I pick option A, and seeing him again after all this time is like a punch to my churning guts. Shit, he hasn't changed at all. The tenement lighting shows up his fair hair, light stubble, sharp cheekbones, all the features I might have fallen for, were my heart not already stolen by another. Were he not a constant, (sort of) living reminder of the one I failed to forget. There's a body behind him, if that's not an improper use of the word. A body still standing. But I don't pay the third party much attention beyond a cursory acknowledgement that he's there.
Will's clothes are far more modern now, of course. I don't know if I expected a three-piece suit, but he's entirely twenty-first century.
"Will." I can't say anything else, but it's a good start. An acknowledgement that might just be a welcome, a test to see if he answers and proves himself not an apparition.
"You live somewhere people can just walk right up to the door?"
"Um, what?"
"I'm surprised you didn't say pardon. I mean this." He sweeps a hand in an arcing gesture and fights against the grimace I can still detect. "You don't live in, say, a tenement block with an intercom system. Anyone could show up."
"I keep my front door locked."
"Considering how security-conscious you are," Will points out, lifting his eyebrows, "that seems a tad careless."
"If someone finds out where I live, an intercom system won't reverse that monumental screw-up, will it?" I ask, and we both know I'm referring to a specific someone.
I'm not scared of Adam. I just don't want to see him; not that I think he'd ever hurt me if we ever did meet again.
I'm not saying he wouldn't try. He'd just find it very difficult.
"Look, maybe I should introduce you to Kieran." Will stands aside to let the other, no doubt nervous, visitor step forward.
I automatically reach out to shake his hand in welcome; it's only polite, after all.
The physical contact jolts through me like electricity. He's so warm.
I cock my head, turn my attention back to Will. He meets my questioning gaze admirably.
Inside, I'm trying to ask him what the hell is going on, but my brain refuses to tell my mouth to work.
"Aren't you going to ask us in?" Will suggests, and there's a hint of playfulness in his voice. A vague attempt to lift the mood, which falls flat instantly.
"Yeah, I mean, don't you have to ask him across the threshold?" This Kieran half-laughs, and the sound peters out when I shoot him a glance of irritation.
Luckily for him, it's a momentary thing, and immediately, Will has my attention again.
"He's not a newborn." Now it's my turn to speak through gritted teeth. I've spoken on my own doorstep, and though vampires are accepted up to a certain point, legalised, I prefer not to advertise my undeadness to any possible passers-by.
Discretion is usually my watchword. One of many.
"He's still fucking warm. "
"Shouldn't I be?" Kieran sounds as uncertain as I feel, but I still can't bring myself to look at him. "I mean, I thought...Will? Haven't you told him?"
"Told me what, Will? Told me what?"
Will shifts his weight from one foot to the other, draws himself up to his full six feet however many inches. He's not bridling. He's not scared.
He's not making some base attempt to threaten me with his stature. He's waiting for the penny to drop and for me to say it out loud.
"You haven't told me he's still alive?" I can't believe he's been so...he's done this...he's so damn... "Fuck." I thump the doorframe with one fist, and Kieran jumps. "You..." I work the fingers on that hand a few times, stretching the muscles, then pinch the bridge of my nose. "You told me...
You let me think..."
"Look, Nathan---"
"You let me think he was already dead. He's not a newborn; he's a fucking---"
"No," Will says, and that monosyllable tells me he's about to say the words I never, ever wanted to hear from him. "I want you to help me change him."
Chapter 5
MY FLAT HAS A KITCHEN, but I hardly ever use it for cooking. At the moment, it's being used for a discussion. A heated one. While Kieran Delaney sits in my living room---oh, how apt that is; a living room for the only breather in the house, outnumbered as he is two to one by the corpse contingent.
I still can't believe Will's done this to me.
So. While Kieran Delaney sits, alive, in my living room, Will Bosworth (dead) and Nathan Stephenson (likewise) dance around the issue.
"When you asked if this place was suitable for a newborn, I thought you meant..."
Will lifts his eyebrows. I don't know if he's urging me to go on, or trying to look innocent.
"I thought you meant he already was."
"Yes. Well." He looks up to the ceiling, as if seeking divine intervention, but given the nature of what we are, I don't reckon he'll find it. "I couldn't think of anyone else to ask."
" Yo u didn't ask, though." I thump the worktop with a balled fist, and he jumps, glances toward the door. "Don't worry; he won't hear us,"
I say. "His hearing won't be all that sharp, you know, what with him still being human."
"Yes. Yes, I know." Will has the good grace to look contrite, lowering his eyelashes and staring at the floor, shoulders hunched.
"Will, you..." I lift up my palms, pleading with him to understand, and the look on his face tells me he does. But he's doing this anyway.
"After everything..."
"I love him, Nathan."
Well, doesn't that just stop me in my tracks.
All the excuses I was searching for, the reasons to say no outright, just melt away
