Chapter 8 #2
She hesitated, then sighed, and pushed off the doorframe to step closer to me.
Her large, crinkly, shiny bag hung from one hand, but was clearly forgotten.
“Okay, maybe there was something. I just have a hard time believing it.” She gestured vaguely, but I suspected that was just an expression of her anxiety. “I think someone was following me.”
My posture stilled and my senses flared.
“Think?” I demanded as I inhaled deeply and began filtering through the many layers of scent that clung to her.
Whoever it was, I could not differentiate their scent from the likely more innocuous scents of passersby and shop attendants.
There was no obvious wolf scent, so if it had been the werewolf who had come in here and slashed her bag, he had kept his distance.
“I don’t know,” she said quickly, dismissing her own observations. Yet she leaned in closer, as if seeking comfort from my nearness; that should not have made me feel satisfied, but it did.
“It could be nothing,” she continued. “I mean, after today? I’m probably just paranoid, right?
I’ve got vampires and gargoyles and...” She flapped her hands at me, at the room, “...all of this. So yeah. Could just be my brain freaking out.” Her eyes shifted around the room in confusion, probably only now noticing that I’d sorted out the disarray.
“No,” I said, absolutely certain that she hadn’t imagined anything. Whoever had sent the werewolf to search her room was not satisfied; they hadn’t yet found what they were after, and they still believed she had it.
Her eyes were huge as she focused them on my face, pale blue beneath a cap of glowing gold lit by the evening sun.
I reached out and carefully cupped her cheek.
“You are not leaving this room again without me, understood?” The thought of not being able to help her was infuriating, and I was not going to let it happen with the threat so immediate.
She opened her mouth, and I knew she wanted to object, except she didn’t. Her lips pressed back together into a thin line, eyes sparkling, then she promptly shoved the bag into my hands. “Here. Clothes.” I looked down at the bag, wincing at the odd feel of its smooth but crinkly handles.
Opening it slowly, I peered inside in confusion. She said clothes, but the bag was neither big enough nor did it contain enough to make a proper outfit. “What is this?” I asked, reaching in and fingering the strange white, stretchy fabric that lay on top.
“Clothes,” she repeated. “Modern ones. You’re welcome.” She sounded tired as she turned away and sat down on the edge of the newly made bed. That made me want to keep from making a fuss, but as I pulled them out of the strange bag one by one, I couldn’t help but feel slightly horrified.
There was a pair of trousers beneath the white shirt. They were like hers, made of that dark blue fabric. They were stiff, inelegant, and, to my horror, already had wear on the knee area and back pockets. “These are crude,” I said, my lips curled in distaste.
“They’re jeans,” she shot back, not tired this time but with laughter in her tone. I liked that, but I definitely did not like the trousers. Her eyes sparkled at me as if she enjoyed my distaste, liked it when I had to deal with unpleasantness. Horrible woman.
I held it out by the belt loop, letting it dangle in the air between us.
“They are unacceptable,” I said. She snorted, rolling her eyes.
I could not imagine pulling these on; they’d feel rough against my skin.
They looked like the pants workers wore—tough, durable—though clearly they were not, because they were already damaged.
“You’ll live,” she said, with absolutely zero empathy.
So the sass was back; that was good. It put more pink in her cheeks.
I pulled out the shirt next, that folded bit of soft white fabric with no texture.
As I thought, it was plain and pure white, though granted, such a shade of white was desirable.
The shirt was entirely lacking in structure, however, and it looked like it couldn’t possibly be the right size.
“A T-shirt,” she offered, not so helpfully. I gave her a stare that, hopefully, conveyed it all. I’d never heard of such a term, and it was as nonsensical as the garment itself. She waved a hand at it. “Just put it on. You’ll figure it out.”
My gaze dropped once more to the bag, and I dug out the last items inside it. “And these?” I was almost afraid to ask. She grinned, and my stomach twisted with suspicion.
“Boxers, you know—undergarments?” she said, her hand waving casually toward my groin, not at all abashed to do so, or even to mention such a private garment. Clearly, many things had changed with the passing of time.
I stared at the small, folded garment. Then at her.
“Absolutely not.” This was not at all appropriate, though granted, the fabric of these “boxers” did feel appealingly soft.
It would protect more… sensitive skin against the roughness of those abysmal jeans.
She gave me a long look, her mouth pursed, and her cheeks crinkled as if she were fighting a smile.
I exhaled slowly. “Very well.” The things I endured, but I supposed I had to see this as part of the new future, the new adventure I’d been after. If there was one thing I had to admit, it was that boredom had been out of the question from the moment I’d met her.
I retreated to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror for a moment.
Then, with as much dignity as the situation allowed, I began undressing.
The truth was, my favorite suit had been ruined over the past two centuries of sleep.
It was so dusty it stank, and the fabric was fragile.
It was a wonder it hadn’t fallen from my body yet and caused some terribly indecent exposure.
Once my old clothes had been shed, I still felt dirty.
There were incredibly soft towels on the counter, and a bathtub with shiny silver faucets.
I marveled over that as I turned the knobs with careful hands.
It wasn’t simply water that rushed out; I soon discovered it could run hot, too.
A miracle. The future. My heart pounded, this time with excitement at the discovery.
As much as I wanted to linger in that bath, there were more pressing things that forced me to rush the moment.
I fumbled awkwardly with the strange soap containers, but soon enough I’d mastered the bathtub and the running water.
I dried myself with towels so soft they were miracles on their own, then finally, awkwardly, dressed in the odd garments Susie had brought me.
There were tags of shiny paper still attached, with prices on them that made my eyes water in shock.
Either these garments were worth far more than they looked, or inflation over the years had made prices absolutely bizarre.
I was banking on the latter, simply because that’s how things had always gone.
When I emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of hot steam on my heels, the silence that followed was noticeable. I frowned slightly as I took in the strange expression on Susie’s face. “Why are you staring?”
Her lashes fluttered, eyes averting, then coming back to my face with more boldness. She’d been sprawled casually on the bed while doing something on her strange “phone” apparatus. Very deliberately, she looked me up and down, and then she smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Wow.”
“What?” I asked, my hand smoothing over the tight fit of the white T-shirt covering my chest. There was no jacket and no handkerchief or cravat to provide modesty or show off wealth. I felt oddly bare.
“You look…” she gestured vaguely, “hot.” Her eyes lingered on my chest, then lowered to my abdomen. She even leaned to the side to peer at me—did she just peer at my ass?
“Warm?” I tried to clarify, but her brazen stare unnerved me while it was also flattering. I’d never had a woman look at me quite the way she was right now, and this was Susie. I very much wanted her approval.
“No,” she said, laughing despite herself. “Not warm. Hot as in attractive.” I considered that and liked it very much. She seemed to realize what she’d said as heat spiked and her cheeks turned an even more delightful pink.
“I see,” I drawled. I did not, but I accepted it.
The phrase was silly, but the sentiment was not.
So she thought I was attractive dressed in the clothing of her time?
That was good; that I could work with. My eyes dropped to her mouth, and I recalled the brief, impulsive kiss.
I wondered if she’d be receptive to more.
She moved toward the small table, picking up some kind of sleek, leather-bound folder. “I’m ordering food,” she said. “Because I need something normal in my life right now.”
“As you wish.” I did not puzzle over those words, because I did not want to feel out of my element again. There was a pause as she held what I assumed was some kind of menu, and we shared a glance.
Something unspoken lingered between us, something charged, restless, threading through the quiet in a way that neither of us addressed directly.
“You’re safe,” I said finally. She looked up, and I found the blue of her eyes was like a lake I could drown in.
“With me,” I added. “I am your guardian now.”
She stared at me for a beat, and then she rolled her eyes. It was very deliberate, exaggerated. Very disrespectful. I felt something unexpected curl in my chest: amusement. “You find this humorous,” I observed.
“A little,” she admitted. Then she picked up a strange item, held it to her ear, and began talking in terrible, broken French mixed with her English.
Curiously, I did not dislike it. Neither the way she butchered my language nor her amusement at my promise of protection. Susie was independent, strong, and that was precisely why she had grown on me.
When dinner came, it was thankfully a very decent amount, and though Susie seemed slightly surprised by my appetite, she said nothing of it.
In fact, she very generously allowed me to eat most of it.
It was a pleasant moment, and with both my hunger for blood and for normal sustenance silenced, I felt almost normal again.
As we ate, time passed, and the world outside dimmed into evening.
Eventually, she changed into sleep clothes, then crawled into bed, exhaustion wearing at her.
I tried to give her privacy, moving to the window to sit with my back toward the bed, forcing myself not to give into temptation as she rustled with the sheets. That would be wrong.
“Hey,” she said, her voice softer in the dark, a hushed sigh. She was the one drawing my attention to her; it was an invitation I could not resist.
I turned slightly but kept my eyes on the foot on the bed, exerting all the measly control still left to me at the end of the day. “Yes?” I queried, my mouth dry, my voice husky.
“How come you can walk around in daylight?” she asked, as if it was a question that had been weighing on her all day. As if the cover of night had finally given her the courage to give voice to it.
Flabbergasted, I blinked and stared, not at her feet like I was supposed to, but at the slender shape of her body beneath the sheets.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She stared at me, though I was certain she did not realize how clearly I could see her.
I had no other explanation for her, no idea why she would even ask that.
I had always walked in daylight, and any vampire I knew or had known did, too.