Chapter 4 #2
I can’t possibly let him stay here. It’s too dangerous. He is, quite literally, a superhuman killing machine despite his soft personality.
But what the fuck am I supposed to do with him?
If my parents were here, they’d know what to do.
They were way more involved with the preternatural community than I ever was.
Magic may run in our family’s genetics, but they didn’t have any and neither do I.
Our only leg up, so to speak, is knowing the preternatural world exists while most humans remain clueless.
It’s why I was recruited to II Tech, even though, like my parents, my interest is mainly scholarly.
With a PhD in Arcane Systems, Oliver Kalinov thought I’d make a useful addition to their research and development team.
I figured I’d be collaborating with preternatural creatures in order to help them coexist with humans.
Maybe help bridge the gap between magic and machinery, or work on the infrastructure needed to maintain proficient security wards.
Something useful.
Safe.
What I didn’t think, what I never would have considered, was that I’d be part of a program to develop enhanced vampires. Especially not one that bred them in captivity. That jailed them to run tests, and poke, and prod, and study.
Basically torture.
I never signed up for torture.
But now I’m in too deep. I know too much. Kalinov won’t just let me go if I request to resign. No. I have to escape somehow, same as Sullivan. Get out, get free, and go into hiding.
That is, if I survive living with him tonight.
Sullivan must blame me, at least in part. I’m a cog in the wheel that created him and held him prisoner. I would hardly be surprised if he wants revenge. My responsibility weighs heavily in my gut.
I look up as the vampire in question rounds the corner.
His gaze flicks restlessly as though he’s as nervous as I am.
Still damp, his hair shines in dark coppery-brown waves around his shoulders.
My clothes are baggy on him, but look comfortable enough.
His bright eyes glisten with the curiosity I’m used to seeing in him, nothing menacing.
I clear my throat so as not to startle him. “Hey. Do you like pizza?”
“Oh my god, we’re having pizza?” His expression brightens. “I love pizza.”
“I didn’t know if you’d tried it before or not.” The food situation at II Tech is abysmal.
“They fed me just enough of the good stuff to know what I was missing. Cruel. I definitely want pizza.”
Twenty-Four sits on Sullivan’s right shoulder, eyeing me warily. “What about him?”
“Oh, believe me, he wants pizza too.”
“It’s almost done. Um, you can have a seat if you want.” I gesture to the cluttered kitchen table. “Let me just…” I clear off the bulk of the mess. Mostly old books and newspapers I’ve been meaning to sort.
My parents left me a veritable library of texts, none of which are in any particular order. Rather, they’re in randomly stacked piles, tucked densely into dusty bookshelves, and generally cluttering up every available surface, including big sections of the floor.
I hadn’t the heart to get rid of anything. Plus, I love books. The collection ought to be catalogued properly, but I don’t have a lot of free time. It’s a dream of mine to organize them all someday.
“Oh.” I grab the blood off the kitchen counter and hand it to him. “You probably need this first, huh? Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Oh my god, how did you get this? Thank you.” He looks relieved, then promptly baffled as he turns the bag in his hands. “How do I open it?”
It’s easy to forget how much he doesn’t know. Some part of me expected him to tear into it with his sharp teeth. But he’s not a savage. Sullivan is used to drinking from a cup like a civilized person.
“Let me.” I take the bag back and open the junk drawer for scissors. “I had to sneak into the cold room and snag them while Oliver was busy with Hayworth. Not my finest hour, but I managed not to pee myself in the process. I count that as a win.”
Sully’s gaze drops to the floor. “Is Hayworth all right?”
“Sure.” I cut a corner of the bag and pour the contents into a glass. It’s a weird thing to be doing. Tasks like this aren’t part of my job at II Tech. I turn away after handing him the glass. For some reason, I don’t want to watch him drink blood.
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” I say even though stealing four packs of blood right under Oliver’s nose was easily one of the scariest things I’ve ever had to do.
“What about the cameras?”
I’d thought of that issue too, turned it round and round in my head until I gave up.
“Nothing to be done about that, I’m afraid.
We don’t regularly look at old footage. Clocking your escape was the first time we’d done that in ages.
Four bags is a trivial portion of their massive supply. They won’t notice.”
Please don’t let them notice.
The oven dings. The ordinary task of slicing and plating the pizza calms my nerves. I grab soda from the fridge, wondering what goes better with a side of blood, Coke or Dr. Pepper? Probably Coke, right? Goes with everything.
I sit across from him and notice he’s only taken a few sips of the blood. I thought he’d be ravenous by now.
Maybe he feels as weird about drinking it in front of me as I do about watching. He’s definitely not comfortable. Back straight as an arrow, shoulders rigid, careful blank expression. But his eyes. Always curious. Glimmering with interest, taking in every little detail of the room.
I’m suddenly self-conscious. The mess I usually ignore becomes impossible not to see. Not my mess. My parents’ things. Trinkets from their trips. Books, papers, magazines, stationery, more books, all covered in a fine layer of dust in the year since their passing.
If I’m going to have a guest, I should clean.
But he can’t stay here. Not for long. He can’t.
“Are we eating?” he asks, clearly waiting for me.
I snap out of it. “Yes, sorry. Dig in.”
We eat pizza. He stifles a moan. Scrunches his nose when the bubbles from the soda tickle his palette. Cute. Twenty-Four eats proffered bits from his perch on Sullivan’s shoulder.
Sullivan isn’t used to company when eating, so he doesn’t make conversation. That’s fine. I barely taste my food as I low-key steal glances at him between bites.
He’s handsome, there’s no denying the fact. Just my type, though I refuse to think of him that way. Almost feminine, but you could never mistake him for a woman. Oval face, gentle expression, softly contoured cheekbones, full lips.
Lips that hide fangs.
This road leads to nowhere good. I make myself focus on the pizza. We’ll need groceries. Fruits, vegetables, meats. Has Sullivan ever had doughnuts? Maybe doughnuts.
Except he’s not staying.
But I can’t send him away empty-handed either. And I can’t release him on society. He’s wired to survive, but not thrive. Anyone could take advantage of him.
Or, he could get too hungry and hurt someone. Possibly even kill. Expose us. His own kind could find him and decide to put him down. He has no maker to protect him, no sire, no place in vampire culture.
Fuck.
“Thank you. That was delicious,” he says, voice quiet. His plate is empty.
“There’s more. Help yourself.”
“Tempting, but I’m full. They don’t usually give me so much in one sitting. What should I do with this?” He lifts the glass still mostly full of blood.
“You don’t want the rest?”
“Not at the moment.”
“It should go in the refrigerator then.”
He rises, taking the blood and his empty dish with him. When he turns on the tap to wash the dish, I interrupt. “You can just leave it. We have a dishwasher. Besides, what kind of host makes the guests do dishes?”
“I don’t mind.” He’s tense.
So am I. “Thank you, but no. I’ll clean up. Why don’t you relax in the living room for a bit? There’s a couch, and a TV if you want to watch something, though I should warn you there are a lot more options here than in your room at II Tech. Might be overwhelming.”
“Maybe later. I’ll sit for now.” He shuffles from foot to foot. “When you’re done, I think we need to talk.”
And isn’t that the understatement of the century?