Chapter 27
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
The main door of the Ramsay Garden flat gleams blood-red in the moonlight, and a trickle of fear runs down my spine.
Accepting that Floss is a vampire and that she means me no harm is one thing, but meeting her vampire flatmates is quite another.
It seemed like a good idea the other night when we were discussing it in my broken bed.
Now I’m not sure at all. But she’s my girlfriend, I care about her, and I want to be a part of her world—so that means meeting Sadie and Hester.
‘They don’t bite,’ says Floss in a teasing tone, and I give her a withering look.
‘This is not the time for those kinds of jokes,’ I say snippily, my voice breaking.
‘Sorry,’ she says, squeezing my arm. ‘Look, I know you must be scared. If you’re not up to it, we can do it another time.’
I square my shoulders, not wanting to look like a lily-livered fool in front of her. For God’s sake, Rhodes, are you a man or a mouse?
But my knees are trembling, and at this moment, I would have to say I’m very much a scared little mouse.
‘Have they ... you know?’ I make a vague gesture around my throat area, not quite sure how to put it or wanting to give offense.
Floss smirks. ‘Had dinner?’
A cold sweat breaks out across my shoulder blades. ‘Uh, yes. That.’
She checks the time on her phone. ‘Elliott was due an hour ago, so I’d say they would have. And they know that you’re coming over, so they wouldn’t want to make you nervous by sniffing at you or anything.’
I smile at her weakly. ‘Right.’
‘We don’t have to stay for long. It’s not like you have to hear their life stories or anything. Jesus.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You’d be here for days ...’
I can’t help chuckling at that, which eases my tension. Floss’s sense of humour is very dry. It’s one of the reasons why I like her so much. I slide my hand into hers.
‘You’ll be right there too. You won’t leave me alone?’ I hate the way my voice quavers, but I can’t help it.
She squeezes my hand so tightly my knuckles crack. I wince, and she eases off the pressure. ‘Of course I won’t leave you alone,’ she says soothingly. ‘I’ll be right next to you the entire time … Though if they do decide to go for you, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.’
My eyes widen in terror, and Floss grins at me. ‘Sorry, couldn’t help myself.’
As soon as we step foot into the entranceway and Floss closes the door behind us, I know there’s no going back. I force down my fear and trail behind her as we walk down the hallway, which has dark-blue patterned wallpaper.
‘Huh, they put the lights on for you. That’s nice.’ She gestures at the half-a-dozen candle-shaped lights mounted to each side of the wall in sconces. ‘Even Elliott doesn’t get that kind of welcome.’
Knowing that Elliott Blythe—Sadie’s friend or boyfriend or whoever he is—is here and fully aware of this coven is a relief. He and I are in the same position. Even though I know nothing about his relationship with Sadie, I’m hoping we can be friends. Allies.
The hallway leads into a sizeable lounge and double bay windows that face out over the city. A large leather couch faces away from me. Two people sit on it, close together as if talking, their backs turned to us as we enter.
‘Here we are!’ announces Floss overly brightly, grasping my arm possessively. ‘Damian, meet my flatmates, Sadie and Hester.’
Two women rise to their feet, and I can’t help gawking.
From all the books I’ve read and movies I’ve seen, I know that vampires are supposed to be uncommonly beautiful; it’s part of their power to lure you in.
Floss is certainly stunning, and now I see that her flatmates—a slightly shorter blonde with a chin-length bob and a taller redhead with a long plait—are gorgeous too.
Both have piercing stares that make the contents of my stomach liquefy.
But as terrifying as they are, my fear is replaced by reverential emotion at being in their presence.
A compelling urge to kneel before them washes over me. I start sinking down to do so, and Floss yanks me back up.
‘Stop that, for God’s sake!’ she says to the blonde, sounding annoyed. ‘Don’t kneel, Damian. She’s just trying it on with you.’
The compulsion fades, and the blonde girl’s scarlet lips twist in a smirk.
I recognise her from my dad’s photo. Sadie.
She looks exactly the same as she did in 1983, apart from the sleeker shorter hair, and she’s wearing different clothes; a black crop top and a green sequined skirt.
Her belly button sparkles with an emerald jewel.
I smile back warily and say ‘Hello’, pleased that my voice doesn’t wobble.
‘And this is Hester.’
The redhead is dressed more demurely in black wool trousers and a grey batwing top, as if she doesn’t want to be noticed. But she’s so tall it’s difficult not to. She steps forward with a pleasant smile, and I instinctively put out a trembling hand. ‘Hi, Hester. Nice to meet you.’
Hester is around my height, six foot, with wide slanted green eyes like a cat’s, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. She hesitates looking at my hand, then glances at Floss, who nods. She slides her glacial palm into mine and gives it a couple of pumps.
Nice to meet you too, Damian Rhodes. I’ve heard a lot about you.
Her voice sounds loudly and clearly in my head. When Floss does it, it always sounds soft and muted, like whispering. But this is like tuning in to a high-frequency radio. I jerk my hand back in shock.
‘Hester, leave him alone!’ says Floss immediately.
Hester gives me a cheeky grin. ‘Sorry about that. Nice to meet you, Damian.’ She sits back on the couch, crossing her long legs.
Floss rolls her eyes at me. She seems on tenterhooks, as if she’s worrying what her flatmates will do to me next. It’s kind of funny, yet terrifying.
‘And this is Elliott.’ Sadie’s voice is low and husky like she’s smoked two packets of cigarettes and a cigar.
She moves aside, and I see that there’s a third person.
A guy in his late twenties is lying on the couch.
He’s dressed eclectically in a tweed jacket, blue-and-white striped collared polo shirt, and olive-green trousers.
One brown suede booted foot taps to the music he’s listening to via neon-blue over-ear headphones. He seems to be in his own little world.
She nudges his arm. ‘Elliott, we have company.’
He opens his eyes, sits up, and removes his headphones, which emit the tinny sound of Wham!
’s ‘Club Tropicana’. With his blond hair flopping over his forehead and blue eyes, he looks remarkably like a young Cary Elwes.
He even has the same 1980s haircut as him.
But his cheeks are rounder, and the tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses he’s wearing give him an intellectual look.
His eyes crinkle when he clocks me.
‘Welcome to the madhouse, mate.’
I like him instantly.