My gut knots. Am… amIthe intruder? I feel uncomfortable all of a sudden, and I tighten the towel around myself like Lucy hasn’t already seen every detail of my naked body.
‘Yeah, I was, but he ran me out. He’s got a new girl he wants to tie in knots and he didn’t want me around for it. Wladek said that since you bailed, the annexe was free.’
Mina scoffs. ‘I didn’tbail, Bram. I had emergency surgery to prevent me from dying. Did you double check with Pegs? You know what Wladek’s like.’
Dammit, I should have. Our uncle is notoriously unreliable. In his defence, he’s got a pretty good grasp of the modern world for someone in his fourth century of life, but it’s a very long way from perfect, by anyone’s definition. I’d just been so relieved to have somewhere familiar to crash after Quinn booted me out that I hadn’t questioned my good fortune. Guilt suddenly grips at my stomach and I look over at the blonde, who’s now chewing on a nail as she studies me.
‘Lucy?’ I ask tentatively, and she nods. I can’t help but notice how uncomfortable the action is. But then that’s probably to beexpected, what with her coming into what was supposed to be her home for the weekend to find a strange man waltzing out of the bathroom with nothing but the world’s smallest towel hiding his junk.
And I’m not just any man. I’m aware of how I look. Six-three in bare feet with tattoos from my knuckles to my neck and pierced ears and nipples, just to start with. Not to mention that a hot shower never fails to bring out my fangs, and I still haven’t fully mastered control of that particular reflex. I mean, God, I’d have screamed too.
Ok, I did scream. Whatever. No one’s finding that out.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ I say, looking back at Lucy, who hasn’t moved a muscle and is still staring at me. ‘Our uncle isn’t the most reliable. I obviously would have had more clothes on if I knew you were coming.’
I feel a little flustered, I don’t know why. I’m not entirely sure that supernatural beings should be able to feel flustered, but I’ll level with you: I’m nine years, five months and eleven days into this whole vampire business, and I still haven’t quite come to terms with it all.
I actually choose this life– stupidly– but I am far from a natural. Think Bambi on ice, if Bambi were a fledgling vampire and the ice was the ongoing struggle of living undetected in the mortal world, while I try to come to terms with what I did.
I clear my throat. ‘What I meant to say is that I wouldn’t be here at all.’
‘Bram, are younaked?’ Mina suddenly shrieks, before making a noise like she’s hurt herself.
‘No!’ I look down at my body. Peggy really needs to buy bigger towels. ‘I mean, kind of. I just came out of the shower. I have a towel on. I’d have been completely dressed by now if I hadn’t had to save your girl from falling down the stairs.’
‘Thanks for that, by the way,’ Lucy says from her corner. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak properly, and there’s an edge to her voice that draws a sharp line up my spine.
‘Right,’ Mina says, ever the organiser. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. Lucy, take me downstairs and put the kettle on. I feel like you probably both need a cuppa. Bram, put some clothes on and meet us down there. We’re going to fix this.’
‘Roger that,’ I grunt, and I vanish into the bedroom, relieved beyond belief when I close the door behind me. I pull on jeans and a band shirt and dry my hair the best I can with Peggy’s ridiculously small towel.
I grab my sunglasses and my leather jacket, and then I pack away the few things I’d got out, try my best to neaten the bedroom up, and sling my backpack onto my shoulder. I can find somewhere else to stay. I’m not a lone woman in a strange town; I grew up here. And yeah, I’m immortal and all that.
If one of us has to leave, it should be me.
By the time I get downstairs, Lucy’s sitting cross-legged on the sofa, two steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of her. She’s chuckling softly to herself as she thumbs through her phone, but she stops abruptly when she sees me, and I feel almost guilty because of it.
‘Tea?’ she asks, nodding to the mug on the right, its perfectly shaded contents a contrast to the bubblegum pink liquid in her mug. There’s a tea bag still in hers, though it doesn’t look like any tea I’ve ever seen, and her smile is something like an apology, though I don’t know why. ‘Mina said you’re a milk-no-sugar man.’
‘I am.’ I nod. ‘Thanks.’
I can’t quite bring myself to give up the tea habit, though the dairy’s going to play havoc with my guts later. What can I say? I’m a Yorkshireman first, vampire second.
‘She had to go,’ Lucy says quickly, gesturing to her phone, and that sounds like an apology too. Surely I should be the one apologising? ‘All that excitement took it out of her.’
I reach for my mug and blow the steam off before I speak, moving to lean against the dining table behind me. ‘She needs to rest.’
Lucy nods. ‘She does.’
There’s silence then, a few awkward moments which pass without either of us talking, and I try not to look at her, but my eyes find her anyway. She looks different now– more delicate somehow– and for some reason that thought makes me feel even more guilty. It wasn’t my fault, I realise that, but I’m here now, still in her space when I could very well leave. I take a gulp of tea, and it burns my throat as I swallow.
‘I’ll find somewhere else to stay,’ I start to say, at the same time as she starts to say something I don’t catch, and we both stop abruptly, her eyes darting up to meet mine. They’re clear blue– the colour of the sky where it meets the sea– and I fix my gaze on them like she’s the horizon. For some strange reason, it steadies me.
Honestly, I probably hold the eye contact a second longer than is necessary, and her eyes dart down to my mouth before they quickly flick away again. I’ve never liked making women nervous, but since my change, since I’ve realised the full potential of my threat to them, it’s even worse. I need to get out of here as soon as I can. The last thing I want is to upset her. She’s press, after all, if she’s Mina’s colleague, and I could really do without getting on the wrong side of any more journalists.
Her fingers slip around her mug and she lifts it to her mouth, but she doesn’t take a sip, just blows away the steam with asteady breath. My eyes are drawn to the small hollow at the base of her throat, to the creamy skin of her neck, and my pulse kicks up a notch.
I know, I know, it’s not actually my heart beating, not usually, but it feels almost identical– the rush that throbs through me, the ache, the hunger. I’m getting much more skilled at controlling it these days, but it still gets the better of me a lot of the time, like I’m still more human than not. No more immune to lust than I was as a mortal.