197. A Look in the Mirror
197
A Look in the Mirror
M aya
I gird myself before I walk into the bathroom. The face that has stared back at me for twenty-three years is going to look different. Real different. I’m running on fear, adrenaline, and the desperate need for things from A’Dar I can’t even admit to myself. My emotions are rolling through me so fast I can barely identify one before the next arrives.
Looking in the mirror is going to be a shock even though I’m trying to prepare myself. Before I look, I pee and wash up. The last thing I need is to not only see a completely different Maya, but one with blood on her face from being a freaking vampire .
I wash up and dress, then pull on the baby-blue coveralls that cost Lila so dearly back in the staging area. Although I shouldn’t be surprised when I pull them on, I’m shocked when instead of sweeping the floor, the rolled hems only fall to my calves.
“Moment of truth,” I whisper to myself.
Before I can look into the mirror, A’Dar asks through the door, “Are you okay, my heart? Do you want me with you?”
Uncanny how someone I’ve only known for a few hours already knows me better than any guy I’ve ever dated. Odder still? I do want him in here with me. Whatever this machta thing is, it’s affecting me as profoundly as it is him. It’s like I’m jonesing for him and I’ve only been out of his sight for a few minutes.
“Yes,” I say as I open the door.
Facing him, my back to the mirror over the metal sink, I get a reassuring nod from him before I slowly turn. I barely hear his, “You’re beautiful, Maya,” over the horrified beating of my heart.
There I am, Maya Decker. I focus on the unchanged parts—my nose and chin—before I allow my gaze to stray to anything else. My long, brown hair is in neat braids, a style I’ve never worn before. I’ve been too focused on life-and-death issues to realize he not only braided my hair with his dexterous sausage-sized fingers, but he adorned them with some of his metal beads.
I thought his hair was sexy on him. It’s not really hair, he calls it his array. My hands fly to my head, ensuring it’s really my hair and not the hard filaments of the Xenon species. My thoughts scatter for a moment after I wonder if my next “feeding” will change that, too.
Okay. Time for the big reveal. I allow my gaze to lower to my eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s true, my soul is that of an otherworldly Xenon, because they’re gold. And they’re glowing. Definitely inhuman.
As my gaze traces lower, the shape of my face is slightly changed, too. Having fangs makes my upper lip protrude the slightest bit.
People pay big bucks for collagen to do the same thing, I tell myself. But I’m not laughing.
I meet A’Dar’s gaze in the mirror. He’s concerned. Perhaps he has a clue about how disturbing this is.
“You’re beautiful,” he repeats firmly, as if this will magically make everything better.
Perhaps he sees the sadness and panic on my face, because he whispers, “I’m sorry” with heartbreaking sincerity.
Something breaks inside me with his apology. There is no doubt this male saved my life. I need to take him off the hook.
“You saved my life outside that theater, and then you licked a wound that needed stitches. You didn’t know it would put all of this in motion. This,” I wave vaguely in the direction of my face and body, “isn’t your fault.”
He reaches out to touch me, lifting my chin with one finger, his eyes still solidly in apology mode.
“Besides, I fit into my clothes better.”