “How old are you? You’re totally really gross and old, aren’t you? Do you have kids? Do you have grandkids?”

He snorted. “I’m eighteen, no kids. And you’re seventeen. No kids, either. Unless you have a secret love child I don’t know about.”

“No love children,” I confirmed, and let his face go. “What about your family?”

He hesitated, but I was calm. Probably way calmer than he thought I should be. “Lucian is eleven. Julian is thirty-five.”

I frowned. “I thought he was nineteen. And who’s Lucian?”

“He looks nineteen. But he’s thirty-five. Lucian is my little brother.”

“And your aunt?”

“Mariana is one hundred and fifty-three. And she’s not my aunt, she’s my sister. Well, half sister. Julian and Lucian are my half brothers.”

“Is your mom super old or something?”

“My mother is dead,” he said flatly. “So is Mariana’s, and Lucian’s, and Julian’s. They all die after they give birth.” He cleared his throat. “But the rest of us can live indefinitely.”

I stared at him. “Indefinitely.”

“Forever,” he amended. “Unless we’re killed. But we’re pretty hard to kill.”

“So,” I said slowly, mind racing with the ramifications, “you can’t die.”

“Nope.”

“What if you get sick?”

“I don’t get sick.”

I stared at him. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die. “So I’m not dead. This isn’t some bizarre hallucination.”

Temple West's books