Page 92 of Blood Lovers

That can only mean one thing. He’s treating me to a spa night on the vampire’s dime. Maybe the vampire doesn’t live here, maybe he does, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. This place is exquisite. And wasn’t that monster bragging about his pretty things?

I’m both intrigued and frightened that I have just walked into the vampire’s territory.

No. That’s not quite right, is it?

I didn’t walk in here, I was led.

I was led in here holding the hand of his hunter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - RYET

The dream is me and him.

I lead Syrsee through the lobby, paying no attention to the two young women at the reception desk who are looking at me like they might panic. I don’t have to call ahead—although I haven’t been here in years, so maybe I should have because I don’t typically show up out of nowhere holding the hand of a human woman like I can’t wait to get her in my bed—so they don’t know what to think.

No one who works here is a vampire, of course. There is really only Paul. Lucia might drink blood, but a vampire she is not. And Josep doesn’t count for anything. But everyone here is part of the compound. They are a refined group of well-behaved halfbreeds who can be trusted to interact with the general public so Paul can make some money off his extravagant taste in mountain retreats.

We actually built this place together back in the late Seventies. The lodge was here, but it was someone’s mansion. Someone who died, or lost their fortune, or maybe they just got tired of fighting the cold, and the wind, and the snow and didn’t have the desire, or money, or vision to turn it into something like this.

But we did. Paul was excited about this renovation. I remember that. I remember thinking that was weird because it was hard to get him excited about anything at the time. This was before the little witch was born, so obviously he wasn’t obsessed with her yet. Plus, all his standby feeders were still young back then. Still pretty. He still spent time playing with them and feeding off them.

And—though I don’t like to admit this—I was here. We were together. And that, it seems, has always been his goal. To keep me near him.

Why me?

I have asked myself that question thousands of times over the decades. Why me? Of all the people on this earth, he chose me. Why?

Whenever I ask him this question, his answer is always the same. You’re so pretty, Ryet.

But he says that about everyone he likes. Because, of course, he only likes pretty things. So his answer is always meaningless.

That being said, the North Star Spa and Hot Springs is an absolutely gorgeous place. A tiny valley slotted between two nine-thousand-foot peaks that contain some of the best private black-diamond skiing in all of North America.

The main lodge sprawls up the side of the western slope and is surrounded by more than two dozen natural hot springs that we connected to private cabins. There are heated walkways that wind through a forest of hazy amber lights, little bridges that take you over flowing streams, and tiny waterfalls that never freeze no matter how cold it is outside. So there is a constant burble of water, and a warm glow of heat, and a sense of coziness inside the resort boundaries that directly contradicts the harsh winter going on all around it.

People fly in from all over the world to spend time at the North Star and getting here is a bitch because roads in the Rockies make no sense. So, of course, we have a helipad too.

That’s how I usually come in. I don’t think anyone at this resort has ever seen me drive a truck. So I’m sure they are having a good gossip about me right now. Probably on the phone with Echo—Paul’s new favorite halfbreed pet—telling her all about how I just came in.

I don’t care. I already told him I was with a woman. Not that I have to. But if we hadn’t had that conversation in my dreamwalk, I would probably have let him know. I would not call Paul jealous. That’s kind of a laughable thought. He just doesn’t like surprises. And having one of Lucia’s halfbreeds call him up to let him know I had just walked in to the resort holding the hand of a human woman would count as a surprise if he wasn’t already aware that I was with someone.

And then he would show up. Would start being possessive. Or probably want to share. And… we probably would. Because no one is capable of resisting his charms. It’s just not possible. If he wants you, you’re his.

I should know.

And even though I hate him—and I do hate him—I’m stuck with him. He and I are just a thing. There is nothing more to say about it. I try to stay away, and I do a pretty good job at it because he helps me stay away, always giving me jobs to do that keep us at a distance. And he does this not for himself, of course—if he had things his way, I’d be tied to his bed twenty-four seven—but for my sake because he knows I don’t want to be near him.

He does things to me. He makes me act in ways I don’t want to. He affects me. And I want him when he’s close. I can’t help it. It’s just… how the blood lust is.

So he leaves me alone, mostly. Our relationship happens over the phone—or in dreamwalks, lately—and not so much in person anymore. Unless he’s feeding me, of course.

My mind begins to drift back to the feeding he recently gave me and the way he keeps asking me if I’m feeling OK, and I’m just about to think a little harder about this when I glance at Syrsee. “Oh, my God. What are you thinking about?”

“What?” She looks up at me, surprised, her eyes wide and full of… what is that emotion?

We’re outside now, making our way to the cabin that is always ready and waiting for Paul or me, should we happen to show up, but I stop walking in the center of one of the little wooden bridges that pass over a burbling stream. “Are you OK?”

“Sure. Why? Yes. I’m fine.”