Chapter 7 - Evan
EVAN
As soon as we are outside, we head to the van, climbing in and taking a seat on the bed. Jericho turns to me, but the deeply tinted windows make it hard to see his face. I wish I could tell what he’s thinking.
Jericho kicks his shoes off and scoots back against the wall with one knee propped. A position I’ve seen a thousand times on him when he needs to think.
I rub at my chest, trying to ease the sudden ache. I had suspected Jericho’s life was in danger, but now that I know, now that I’m being hunted alongside him… It fucking terrifies me.
At least we know why Foxx is after Jericho, even if there’s little we can do about it yet.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“I think… I’m an idiot,” Jericho says, his tone thick with sarcasm.
I pull a knee up onto the bed and turn to face him.
He sighs. “I should’ve seen it, Ev. About Foxx wanting my gift, I mean. It makes so much sense.”
“Why did you think he was chasing you?”
He shrugs. “I just thought it was because he claimed me that night, you know. Like he had some sick ownership over me or something.”
I nod. “I probably would’ve too.” When he doesn’t reply, I continue. “I don’t know how he’s getting away with it. I mean, all those people?”
“Me either. But what concerns me is those are only the ones the pack knows about. Who knows how many more there are. Or how many he killed before taking over the club.”
My stomach twists. I hadn’t thought about that. I pick at my fingernails, needing something to do. “What if he’d killed you?”
Jericho nudges me. “Don’t go there.”
“How can I not? I mean, you heard them. If he hadn’t… if Foxx hadn’t seen something in you that day, we wouldn’t even be here. You wouldn’t be here. He would’ve killed you.” Don’t you know how much that hurts?
He looks at me for a long time before patting the space next to him. “Come here.”
I kick my shoes off and join him on the mattress, our hips touching. My lungs burn, like I can’t fully draw breath, and Jericho doesn’t seem much better. His body is stiff, hands clammy. It makes me wonder how he handled all of this on his own for so long.
After a minute, Jericho reaches for something on the ledge above his pillow and begins twirling it between his fingers. I don’t even need to see it to know what it is.
I gesture to the pencil. “You still draw?” He rarely went anywhere without a sketchbook back in Comstead.
“Is the sky blue?” he says with a straight face.
I chuckle.
He reaches around me, to a ledge on the side of the bed where a dozen or more notebooks are held in place by two bungee cords.
He pulls one out and hands it to me. My breath hitches when I open the cover.
Damn. His art is just as incredible as I remember; the portraits and landscapes are some of the best I’ve ever seen.
But his talent definitely improved since he was turned.
The details are finer somehow. Crisper. Even more realistic than before, like he could see every pore, every intricate wrinkle.
“Are you sure drawing isn’t your vamp gift?” I tease. “Because wow.”
He laughs. “That would be a pretty lame gift to hunt me down for.”
“I don’t know. I mean, Foxx could sell your art and make good money for his coven.”
“He doesn’t need money,” Jericho says. “He owns the largest vampire club in the area.”
I flip through a few more pages, only now realizing how much I missed his art. There is nothing quite like it. And this, too, is helping me feel grounded. It’s the first non-life-threatening moment Jericho and I have had. I want to soak it in. I’ve missed him. So damn much.
“These are incredible, Jer,” I say. “I mean, you were always good, but these are like, next-level good.”
“Thanks,” he says with a shy smile. “I… see things differently now, so I think that helps.”
“Yeah? With your freaky vampire eyes?”
He smirks. After a long beat, he says, “Talk to me, Ev. I need to know what you’re thinking.”
“About?”
He tips his chin to the door. “What they said. Foxx. Me. All of it.”
I set the sketchbook aside and sigh. “I’m terrified, to be honest. I mean, I want their help if it means protecting you, but can we trust them? They nearly killed you like a half hour ago.”
“I know.” He sighs. “But what if I don’t have a choice?”
I furrow my brows. “You think they won’t let us go?”
He points out the window, where Rowen and Grant are standing on the front porch, watching the van like two guard dogs.
I frown at the sight. “What are they going to do, run in front of us if we try to drive off?”
“I think they’re desperate for help,” he says. His tone suggests he is too. He wants to accept their help, because he’s tired of living his life on the run. But something is holding him back.
“What do you think?” I ask.
Jericho continues to roll the pencil between his fingers as he says, “I think they’re right. I think this might be my best chance at getting Foxx off my ass, so I need to take it.”
I nod. “Even if you don’t trust them?”
“I don’t, but… I don’t think they’ll hurt us so long as we’re on the same side. And as soon as it’s over, we can leave.”
I consider that, a burning need to protect my friend beginning to take hold of me again. “Then we stay,” I say, “but we stay together. Neither of us are alone with them. Ever.”
“Yeah, I’m not sleeping in their house,” he says.
I chuckle. “Then neither am I.”
He raises a brow in answer. After looking out the window again, he scrubs his face. “You know what, let’s talk about something else for a bit. I’m so tired of this shit.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Everything. As long as it isn’t about Foxx or shifters or whatever the hell else I’ve pulled you into.”
“You didn’t pull me into anything.”
“The hell I did. You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t driven by your house.”
“I might not even be alive if you hadn’t driven by my house,” I reply.
My words seem to hit a nerve, the image of me bleeding out undoubtedly tainting the memory. He mutters a curse under his breath. “Seriously. Let’s talk about something else. Pretend everything is back to normal and just talk. Like we used to.”
A slow grin spreads over my face. “I’d like that.”
Jericho stretches his legs out, crossing his feet at the ankles, and I mirror his movements. We settle for a moment, attempting to grasp some sense of normalcy.
“What have you been up to the last few months? Besides the whole running from psychotic vampires thing.”
He thinks about it. “I went to an art show a month or so ago. That was fun.”
“Yeah? In Prodigy?”
He nods. “It was mostly submissions from humans, but the attendant gave me some info about a supe show coming up.”
My eyes widen. “Are you going to enter?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think I can. Not without giving away where I am. But maybe after all this is over, I can find something similar.”
I bump his shoulder. “Definitely. I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Oh! Do you remember Anita Holding?”
“The TA from our biology class?”
“Yeah. She’s living in Prodigy now with her partner. They own a smoothie shop and music cafe.”
“No way.”
“Yeah. Her partner is trying to broaden their menu to include blood in some of the smoothies for vamps who can process both blood and human food. It’s kinda cool, actually. She had me try one, but I couldn’t stomach it yet.”
I want to ask how long it’ll be before he can process human food again, but I don’t. Then it registers. “Wait, her partner is a vampire?”
He grins. “Yup. What’s funny is she knew Anita’s grandma as a kid, and now they’re lovers. Two generations later.”
My jaw drops. “That’s… okay, that’s weird. I can’t wrap my head around the age thing. She’s got to be in her eighties then?”
“Something like that. But physically, she’s still in her prime.”
I frown. That’s a depressing thought. Jericho will remain ageless while my life continues on. I honestly thought we’d be friends our entire lives.
“What?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
He turns to see me better. “That made you think about us, didn’t it? How I’ll never change, and you will?”
At least Jericho still knows me well enough to know what I’m thinking. Sometimes it’s just easier not having to explain things.
“I get it,” he says. “It is weird to think about. Hell, it freaks me out sometimes. Like am I going to look like this until I die? Vamps live for hundreds of years.”
“Well, maybe not exactly the same. Your hair has definitely changed, and you’ve filled out.”
He smirks. “You checking me out, Evan? I thought you were straight.”
I belt out a laugh. “Shut up. I don’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” He hesitates. “I kind of envy Marybeth, to be honest.”
“Her partner?”
He nods and shifts uncomfortably, tugging at a hole in his jeans. “She doesn’t need to struggle to find blood anymore.”
Struggle? How is it a struggle to find blood when there’s dozens of restaurants offering it these days?
Unless he means fresh blood. Marybeth must feed from Anita.
At my silence, he turns to face me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You really didn’t, Jer. It doesn’t bother me. I just didn’t think about… that. With partners.” We’re quiet for a minute before I ask, “Is that… I mean, is that how you drink it now?”
He snorts. “You really want to talk about me drinking blood?”
I shrug. “It’s your life now, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, though. We used to share everything. So why would this be any different?” I can tell he still doesn’t believe me, so I add, “I’m serious, okay?
You just caught me by surprise, since I haven’t really thought about how you get it.
Like I know restaurants and bars offer it, but I get that it’s not the same for newbies.
You can’t have it in food. At least that’s what Ralph said. ”
His face darkens, gaze dropping to my neck before he quickly looks away. Is this conversation making him want blood? Or is he thinking of drinking from me?
To be fair, I have thought about Jericho biting me—dozens of times.
For months, all I could think about was the possibilities.
But they were almost always centered around one question: could I trust him?
I knew I wanted to see him again, which meant there was a risk of him losing control and biting me, but I never thought about giving him permission. Why would I? It seems so… intimate.
Just like Anita and Marybeth.
“Does it hurt?” I ask without thinking.
“Does what hurt?”
“When you bite someone,” I say. “Does it hurt them?”
He seems confused, or maybe amused. “You really do want to know this stuff?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
He hesitates before saying, “It can. A vampire’s bite is controlled by their emotions just as much as it’s controlled by the human’s emotions. If they’re afraid of us, it usually hurts, but if they trust us, or better yet, desire us, it can be very enjoyable.”
I don’t miss the hitch in his voice. A bite can give someone pleasure. A strange feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Has he done that with other people? Give them pleasure?
“And you…” I clear my throat. “When you drink, you… make people feel good?”
He turns a sharp eye on me. Half amused, half… something else. Sad, maybe? “I tried not to let anyone feel anything when I drank. I just wanted to get it over with. I usually just order from bars now. It’s not the same, but it works.”
I grin and hold my hands up in an empty salute. “One warm crimson pint for my friend and one cold amber one for me!”
He laughs loudly. “Shut up.”
I snicker. “Hey, at least we can have that again someday. Gives us something to look forward to.”
He turns his attention back to the thread on his jeans. “I don’t trust myself to drink fresh anymore,” he says, his voice thick with regret.
I think about the lives Jericho has taken and lean into him. “I’d trust you, though.”
My comment surprises us both. I’ve already told him I’d trust him, but somehow, we both know we aren’t talking about a life-or-death situation. If Jericho wanted my blood, I’d trust him to take it without hurting me.
His nostrils flare.
“I’m just saying.”
“Evan, stop,” he snaps. “Don’t go there, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because the only time I’m going to drink fresh blood again is when I’m fighting to save someone’s life, or when I’m with a partner. And we both know that won’t be you. So let it go, okay?”
The sting of his words is a door slamming closed. I grit my teeth together, afraid to push him further. Why am I even thinking about this, anyway? I don’t want Jericho to drink from me. I just want him to know that if he had to…
His attention turns to the door a split second before a fierce snarl rips through the air.
“What was that?” I ask.
“If I had to guess, one of the neighbors just stopped by for a visit,” Jericho says, climbing off the bed.
“Wait, we shouldn’t—”
But he’s out of the van before I can stop him.