Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Gemma’s chest burned. Breathe.
She forced herself to suck in air while rotating the crystal between her fingers.
This was real. Real!
A vampire almost bit me. He’d torn off her shirt in the sexiest moment of her life, shortly after the scariest moment of her existence when someone almost murdered her.
Trembling started in her hands and traveled up her arms until whole body tremors shook her.
When the twin white tips of his fangs elongated and peeked out from his parted lips, she’d frozen.
The red glow of the eyes, which on the show signaled imminent attack, made her lose her sanity.
But not in a normal, I’m-going-to-die way.
She wanted him—his bite, sex, and anything else he might give her.
Instead of retreating, she’d touched his teeth as if she was trying to befriend a great white shark.
“I’m an idiot,” she muttered. “A suicidal dummy.”
When he attacked creatures in the show, it hadn’t been portrayed as a romanticized, easy death of fast blood loss, his victims simply fainting into death. No, his kills had been vicious—nearly chewing out the throat and decapitated his victim each time. Horrifying. Bloody. Gross.
She drifted around the room, touching his things—a belt missing a buckle, a used shirt that smelled like him, a hairbrush, a discarded tartan.
These normal items weren’t on TV. They weren’t part of the average fictional character on a supernatural show.
The clutter humanized him. There was no toothbrush or toothpaste.
Then again, this wasn’t the bathroom. Did bathrooms exist in a stone castle like this?
His breath hadn’t smelled like that of someone who never brushed.
On the top of the dresser she found another hexenspiegel and the metal disks with runes she’d seen him use in some episodes.
Stacked paper of thick weight, the kind she associated with quality and handmade artisanal stationery, was scattered across the surface of a large desk with a matching creaky wooden chair. The elegant calligraphy script was in English. Was this his handwriting?
No obvious pens could be found, but there was ink and a feather. The ink-stained tip of the feather made her wonder… Might as well try. Not as if she had anything better to do. She opened the inkwell, dipped, and wrote half the G in her name before it ran out of ink. Dipped again. Ka-ploink.
A huge ink spot spread on the paper. Hand halfway to the paper to wipe the drip, she stopped.
That ink might not come off skin, and it wasn’t as if there’d be rubbing alcohol sitting around to remove it.
She had to finish her name now that she’d gotten the G done.
The end product had the quality of a kindergartener.
A bit more practice and she might be able to write a short sentence without smearing or blotting.
She crumpled up the page and, of course, she found no trash can in sight.
The door opened.
Her heart rate kicked up.
She dropped the paper and stepped away from the desk.
Serish entered with a tray. “I brought tea.”
“I’m not a big tea drinker, but okay.” She twirled the ends of her hair until her finger was tight in the twist, a stupid nervous habit she’d had since childhood.
“Skarde and I aren’t…I mean, we’re not going to do anything in the bed.
He brought me here in order to… Is this his official bedroom?
” She tugged until her hand came free of her hair, cheeks flaming. “I’m not helping myself here.”
“You’re not. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re the first person other than me whom he’s let enter his space.
I wish it weren’t such a catastrophe in here.
He shut himself in for the past week or so and wouldn’t let anyone in to straighten things.
” He rested the tray on a bedside table and picked up a few items of clothing, which he draped over an arm.
“So, you saved Skarde the other day?” He lowered his voice and glanced around conspiratorially as if the walls were listening.
“From Petra and then the wizard. Glad you shot that particular guy. He was a real jerk who gave all of us magical folk a bad name. What’s more exciting is you lit the pilot light in Skarde’s soul.
It’s been out forever.” He straightened. “Good job.”
Did they have pilot lights in this medieval time?
“I’m not sure of that. But I might’ve convinced him it wasn’t a good day to die.”
“This is but the beginning.” He grinned, which showed off what looked like a gold canine tooth. Did they have crowns here?
“The beginning of what? Does this have to do with the crystals and Petra bringing demons or whatever into your world? Does she want to force Skarde into giving her immortality?”
“Well…” He shrugged. “She can bargain for immortality from almost any vampire, and if she’s sleeping with VanFliet that’s a moot point. For her, anything with Skarde is about the crystals. She knows Skarde won’t turn her into a vampire. He’s never turned anyone. I bet you wonder why he hasn’t.”
He’d never turned a human? That seemed weird for a centuries-old vampire.
“Maybe he hates what he is and doesn’t want anyone else to become like him or he’s taking sort of moral high ground?”
“You think you know him, do you?” Serish’s lips twitched as if caught between a smile and grimace.
“He’s got scruples, which is unusual but not unheard of in a vampire.
Buuut…” He paused for dramatic effect. “He’s not that virtuous.
It’s a long existence to walk alone, not to mention avoid biting while engaging in… ” He waved at the bed.
“Why won’t he bite?”
“Now, that, my girl, is the question. Not my place to tell you Skarde’s reasons. I’m not sure he’ll tell you either, but you should ask. I can’t wait to see him try not to seduce you.”
“I don’t want to sleep with him.”
“Really?” The mage’s eyes sparkled. “That could be problematic. He wants you six ways to Sunday. I’ve heard he can be quite persuasive to get what he wants.”
“Has he still been sleeping around since I saved his butt yesterday?”
“That happened two weeks ago.”
Right, Gemma thought. She knew that.
Serish said, “For you it might be a day or two ago, but for him it’s been much longer. I thought you weren’t interested in him.”
Her heartbeat hammered inside her ears.
A catastrophe of emotion rippled through her, leaving her nauseous.
Thud. Thud. Thud. The strength of each heartbeat hurt.
Serish’s face went blank as he headed for the door.
“Well, has he?” she asked loudly.
Serish twisted the handle. “He’s Skarde.”
“What does that mean?” She chased him into the hallway, but the mage was already gone.