His face lights up in a smile so wide that I feel the resonance of it in my chest.
‘Thirty-four,’ he says, ‘like I told you. Only technically my body is still twenty-five.’
Huh. Not centuries old like fictional vampires always seem to be.
‘So you’re still under warranty?’
A surprised laugh bursts out of him. ‘If only.’
‘A millennial vampire,’ I muse, delighted by the idea.
He nods, feigning solemnity. ‘I’m an embarrassment to the boomers in the community.’
‘Wait, there are more of you?’
He smiles softly. Too softly for a creature of the night. ‘This is Dracula country, Luce. We gravitate here like homing pigeons.’
I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I suppose it makes sense. Of course he’s not alone. I’m not sure if I find the idea comforting or not.
‘Any that I’ve met?’ I ask cautiously, then brace myself for the answer.
‘Just Wladek and Elias.’
Elias actually makes sense. Watching him on stage earlier, well, there was definitely some greater presence about him. I assumed it was celebrity, but I suppose immortality will give you that same confidence.
Then I process the rest of that sentence. ‘Wait, Wladek? But he’s such a terrible Dracula knock-off.’
He says nothing, just looks at me with a slow nod until the penny drops.
I half laugh in disbelief. ‘That’s actually kind of a genius disguise.’
‘Yeah.’ There’s a look on his face as he says it. Pride, perhaps, or maybe affection. ‘Well, he’s had the best part of three hundred years to figure it out.’
‘He’s what?’ My eyes fly open. ‘How old is Elias?’
‘He doesn’t know exactly– he slept through a fair few decades. Maybe around four hundred? He remembers the Great Fire of London.’
My jaw drops. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Nah,’ Bram says with a chuckle. ‘He’s not that old.’
I slap him on the shoulder in admonishment, and he laughs louder and pulls me into him. He presses a kiss to my cheek, my neck, the hollow below my ear.
‘Wait!’ I squeal, squirming against the delicious drag of his mouth on my skin. ‘I have more questions.’
‘Mhmm.’ I feel the gentle nip of teeth on my earlobe, cool hands wandering down my body. ‘Ask them quickly.’
‘Ok,’ I say, trying not to give in to the little shivers of pleasure that hum through me. ‘Can you fly?’
I feel his laugh as a rumble through his skin. ‘No.’
‘Do you sleep in a coffin?’
His lips dip lower, grazing along my collarbone. ‘Not as a rule.’
‘Do you have real fangs?’
He backs away at that, pupils blown wide, and he curls his lip up just enough to reveal a neat set of fangs dimpling the swollen skip of his lip. My pulse quickens.