“I never knew desk jobs were so perilous before I met you. Ah—now that’s an idea! We should celebrate that you haven’t gotten hurt in the line of duty recently.” Connor’s red eyes glittered with amusement.
“I don’t get hurt that often.” I kept my tone light and unaffected, but I was aware I’d need to change the subject soon—Connor’s questions were getting a touch too prying.
Thankfully, my phone dinged with a reply from Great Aunt Patsy.
Great Auntie P.
Ohlass no!
Aunt Patsy’s poor eyesight meant she didn’t always correctly hit the space bar, so it made deciphering her texts a little tricky.
Great Auntie P.
That’sthe recipe Igave yourgrandmother!She’d die if I toldher the realone. Double the butter andadd an extra splash of worcestershire!
If you really want it totasteright, addmore than doublethe butter.
I swiped back to the recipe card Nan had sent me. “Wow. That is a lot of butter.”
“Has the knowledge been successfully passed to the next generation?” Connor asked.
“Yeah. I think so. But I have to get rid of all this Party Mix before I make another attempt.” I scraped myself off the couch and dragged myself back over to my kitchen, pausing to get some plastic bags.
Connor took over the space I’d vacated, stretching his long frame out on my couch. “How unfortunate.”
I tested the mix; it was still a little warm, but in another minute or two I’d be able to bag it. I got a marker out and started labeling my bags.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked Connor as I wrote Party Mix on each bag in big, bold font.
“You’re not going to swindle me into trying one of your health smoothies.” I couldn’t see him from this angle, but Connor’s smooth voice drifted over to me—dripping with disgust.
I shook out one of the bags, testing to see if the marker had dried. “Nah, I bought you some blood packs. Do you want one?”
Connor snapped upright so fast it mussed his dark hair. “You’re keeping blood here? In your apartment?”
“Yeah.” I started labeling another bag.
“For me?”
He looked so surprised I looked up at him. “Yes.”
“You have blood in your fridge, for me.” Connor repeated, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You?”
“Yeah. But you gave me the idea—you pointed out that I didn’t have any vampire-refreshments the afternoon I hung out at your apartment.”
“But why?”
I started to shake out another bag, but this seemed important to him, so I set it back down so I could meet his gaze. “Connor, you’re my friend. I want things on hand that you’d enjoy.” I paused for affect, then added, “Even if you are picky as all get out.” I flashed a smile, pleased with myself that I could tease him.
Connor, however, didn’t react at all the way I thought he would. He didn’t smile or complain about the ribbing. He just stared at me, unblinking.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Connor got off the couch and joined me in the kitchen with an unnatural agility.
The speed made my own slayer reflexes rear to life, and I had my metal spatula in my hand before I realized it. Stop it. This is Connor.
I scowled at myself, but Connor finally spoke. “I’m fine.” His voice wasn’t its usual lighthearted tone, but something smoother and richer. “I’d just forgotten that humans could be so… charming. And that you possess redeeming qualities.”
He wasn’t joking; the tone of his voice was too serious. Is he really okay? He’s not usually this serious. I looked up from my edible-but-still-incorrect Party Mix and met his gaze.
For a moment, something changed. It wasn’t that his vampire presence grew stronger—it was more subtle than that. There was something about his eyes, about the tired sincerity in his voice.
He wasn’t using vampire pheromones or anything, there was just a tiredness to him—the raw fatigue with life that the guy who’d been pretending to be a vampire had completely lacked.
It was something I’d noticed only in older vampires, and I was surprised to see it in Connor.
He held my gaze for a few long moments, which almost felt like years.
Then, as abruptly as the mood had settled, it was gone, with Connor flashing me a smile. “So, what blood types do you have?”
“You’ll have to check the fridge,” I said. “I only have four or five of them—I’ll get more, though.”
“How exciting—let’s see if I can find them.” Connor opened my fridge door and peered inside, rooting around my boxes of spinach, coffee creamer, tub of fresh apples, and the cartons of eggs for his pouches.
I studied his back—his shoulders were relaxed, his easy good humor was back, and there was no sign of the brief exhaustion he’d shown a flash of.
I’ve been off about him. He’s old. A lot older than I thought. I had no idea how he could hide it so well, but it also didn’t matter.
Vampires didn’t choose to live alone like Connor. Whatever he’d gone through, he had scars. But he’s also made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. I knew firsthand he wasn’t harming anyone—there’s no way he’d be able to hide it from me if he was illegally feeding on humans.
He’s probably fine. Unless…he couldn’t be Considine…could he?
Considine Maledictus was vampire royalty. There was no way he’d be squatting in a human apartment building with no vampires on hand to cater to his whims.
But I had to consider it—it would be dangerous not to.
Their voices are a little alike, and they do have similar builds…
“Ah-hah!” Connor emerged from his expedition in my fridge, triumphantly holding up a blood pouch. “Behold: lunch!”
There’s no way. I thought as I stared at Connor. Absolutely no way. A vampire who was turned thousands of years ago wouldn’t act like this. It’s impossible.
He didn’t notice my scrutiny, and instead crowded my space.
“Congratulations.” I made myself set down my spatula. “I’m glad it makes you this happy.”
Connor flipped the blood pack around a few times, inspecting it, then jabbed the plastic straw in it. “How did you get these? Usually, you must register to get them—they don’t carry them in the supermarket.”
“There’s a couple of vending machines at the Curia Cloisters.” I picked up my marker and began labeling the last few bags. “I bought them there. I didn’t want to sign up for the delivery service because they only do bulk deliveries, and I’m pretty sure they’d expire before you could drink them all.”
Connor stopped sucking down his blood pack and set it down on the table. “You were thinking that much of me?
“You, and my wallet,” I said truthfully. “I had to take a cooler to work to transport them home. I figured they needed to be kept cold and it’s getting chilly outside, but it’s not that cold.” When I glanced over at Connor, he was staring at his blood pack.
He was clenching his jaw, and there was a slight furrow to his eyebrows. He looked like—as Nan would say—someone in need of some hugs and kisses.