I shift in his hands, but he never releases me.
“Eventually,” I say in that same voice my mother used to use when telling Kyra and I “maybe” instead of yes or no.
He smiles harder, more alluringly if that is somehow possible.
A maybe is never a yes, Aston. Didn’t your childhood teach you anything?
His fingers ease their hold on me and he slides them down my arms slow enough to send a shiver racing across my flesh.
He likes it.
Why does he like every single little reaction that I give him?
Because he’s a fucking creep, my rational mind screams at me while my distracted, irrational heart can’t help but flutter when his fingertips tangle with mine before releasing me entirely.
“I’m an energy vampire. I feed on emotions instead of blood. And no one in Crimson City is as reckless with their emotions as you’ve been since you walked into this den of monsters just hours ago.” The man looks at me like the Cheshire Cat. “So. Who. Are. You?”
An energy vampire. That explains why he knew I wasn’t one of them within seconds.
I can deceive appearances, but I can’t deceive my heart.
“Are there others like you?”
He shakes his head. “Eh, not really. I’ve only ever met one other in a pub in Rome.” His flaming pink hair flips over his brow as he looks off with a reminiscent look in his pretty eyes.
I mean, not pretty. Puke green. Sickly green. Baby-poop green.
The kind of green the sea looks when poets and painters describe the waters just as the sun kisses the waves like God himself is touching the Earth with a little bit of Heaven.
Oh, my fucking God, what is wrong with me?
“Do you transmit your energy into others?”
“Aboso-fucking-lutely. You wouldn’t even give me the time of day if I wasn’t giving as much as I’m getting right now, Six.” His smirk is like sex and seduction with that disgusting word play.
And there we have it. He’s using his powers to brainwash me into being attracted to him.
I sigh and look away from his hard jawline and overly defined Adam’s apple. Since when did Adam’s apples become so damn sexy?
When I became brainwashed.
Clearly.
I step out, gaining a few feet of space between me and my sister’s tormenter. Then I study him for a few solid seconds.
He’s six foot something. Lean muscle tone, but that means nothing to a supernatural creature with more power than any childhood superhero. What sticks out the most… is his band tee-shirt and scuffed black and white sneakers.
They say the worst monsters live among us in plain sight. Do they all wear tattered Riverdales tee-shirts and tattered skinny jeans too?
“People are dying here,” I say casually.
His head bobs up. He eyes me skeptically, and suddenly it’s a contest of who the real suspect is.
Shit!
What if I’m the monster, and Aston is nothing more than a lost man searching for his own feelings?
Too gross to consider.
That can’t be right.
“The High Council of Crimson City has been dropping like flies,” he says more harshly than I would have expected. “Croft Four, Victoria Korven, Along with her assistant Rosalie Thames. And my own assistant just late last year. All three were disembodied slaughters of sex and blood. I’ve heard it’s happening all over Chicago as well.” His lips are curled as he looks at me, but not with that boyish charm he had just seconds ago.
But like a monster who truly does have hate hidden deep in his soul.
My stomach turns with disgust.
Something else keeps circling my mind.
“How did Victoria and Rosalie die?”
His jewel-like gaze searches mine. His teeth are bared far more than necessary, but he does answer the question.
“Just like the seven other human women this year. They were raped so brutally, Rosalie’s right leg was detached from her body. Her neck was fed on so hard that her head was only attached by a tiny scrap of flesh. Victoria was in worse shape, we could barely recognize her. The human women got it far worse than that even.”
This man’s feelings, violence and kindness alike are a whirlwind of emotions. I don’t think he even realizes it.
It’s getting to me more and more as I speak with him.
A dampness stings my eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if my sister suffered the same fate. But I can’t ask a suspicious vampire how I died, now can I?
A deep flood of feelings drowns me all at once, and I look up again to find tears streaking down Aston’s face. My hand lifts, and wetness meets my fingertips as I touch my cheek.
“You’re crying, Kyra Vega,” he whispers on a heavy breath.
I shove past him, my shoulder knocking his as I go.
“So are you,” I whisper right back.
Fifteen
Kira
I busy myself inside the small library in a chair that provides me with the perfect view of the staircase in the hall that leads down to the crofts.
One by one throughout the day, the vampires slowly descend to their coffins. Prey waits annoyingly just outside of the library door, like the perfect assistant and mate.
My reflexes kick up, recoiling at that last thought.
The list of things that keep me up at night are really growing out of control at this point. Prey being my undead boyfriend might just be the one that sends me over the edge.
Nicco helps Pavel down the stairs with his hand supporting the old vampire’s elbow, and they stop just before they hobble down.
“Goodnight, Miss Vega,” Pavel says with a perfectly rotten smile shining out through his dry, cracked lips.
“Goodnight, Pavel.” I bow my head to him, but lingers a bit longer.
“It’s nice to have you back. You do so much more for Rival’s health than you could possibly know.”
I pick apart his words and his demeanor, even as Nicco guides him back down the red-lit stairs.
Pavel has the appearance of a woman’s worst nightmare, but I don’t believe he has the strength to kill a
