Chapter 24
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
Tilting the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to my lips, I slug it straight back and slump against the pillow.
Adding more alcohol on top of the two whiskies I had at the bar isn’t smart.
But after the night I’ve had, drunken oblivion is preferable.
I just want to slip underneath the duvet and get some respite from my thoughts.
But how I’m supposed to deal with the woman I like being a vampire, I’m not sure.
I groan out loud and take another large gulp.
Outside, the wind is howling and rain is lashing down, which only adds to my misery. Even the weather agrees. It’s the perfect night for an all-night binge drinking session.
I must doze off for a minute or two (or fall unconscious) as I’m woken by the smell of alcohol and a burning sensation on my chest.
Shit. I quickly right the dribbling whisky bottle, which has created a large wet patch on my T-shirt. Capping it and placing the bottle on the floor beside the bed, I drag a weary hand across my face and pluck at my T-shirt. But I can’t be bothered getting a fresh one. Nothing’s changed.
It’s still raining.
I’m still alone.
And Florence is still a vampire.
I close my eyes, feeling slightly nauseous from all the whisky I’ve drunk.
But despite that, the moment she admitted it to me is imprinted on my mind.
We sat there, looking at each other after she came back from the bar and handed me a whisky.
I took a steadying breath. My brain was telling me not to ask. But I had to know.
‘So w-what you’re trying to tell me is t-that you’re a v-vampire?’ I stuttered, my mouth as dry as a bone.
‘Shh.’ She glanced quickly over her shoulder. ‘Keep your voice down. This is privileged information. But yes, I am.’
All I could manage was a choked gurgling sound in reply.
Then—and this is the bit that I’m not particularly proud of—I acted like a frigging cold robot, thanking her politely for whisky and chucking it back in one.
The worst thing was that she didn’t seem surprised at all.
Just sat there, looking at me sadly as I grabbed my coat and legged it out of there.
Determined to erase her beautiful face from my mind forever, I reach over the side of the bed for the bottle. But before my fingers touch it, I become aware of a steady tapping on the window.
What is that? Hail? A loose aerial?
Stumbling from the bed, I swipe back the curtains and freeze in terror.
It’s her. Florence. Hovering outside my window.
Dressed all in black, dark hair whipping like snakes around her pale face.
She taps on the pane and indicates that I should let her in.
I whip the curtains shut, stumble back to the bed, and collapse on it.
Holy fuck, how drunk am I? Now I’m hallucinating about her!
The tapping begins again.
After five minutes, by which time I’ve convinced myself I’m having an alcoholic-induced nightmare, I lever myself up off the bed and shuffle over to the window.
I peek through the curtains, and my gut trembles.
She’s still there. My eyes slip to the pavement below.
Oh my god, I’m in a top-floor apartment and four storeys up. Yet she’s levitating ...
There’s a sharp rap on the window to get my attention.
Reluctantly, I slide my eyes back up to her.
‘Damian!’ she calls out. ‘Please let me in. My hair.’ She points to her long locks, which are admittedly getting severely tangled in the wind, and pulls a mournful face.
I chuckle a bit at that, albeit with a tinge of hysteria. Florence wants me to let her in because her hair is getting messy.
She grins when she sees me smile and presses her palms together in a praying motion. ‘Pretty please,’ she mouths.
Fuck it, I think. What’s the worst that can happen?
Duh, being eaten alive by a vampire woman—that’s what! says my common sense, which is desperately trying to claw its way to the surface of the whisky lake of my mind. But surely, if she wanted to kill me, she would have done so by now? I reason. I’ll take my chances.
A gust of wind and rain hits me in the face as I heave up the sash window as far as it will go.
Florence sinks down to ledge level and hovers there. What is she waiting for?
‘You have to invite me in,’ she says.
‘Oh.’ So that rule does actually exist. ‘Florence Hughes, please come into my room,’ I intone solemnly. And please don’t eat me, I add silently.
Stepping aside from the window, I gape as she slithers through and lands lightly on my bedroom floor. I inch backwards, my heart thumping in my chest. Shit, I’ve done it now.
Florence closes the window and looks at the puddle of water she’s making on the floorboards, then at me. ‘Sorry, I’m dripping,’ she says.
‘Don’t move. I’ll get you a towel.’
In the bathroom, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are unusually bright—I actually look pleased that I’m entertaining a vampire. I give myself a stinging slap. Snap out of it, you fool!
My cheek smarting, I drag a clean towel from the cupboard and scurry back to my room.
‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks.’ Florence takes the towel and winds it around her shoulders, dabbing at her face. Her black leggings and long-sleeved black T-shirt are sopping. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her wear modern clothing.
I don’t suppose she’ll catch her death, but it’s polite to ask.
‘Do you want a change of clothes?’
‘Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.’
Busily, I fetch a clean pair of grey joggers and a plain white T-shirt. I consider adding a pair of boxers too, but that would be weird.
‘Bathroom’s through there. Have a hot shower if you like,’ I hear myself saying. ‘Or a cold one, if that’s what you prefer. I don’t know how it works ...’ I throw up my hands helplessly.
‘It’s either or depending on my mood,’ she says, giving me a quick smile. ‘But thanks. I might, just to freshen up.’
I hop back into bed, switch on my bedside light, and listen to the water running and the sound of humming.
There’s a naked vampire in my shower, I think wondrously. It feels surreal.
When Florence comes back in, she’s wearing my clothes, her hair is slicked back (she’s used my comb!), and she’s towelling it dry.
She sits at my desk and swivels in the chair.
I’m transfixed, unable to tear my eyes off her.
But she seems unconcerned at the attention and checks out the titles in my bookcase.
She indicates my copy of Interview with the Vampire.
‘Nice,’ she says, looking over at me with a grin.
I smile weakly and wedge myself deeper into my pillow. Dammit, I don’t even have a crucifix ...
‘How did you find out where I live?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘That sort of thing isn’t difficult for me.
I was out anyway, doing some scouting, thanks to Sadie.
She’s paranoid about Alexander ... my ex-boyfriend .
.. showing up. So after that, I decided to check in on you, to make sure you were OK .
.. after our chat.’ She eyes the half-full bottle of whisky on the floor.
‘Sorry for interrupting your tête-à-tête with Jack Daniel’s. ’
‘What does scouting involve?’ I ask to get her off the subject of my drinking. I reach down and hastily shove the bottle under my bed.
‘Climbing to the top of Scott Monument,’ Florence says.
‘Right.’ I nod but inwardly balk. Climbing Scott Monument? What the fuck? That is not a normal activity for someone to be doing on a Friday night!
She finishes towelling her hair, pulls a knee up to her chest, and plays with one of my pens, looking at me.
For some reason, watching the smooth cylinder slip backwards and forwards between her fingers is quite arousing. She sees me watching and smiles flirtatiously.
‘So how are you doing, Dr Rhodes?’
I take a breath and will my cock to behave. ‘Absolutely fine.’
‘Really?’
I nod. ‘Uh, admittedly, I was a little surprised to find out that you’re undead. But apart from the initial shock, I think I’m handling it pretty well.’ My words slur a little, and Florence huffs a laugh.
‘So you’d be fine if I came and joined you over there on the bed?’
I gulp, knowing the right thing to do is exclaim loudly, ‘Stay back, creature of the night!’ and hold up my fingers in a cross.
But instead, I chirp brightly, ‘Sure!’
I close my eyes in despair. What the fuck are you doing, you idiot?
When I open them again, she’s right there, crouching on the end of my bed. Looking at me with an expression of wary vulnerability. Like a puppy expecting me to kick her. I can’t help it; it melts me.
‘Come here,’ I say, holding out my arms. In a flash, she’s there, her body pressing against mine, her face inches away. She rubs her impossibly smooth porcelain cheek against mine while I stroke her back.
That dried-roses scent winds around us, and I breathe it in, understanding now that it’s not her perfume—it’s vampire pheromones: compelling, alluring, dangerous.
With a smile, she lowers her lips to mine, and the sensation is like tasting an ice cube.
But it’s not unpleasant; it’s actually quite refreshing, chasing away the grogginess of the whisky.
As the kiss deepens and Florence gently rubs her hips against my crotch, I can feel my cock hardening and my resolve to keep my distance slipping. Then it hits me.
Oh my god, I’m being seduced by a vampire. I’m so royally screwed!