“That’s great. You’re such a fashionista. I can’t wait to see what’s inside.” I smiled and shifted my feet, gently prodding the bag on the floor. “You don’t happen to have a spare pair of shit-kickers? Do you?”
Jackson looked like she wanted to explode. Her lids slitted, her forehead creased and her full, berry-tinted lips thinned. Out-fucking-standing. Chalk it up to another person won over by my superb conversation skills and outstanding wit. She was good and pissed—just as I’d hoped she would be. I would have pumped my fist in the air, but I had a feeling it would have only made matters worse.
“Thank you.” Carter defused what was sure to become a fistfight, stepping in directly beside me and the femme fatale. “You can go. Tell everyone we’ll be down after breakfast. I don’t want any visitors. Tell everyone that as well.”
Jax turned to leave, but before she did, she gazed over her shoulder and said, “Don’t get too comfortable, vessel. You’re not welcome here. It’s only a matter of time before you’re gone. Your time is short.”
Our gazes met and I smiled, goading her like a moron. Bring it, heifer. “Talk about an understatement. You have no idea just how short my time is.”
She started to step forward when a horrifying growl carried through the room.
What the hell?
The sound was unlike anything I’d ever heard, so deep it felt as if the walls rattled and the floor shifted. Jackson glanced at Carter before she spun around and made her way to the elevator. I peered over at the man in front me—who I had identified as the source of the noise. He grew quiet when our unexpected visitor stepped into the elevator.
“Vessel?” I asked. The question about his tendency to growl could wait. “Am I about to tread water somewhere?”
He didn’t look at me until the doors to the elevator slid shut. “A vessel is a vampire blood donor.”
Great. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Even with the world coming to an end, people were still determined to judge and label others.
I bent at the waist and retrieved the small black satchel Jackson had brought upstairs. The contents were light, and when I flipped back the flap, I saw a pair of camouflage pants and a couple of black shirts folded neatly inside.
“What is up with all the green and black?” I grumbled, placing the flap back over the satchel. “You have a problem with brights?”
“Our clothing distinguishes us from average civilians.”
“I hate to break it to you.” I motioned at his face and then his very fit body. “But your entire look screams covert military asshole. Woodsy outdoor clothing is just the cherry on top.”
Annoyed now, Carter muttered, “Are you always such a smartass?”
“No, not always. That character trait is generally reserved for the fucked-up situations I find myself in. Like this one, for example.”
Carter appeared uneasy and exhausted, gray eyes going dark as his shoulders drooped. He raked his fingers through his hair and shifted his feet. “I’m going to be straight with you,” he said. “A person that’s just been taken off the grid would normally be quarantined and placed under observation. It’s protocol and ensures no one falls into harm’s way. The only reason you’re not is because I’ve taken a personal interest in you. If not for that, you’d be holed up in a cell in the basement with the rats, a floor mat and a water dish. No one here likes outsiders, especially human ones who’ve lived among vampires.”
I was about to get snarky again when I internalized his last two words.
Human ones? Hello?
Slowly, warily, I asked, “What do you mean human ones?”
“How old are you, Rhiannon?”
What a nice question to ask a girl you’d just gotten to quasi know over a few shots of Jack Daniels the night before. I pulled the satchel to my chest. “I’m certified antique at a quarter of a century. Vintage twenty-five.”