Page 56
He nods. “That was clever thinking.”
He and Pierce leave while I’m still blinking in shock over the praise.
“Misha set up a scene?” Anna asks. “What the fuck happened? This party was supposed to be low-key!”
Shaking my head, I finish my tea. “Trust me, low-key was never on the table.” I launch into recounting the events of the night from the moment we walked into the house. “I kept thinking I should call you,” I tell Anna as Clive gets up from the table, “but it never seemed to be a good time to take my eyes off the people around me.”
She runs her hand through her mullet. “There’s nothing I could have done about Misha,” she admits. “Not without bringing a shitstorm down on Tristan. And I never would have got there in time to save you from Steven.” She bites her lip. “But we need to come up with a better way for you to reach me than just calling. I’ll make some calls in the morning. How do you feel about wearing a smartwatch?”
I shrug, then stare as Clive puts a plate with a huge piece of cake on it in front of me. “What’s this?” It looks like—
“Stroopwafel cake,” he says, passing plates to everyone else. “With caramel icing.”
My mouth waters, and I pick up the cake fork, not even bothering to tease him about the fact that he stocks the kitchen with cake forks. “Thanks! This is my favourite.” I shovel in a big mouthful and moan. Bless the person who first invented caramel.
Anna eats her cake in record time and disappears shortly after, muttering about research, but Lauren and Clive linger while I eat a second slice, and then Clive shoos me up to my bedroom with a reminder to have a hot bath. I obey, but only because I’m starting to feel some aches and pains in muscles I hadn’t even known were affected.
It’s not until much later, when I’m lying in bed, the house silent around me, that I begin to truly feel the impact of the night’s events. I’m not afraid of the dark, or that something might linger in the shadows. I’m not even afraid that Steven might try to come after me again.
No, the thing that keeps me from closing my eyes is the memory of the fear that choked me when Tristan reached for me.
Despite all the surprises and people being thrown around, this job is the best one I’ve ever had, without question, even if I wasn’t being paid a fantastic wage. I love the people—even Clive—and the sense of community I’ve gotten from every non-vampire I’ve met. Some of the vampires, too. I don’t want to lose this, but if I can’t handle being fed from…
I’m sure it will be fine. I’ve never had any problem with Tristan feeding from me before. I trust Tristan. It’s not like Steven actually bit me, so it’s probably going to be fine.
Right?
I stare into the darkness for another half hour before sighing and tossing back the covers. There’s no way I’m going to sleep with this weighing on me, so I might as well be productive.
Not bothering to turn on the light, I creep out of my room and along the landing past Anna’s room, then Clive’s. The main staircase leads down, but opposite it are six steps leading up to another tiny landing, and from there I have the choice of five steps down to the hallway that runs to the rooms over the garage, or up another flight.
I go up.
It’s an old house, but just like at Blackwood Place, floorboards don’t dare to flout Clive’s will by creaking. My bare feet are almost silent on the steps, and I’m nearly to the top when it occurs to me that I should probably make it clear I’m not trying to sneak in. The last thing tonight needs is me being jumped because someone thought I was an intruder. I pause and clear my throat softly. “Tristan?”
A few seconds later, light floods the landing at the top of the stairs, and a figure appears. With me standing a few steps down, he’s taller than me, and even though I can’t see his eyes in the shadows, I know he’s studying me with that cool gaze.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, and I shake my head, then nod.
“Can I come in?” It’s colder than I thought it would be, standing around in my flannel pj pants. My fault for not putting on a shirt.
For a moment, Tristan doesn’t say anything, and I strain to see his face. Then he steps back. “Come on.”
I scramble up the rest of the steps and walk past him into his bedroom. Three lamps light the space, and two sets of french doors lead out onto a rooftop terrace. I bet he’s got a view of the harbour.
The king-size bed is undisturbed, and I wonder why he even has it. Does he like to sleep sometimes, even though he doesn’t need to? Or is it for other… stuff? I jerk my attention away, feeling my face get hot, and turn toward the plush blue velvet couch. A small stack of papers sits on one cushion, and the side table at one end holds a half-empty wineglass.
“Are you working?” I blurt. “Sorry. I didn’t think I’d be interrupting…” Though of course I would be, since it’s nearly two in the morning. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Sit,” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s an order or an invitation. That’s okay, since I want to sit anyway. I curl up in the corner of the couch, tucking my feet under me. He studies me for a moment, then goes through a door and comes back a moment later with a soft-looking knitted throw. I try to hide my astonishment as he shakes it out, then drapes it over me. “Better?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
He retakes his seat at the other end of the couch, moving the papers to the side table with the wineglass. “Are you worried that if you sleep, something will happen?”
“No.” I weave a corner of the blanket between my fingers, trying to gather the courage to say the right words. “He was going to bite me. Take my blood without my permission.”
Tristan’s gaze is steady on my face. “Yes.”
