He waits, but I’m not sure what he’s expecting. My one-way conversation is getting weird.
“The bed was very comfortable. I felt right at home. Thank you, Stregen.”
Stregen’s soft grunt surprises me. His eyes clear, just enough to let me see the faint wisp of compassion. Then he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
His mannerisms would take getting used to if I were staying, but I’m not. Nope, I’m leaving today. It’s almost a shame because I feel as if I’m finally starting to understand Stregen. And knowing any part of the count is a plus. My face heats for no reason.
No reason at all.
True to my word, I’m ready thirty minutes later, and there’s another knock on the door. I open it, expecting Stregen, but it’s the count standing there, picking imaginary lint off his clothes. First word in my head when I see him—gorgeous. He’s dressed for a black-tie affair in his suit and shawl-cape. He looks ever the part of the dashing vampire of pre-pubescent dreams.
Before I can curtsy or say anything, he clears his throat. “The statue faces the one he feels he needs to protect,” the count says. “And to help let me know where that guest is.”
“Me.”
He nods and says, “Yes.”
I blink, then blink again. “So, Stregen is a connection to you.” That’s one myth confirmed.
He looks at me—as in he takes me in up and down. I’m wearing a short, white dress with a low neckline. It’s lace and one of my favorites. I’m a sundress type of girl in general.
The silence between us becomes uncomfortable. “Jean-Claude?” I question, wondering why we both are just standing here.
“You,” he starts and stops himself.
“Yes?” I take a step towards him without even thinking about it.
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “You smell of warmth. Of the sun.”
“Oh,” I say dumbly.
He opens his midnight eyes and looks down at me as I look up at him. I still don’t know what we’re doing.
“I want to touch you,” he says.
I swallow. Hard. “Then touch me.”
And he reaches forward, he places the top of his hand on my cheek and I feel myself shiver. He’s cold, yes, but that’s not why I’m shivering. I… the feel of his skin on mine is almost too much.
“You are warm, so warm,” he whispers.
“I’m a dryad,” I start, as if that’s answer enough. Dryads run warmer than most creatures.
He moves his hand from my cheek and trails his fingers down my neck. Then he places the top of his hand against the naked skin of my chest.
“So warm,” he breathes.
And he gets this look on his face. Like he’s going to kiss me. And I want him to kiss me. So much so that I take another step nearer him and I lift up my chin. In the process, I bear my neck to him and he looks at it, looks at the vein in my neck. And he steps back.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He shuts his expression down. “You seemed distraught about the statue,” he murmurs. “And I want you to be assured of your safety here.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head.
“My admittance is actually a ploy… to get to know you better.” He searches my face, and his expression is so… innocent. I wonder if it’s vampire deception or if he hasn’t had to school his facial expressions in a long time. Maybe he’s forgotten how? Immediately, the inquisitiveness fades, to be replaced with a scowl.
“If you don’t want me to see you,” I start. “I can just look down?”
“No!” He takes hold of my hand. His grip is gentle. His skin is cold. “No. It’s just been a long time since…” He waves at his face, swirling the smoky haze.
“Is it a curse? I could try to dispel it.” Dryads are good with anything dealing with nature, but curses? They aren’t in my wheelhouse so I’m not really sure why I offered.
A sly gaze and a smirk appear on his face and I feel myself sucking in a breath. His charisma is off the charts. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Oh, burn.
I roll my eyes. “Do all vampires play tit-for-tat?”
“When they are playing.”
Wait… what? Is the count teasing me?
The count is teasing me. Maybe I had him pegged wrong. My first impression was of a brooding asshole who literally ripped people’s heads off. Of course, Harlow led me to believe that about him, too, and then the count sort-of confirmed it when meeting him, but maybe my initial impression was… wrong?
Right when I think the count might be different from his reputation, his eyes mist and another scowl crosses his face. “Why is he here?”
The accusation in his narrowed eyes wipes away all the fun we were just having. “Who?” I look over my shoulder. Was he talking about the vines? The statue?
“Mr. Loveless.”
ELEVEN♀♥♂♂♂♂EVERLY
“Harlow? Harlow is here?” The incubus clearly isn’t in my room, so he must be downstairs.
I turn to the bed to get my backpack purse. It was buried in my luggage so I wouldn’t have to carry it during my trip, but I’m never doing that again. I’ll keep important things I can’t afford to lose on me next time.
When I turn back, the count isn’t at my door. A shadow stands rigid all the way across the hallway opposite my door. My heart sinks, and I admonish myself. Harlow said to telegraph my actions by moving slowly. As I step out, I’m careful to be purposeful about my movements.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “No fast motions.” I shut the door and shuffle my feet side-to-side.
Jean-Claude focuses inward but shakes his head. “I…” his
