I try to respond, but when I dig deep for something to say, my brain gives me… nothing. Nothing at all. It’s almost like I don’t know what the etiquette is for when someone just confesses that they’re an immortal being.
Is it even possible? I had my crazy theory about it– I mean, God, I’ve been teasing Bram about it the whole time– but nothing could have prepared me for the idea that it wastrue. Vampires, I thought, like monsters under your bed and good hair days, are just stories. Myths.
They’re notreal.
Are they?
He studies me closely while I spiral. ‘You don’t believe me,’ he says, after a moment. He states it calmly, neither challenge nor an accusation. Maybe he’s crazy? It doesn’t seem like it, but you never know these days.
‘It’s not that…’ I start, but I’m struggling to find the right words. Or any words at all, in fact. ‘But… but youbreathe. Your heart beats.’
He doesn’t respond at first. But then, like he’s had an idea, he reaches for one of my hands and guides it to his neck, gently folding down all but my first two fingers, which he presses into the pulse point on his neck, just under his jaw. I concentrate, trying to focus on finding the steady beat of his heart, butbeneath my fingertips there’s nothing– just smooth, cool skin and the occasional movement of his throat as he swallows.
A tiny, shocked sob bubbles out of me before I can stop it, and that’s when I feel it: a heavy thump, followed by a series of smaller throbs, which ebb and fade before the stillness sets back in. I dart my eyes to Bram’s in shock, and he meets my gaze with a gentle smile.
‘My heart does beat,’ he says carefully, like he’s trying not to spook me. ‘Sometimes. But not like it used to. I don’t need it to keep me alive anymore, because I’mnotalive anymore. It’s a reflex now, just a response to stimuli: fear, anger, excitement, love.’ The corner of his mouth lifts in the slightest of smiles. ‘Insanely good sex, apparently.’
I eye him carefully. I keep the sheets tucked tightly around me with my free arm, but I don’t pull my other hand away from Bram’s throat. It’s strange– I should be terrified, but I don’t think I am. On some level, I think I knew it all along.
‘What made it beat just then?’ I manage to ask, and his eyes twinkle in response.
‘You did.’ I feel his jaw tense above my hand. ‘You’re the first thing that’s made it beat like that in a while.’
His eyes meet mine with an almost scalding intensity, a burning plea. It’s raw, and it’s desperate, and I don’t know if I can resist it. I don’t know if Iwantto.
‘Bram,’ I say quietly, slipping my hand up until it’s resting on his cheek. It feels crazy– God, itiscrazy– but even through my shock, I know I can’t walk away from this. Fromhim.
And maybe Bram’s powers stretch to being able to read my mind, or maybe it’s just written all over my face, because as soon as I come to that realisation, he gathers me up in his arms, bedclothes and all, and holds on to me like I might vanish at any moment.
‘It’s a lot, I know,’ he mutters into my hair, ‘but it doesn’t change who I am, Lucy. All of this was real, for me.’
‘For me too,’ I whisper back, and my breath catches with the truth of it– with the realisation of just how scary it is to be vulnerable like this. But there’s something else there too; something greater than the fear. I’ve never been in love, but I would guess that this is the way it begins. All at once, like an addiction. One taste and I’m hooked.
I tighten my grip on him, my fingers moving to his lips, to trace the indentation where those prominent canines rest. ‘Don’t hurt me,’ I whisper, unable to keep the slight tremor from my voice. He shakes his head definitively before he brings his forehead to mine and speaks his next three words with his whole chest.
‘I would never.’
And then he kisses me with his whole heart.
It’s an hour or two before we talk about it again.
We’re lying together in the not-quite-dark of the bedroom. The steady rise and fall of his chest keeps a beat through my whole body as my head rests on his shoulder. His arm curls around my side, fingertips tracing lazy circles on my sides. I gently weave my fingers through the light thatch of his chest hair, watching the subtle movement of his body.
‘You breathe,’ I say, mostly to myself, but I hear him huff a little laugh in response.
‘I do.’ His free hand reaches to tuck a rogue curl behind my ear. ‘It’s just habit now. I don’t think I need to, but it’s like my subconscious can’t bring itself to stop. Like it’s another step away from being human.’
‘Ok,’ I say, but his answer just makes me hungry for more. I want to know all about it– all abouthim. And like he can sense it, he turns to look at me, a quizzical expression on his face. I can’t help but smile.
‘It’s just…’ I start, my finger following the trail of a tentacle on his skin. ‘I have a lot of questions.’
His face pulls into a smile then, and he adjusts his position, wriggling out from underneath me and turning on his side. He slips one arm under the pillow and adjusts it so that he’s facing me, so close that I can feel the fan of his breath on my face.
‘Ok,’ he says, replacing his hand on my hip. ‘Fire away.’
I try to resist the urge to go full journalist on him, but the opportunity is too good to ignore.
‘How old are you actually?’