But she just waves me away. ‘Thank Mina. But you’re welcome.’ She yawns, hiding her mouth behind one hand, the pale pink of her sweatshirt pulled over her knuckles. ‘And on that note,’ she says, her face tugging into a sleepy grin. ‘I’m going to go to bed.’
‘Yeah, same,’ I say through a yawn of my own. I hadn’t realised how knackered I was, but now that the tension of the situation has drained away, so has all my energy. This vague, creeping fatigue is another symptom of not actively feeding, but given the alternative, I deal with it.
She smiles awkwardly at me and gathers her things, dropping the mug in the sink before climbing carefully up the stairs. I watch her all the way. Not with any kind of sinister intentions, obviously, I just want to make sure she gets up there ok. It’s a very steep staircase.
But she makes it without incident, and just before she vanishes from sight, I call out, ‘Thanks again for this. I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow. You won’t even know I’m here.’
Chapter Three
LUCY
Idefinitelyknow he’s here.
It’s 3:46am, and I can hear the gentle rasp of him snoring through the paper-thin walls, the creak of a spring every time he adjusts his position on that little sofa. I’m trying not to feel bad about the fact that he’s eight feet tall and sleeping on a two-seater, but I tell myself it’s not my fault. It can’t be comfortable, though.
I imagine him contorting his body to fit onto it, and an image of the body in question rushes into my mind unbidden: lean, inked and wet from the shower. I can never speak this truth to anyone, obviously, but the man’s a work of art. In a dark, dangerous kind of way, anyway. He’s not my type at all. He’s got metal through his nipples, for God’s sake.
We’re not even going to talk about the view I got when his towel slipped, or the hint of fangs I swear I saw just before I passed out. I’m finding it hard enough to sleep as it is. Anxiety nudges my pulse up a notch until I can feel my heart beating in my ears. Mina owes me one.
I turn on my side and pull the covers over my ear until I can’t hear him at all, and then I stare at the neon numbers of the digital clock until my body finally gives in to sleep.
It’s light when I wake up, and I can’t hear the sound of snoring anymore.
I look at the clock. 8:25am.
I’ll need to check my emails soon to see if Jon’s sent me any more details on the job so I can plan my day. I pad carefully out of the bedroom and start down to the kitchen to put the kettle on, but when I look down through the banisters, Bram’s still there. He’s sleeping silently now, his broad chest rising and falling with his breath.
Bram.
A smile tugs at my lips. Mina wasn’t wrong– I can’t escape these damn vampires. I wonder if everyone in their family has a Dracula-inspired name.
I lower myself to sit on the stairs and watch him for a minute through the banisters. He’s fast asleep, sprawled across the sofa like he’s had a fight with it, his long, tattooed limbs dangling in every direction. His mouth has fallen open a little way, and as he breathes, it moves the hair that’s fallen over his face to and fro rhythmically. Those fangs I thought I saw are nowhere to be seen now, just prominent canines which snag at his lip as it curls in his sleep. I must have imagined them. I blame the stone monstrosity outside.
There’s something that catches at me as I watch him– some faint spark of familiarity. Have I met him before? I mean, he’s Mina’s cousin, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. But if I have, I’ve certainly never seen him like this.
The crocheted blanket from the back of the sofa is draped over him, but he’s clearly moved so much in his sleep that now he’s wearing it like a loincloth. He’s naked from the waist up, and my eyes catch on the planes of his body for a moment or two before I mentally scold myself and snatch my eyes away.
How would Jon feel if he knew I was looking at another man like this? I’m a little ashamed of myself.
I mean, not so ashamed that I don’t look back almost immediately, but I just want to look at his tattoos this time. I’d seen them last night of course, but in all the panic I didn’t get a chance to properly look, and they’re fascinating.
I can’t make them out clearly at this distance, but I can see the wind of an octopus’s tentacles around one of his sides, something that looks like a stingray rising up his neck from one shoulder… I wonder if they’re all sea creatures, and then I remember Mina telling me that he grew up here, just like she did. The sea must be part of his story.
Anyway, speaking of stories, I really need to attend to this one. I sneak one more look at him and pad back up the stairs, shutting the bedroom door behind me. I pull out my laptop and boot it up, tethering it to my phone when I realise I don’t know the WiFi code and it’s too early to ask anyone.
True to form, it’s not too early for Jon, and he’s already sent three emails. I read the first, which just confirms the details of the job, deadline and word count. The usual.
The second piques my interest.
This isn’t technically related to the Goth Weekend, but there’s a wildlife sanctuary just outside Whitby currently caring for the oldest recorded bat in the country. They’re calling him Lestat. Thought this would be a fun feature to run alongside the main article.
I sit up straight as I read, that familiar warm feeling spreading through my chest. An OAP bat is right up my alley. I scan the attached press release and make a note of the contact details. This is just the thing to take the edge off this feeling I have– the feeling like I’m out of place.
It’s not helped by the other email I’ve just noticed in my personal inbox– the one from my mother.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that Millie Partridge is one of the most famous romance authors in the world, and as I’m a huge romance fan, it should be the dream, right? But it feels more like a nightmare. It’d be better if she didn’t email me with ‘life updates’ that she’s just copied and pasted from her latest newsletter. I’m not even kidding. One email had genuinely started withDear Subscriber.
It’d also be better if she hadn’t abandoned me when I was a kid, yet here we are.