Page 40 of Bleed

Too easy.

Feels like a trap.

“If I don’t, you’ll just spend the next year attempting to break into every room,” he grumbles, starting to ascend.

I should be annoyed by how easily he’s pinned me down, but mostly, I’m curious as hell to see what’s behind those locked doors. And he doesn’t seem mad, just irritated. Which makes two of us.

I cross the room and begin climbing the floating staircase behind him, hoping like hell I’m not blindly marching upstairs to meet my demise. Honestly, if it turns out he’s hiding bodies up here, I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point. His cool detachment gives off major serial-killer vibes.

He doesn’t issue any threats or try to push me down the stairs when I reach the top, so I guess that’s a win. Instead, he advances down the hall, stopping at the first door on the left and tapping the key fob against a small black panel beside the frame.

There’s a soft electronic click, and my interest spikes immediately.

“Ooh, fancy.”

He ignores my comment, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

I peer in, finding that the room beyond is some kind of study. There’s a low sofa in dark leather, two sleek armchairs, and a wall of built-in bookshelves.

“This is it?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Were you expecting something else?”

Yes.

I glance around again, looking for a trap door, an ominous blood altar… anything resembling what I'd built up in my mind. I expected something dramatic, but instead it’s just books and furniture; all objectively normal stuff.

I advance a few steps inside, moving closer to the bookshelves and scanning the titles. They’re all medical texts– biochemistry, hematology, and stuff in other languages I can’t even identify.

“Light reading,” I mutter, reaching toward one of the books.

His gaze flicks to my hand. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to– the look says plenty.

I stop an inch from touching the spine. “Right,” I say, lowering my hand. “No touching the priceless vampire nerd books.”

His mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. Whether that’s amusement or annoyance, I honestly can’t tell.

“Come on,” he murmurs, beckoning me with a flick of his head.

I cast one last suspicious glance around the room before following. Nothing strange jumps out at me, and frankly, I’m a little disappointed. But there are plenty more rooms left to see.

I rejoin him in the hallway, and he moves onto the next door. There’s another fob tap, another soft click, followed by another door opening to reveal no skeletons, chains, or coffins.

Wow, this tour is turning out to be wildly underwhelming.

This room appears to function as his private office, with a large desk sitting in the center as the focal point. The surface is completely clear except for a closed laptop, a fountain pen, and a stack of notebooks. Along the walls hang framed certificates, patents, and awards, along with a few photographs showing Elliott shaking hands with people in suits or lab coats, all wearing the same polite, professional smiles.

My gaze snags on a framed diploma alongside a medal. “Is that a Nobel prize?” I ask, blinking.

“Yes.”

I turn to stare at him. “You have a Nobel prize.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you keep it in a locked office?” I ask incredulously.

He cocks a brow. “Where else would I keep it?”