Do you want to date the nice vampire would eventually segue into Do you want to feed the nice vampire, and the answer was, “No.”
“Then we will remain friends.” He frowned down at our proximity and gave his head a little shake. “My apologies.” His fingers circled my wrist, his thumb stroking the skin, the veins, under the bangle. “The sight of blood arouses.” A growl roughened his voice. “The sight of you wearing mine…” He loosened his fingers one by one, as if the effort cost him, and rested his palm flat on his thigh. “I was unprepared for the effect.”
“It’s fine.” I tried not to think about how we still pressed together from hip to knee. At least now my stomach had settled. “How about we get things started?” I swallowed my nerves and donned my tour-guide persona. “I can’t say I’ve narrated a driving tour, but I’m sure I can manage.” I twisted a bit to give myself a few precious inches of breathing room and picked the first landmark I recognized. “See that pub? It’s a favorite of all the locals. You don’t find too many tourists there. Too smoky, too loud and too wild on ladies’ night.”
“You sound as if you’re speaking from experience.”
“Did I mention the likelihood of them carding you goes lower as your hem goes higher?”
Following Boaz like a love-struck puppy had given me one heck of an education in more ways than one.
Volkov raked his gaze over me, assessing. “How old are you?”
Curiosity pulsed behind the words, and I wondered how often he interacted with my kind—or humans for that matter. Necromancers commanded respect. Humans, on the other hand, were food, their lives too short for most vampires to take notice of them.
“Twenty-one.” Old enough to barhop without the fake ID for a change.
“So young,” he murmured.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-five,” he admitted. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Age is just a number between friends,” I assured him, unwilling to consider the true issue.
“So it is.” His rich chuckle rewarded me. “Can I ask if I’m your only friend with a sun allergy?”
“You can, and you are.” I fiddled with his bangle, which snapped his gaze to my wrist. Slowly, before I compounded my faux pas, I slid my hand out of sight to avoid the temptation to fidget. “I do, however, have a stalker of the undead variety.”
With Volkov pressed so close, I felt his thigh muscles tense. “What do you mean?”
“A vampire was waiting for me when I got home from work the night I met you.” I outlined our conversation and his threats from the parking lot too. “Any clue who he might represent?”
“Without a name, it’s impossible to guess.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “You’re a valuable asset, Grier. All the clans with means will be in contact with you in the coming days. Of that I’m certain. It could be that this male represents a clan without the funds or clout to win you over by traditional means and seeks to intimidate you.”
“Do I get to know why everyone wants a piece of me all of a sudden?”
“It’s not my place.” Frustration turned his comment bitter. “You’ll learn soon enough, and when you do, you’ll understand why an alliance will be beneficial to you, and why remaining unallied will only encourage more such incidents.”
Thinking back on what Odette told me, I had to be certain he and I were on the same page. “You’re talking about me marrying for protection.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay with your master offering you up on a silver platter?”
“You’re beautiful, kind and intelligent. I could do far worse.” He sobered. “Do you understand how the vampiric clan system operates?”
“I understand basic vampire biology and how the undead caste system works. The rest wasn’t a concern of mine. I was being trained as an assistant and not as a practitioner.”
A peculiar expression swept over his features before he smoothed them. “Last Seeds are a caste unto themselves, but we are loyal to the clan that bred us. For me, that was Clan Volkov. I’m the first Last Seed my line has produced in centuries. I will outlive them all, and that makes it my sworn duty to oversee the protection, growth and wellbeing of the clan. As the youngest born vampire, I am the heritor, but one day soon, I will be named master.”
I gulped audibly, and his eyes tracked the motion as my throat worked. “You’ve got the wrong girl for the job, Mr. Volkov.”
A clan master’s wife I was not. I could barely take care of myself, let alone hundreds of undead.
“Danill,” he insisted. “You’re young, but you’re strong. I would be proud to have you at my side.”
“Until I turned old and gray,” I mumbled. “I’ll be honest here. I’m not sure I could handle aging while you stay young and gorgeous. I’m not a vain person, I don’t think, but it would poison me from the inside out if I had to know you were entertaining younger, more beautiful women on the side.”
“Our vows are sacred.” He shifted to look at me head-on. “Accept my offer, and you accept me for who and what I am as I will accept you for who and what you are. I will be yours until your dying breath, and I vow I will never injure your pride or your heart.”
“I was just granted my freedom. I can’t toss it away without a good reason, and you can’t give me one.”
“I am under orders I can’t break.” His gaze skittered to the window. “No matter how much I might wish to gain the advantage with you, I am bound to silence.”
A concern niggled at the back of my mind, and it popped out before I could filter my mouth. “Heritors are answerable only to their masters…and the Grande Dame of the Society.”
“See what I mean? Intelligent.” His slow smile held a razor’s edge. “You are also correct.”
Black spots danced in my vision at what he wasn’t telling me. The Grande Dame had anticipated the offer his master and the others would make, and she must have put orders in place to hobble their efforts as much as possible. Meaning she intended to make an offer herself. Not good. Not good at all.
I took a moment to study his profile while his attention was fixated elsewhere. “Will you attend the inauguration tomorrow night?”
“I have no choice.” Catching the slip-up, he amended with, “It’s my pleasure to witness history in the making as the first Grande Dame of my generation is named.”
I snorted out a laugh. “You sound about as happy as I am to be going.”
“Born vampires aren’t allowed much socialization outside our clans until we reach our majority. You’re the first necromancer I’ve engaged in conversation. Are your kind not the community-minded group they present themselves to be?” His bland delivery informed me he was well aware of what dangerous waters he treaded. “Isn’t that the point of calling themselves a Society?”
“We have a Grande Dame.” I shook my head. “Necromancers are all about the prestige. The Society for Post-Death Management sounds more upscale and corporate than Will Raise the Dead for Cash, Inc.”
A rich, dark laugh broke from his chest. “You have more reason than most to resent their antiquated hierarchy.”
“They aren’t all bad. The High Society is the most ridiculous. The Low Society is more relatable.”
“Interesting,” he mused. “I would have thought being raised by Maud Woolworth would have ensured the exact opposite.”
“I came into the culture late in life by their standards. My formal education started when I was five, which put me years behind my High Society peers. Factor in my public school education, which exposed me to humans and Low Society as my classmates, and I grew into too much of my own person to conform.”