Chapter 9
Nadia
Ihad refused to look at Cristian.
Every time I even thought about him, flashes of last night crept in—his mouth, the sound he made, the way my body reacted like I was the one who had been sleeping for four hundred years, and his touch had brought me back to life.
I’d spent the whole night having dreams that would’ve gotten me banned from polite society if anyone else could see them.
I was not okay.
I pulled on my outfit with the kind of focus reserved for avoiding emotional collapse. Denim shortalls over a striped tee. Red thrifted blazer for confidence. Enamel pin: Read Books, Not Minds. One of my favorites.
And combat boots. Always combat boots.
When I opened the bedroom door, Cristian was already in the hall, guarding it like that was a normal thing to do in modern society. He watched me, his gaze moving from my boots to my blazer with a level of concentration that made me self-conscious.
“You are dressed to fight,” he said.
“This is fashion,” I replied with a shrug. He nodded as if learning a new rule.
He followed without question, keeping exactly one step behind me like I was royalty or a flight risk. Hard to tell.
The house was quiet except for my boots on the old floorboards and Cristian’s careful, controlled breathing behind me. His energy pressed against my back, steady and warm, grounding me in a way I did not want to think about yet.
I went straight to the kitchen for my second morning caffeine fix. Pre-shower coffee was for doing the waking. Post-shower coffee was for pleasure. Both were necessary.
Cristian lingered near the doorway, watching me like I was performing a ritual he needed to memorize. He looked at everything with the same silent intensity. Cabinets. Light switches. The refrigerator. He tracked all of it with an intense focus that suggested he still did not trust this century.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I glanced at the screen, expecting Lena. But it was Mr. West. Video call.
My stomach dropped.
“Stay out of the frame,” I said under my breath. Cristian stood by the doorway, still as stone.
Alexa lit up beside him because he was tapping it again. “Why does this box respond to touch?”
“Because she’s nosy. Stop touching her.”
I accepted the call and pasted on my most professional smile. “Hi, Mr. West.”
He smiled back. “Just checking in. Everything going well?”
“Perfect,” I said brightly. “The house is beautiful. No problems at all.”
“Any noises at night giving you trouble?”
My throat tightened. My pulse picked up.
If there were medals for bad lying, I’d have a whole display case.
I flicked a quick glance toward Cristian, who was pretending to admire the ceiling.
I had, in fact, unleashed a centuries-old vampire in this man’s house.
If he caught even a hint of that, I was finished.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cristian lift his hand slightly, palm open in a silent question.
I frowned and covered the bottom of my phone. “What?” I hissed, keeping my voice low.
He tilted his head. “You’re anxious. Let me help.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Your heart is racing. May I?”
Mr. West’s voice buzzed faintly through the speaker, asking something I didn’t hear. I muted the call for one second. “What are you talking about?”
“Contact,” he said simply. “It calms you.”
I sighed as my heart gave a little flutter. I unmuted the phone and gave Cristian the smallest nod.
He stepped closer, still out of view of the camera, and placed two fingers lightly on my wrist. Warmth moved through me, as if someone had flipped a switch inside my chest. The panic eased until I could breathe again.
Mr. West kept talking, completely unaware. I caught only the end of his sentence and forced my brain to focus. “Sorry,” I said quickly, “could you repeat that?”
“I’m electronically sending the first half of your summer pay,” he said. “And a bonus. You’re the first house sitter who hasn’t called me about the power, or the plumbing, or ghosts that don’t exist.”
Cristian withdrew his hand. The calm held for a few seconds. I already missed it.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s very generous.”
“It’s the least I can do for a reliable house sitter. The building is far too historic to let sit empty. If you do have any problems, though, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
We ended the call. I stared at the screen for a moment, trying to remember how to function.
When I turned, Cristian was once again pressing on Alexa.
“Hey,” I said quietly, “thanks for the help. And for asking first.”
He nodded. “You were unsteady.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Alexa lit up again under his hand. “Please stop touching her,” I said.
“She interrupts without reason,” he said.
“Same,” I muttered.
He looked at me, unreadable. I looked away, pretending to check my phone. Neither of us said anything else. The silence felt too intentional. Like both of us resolved to act like we weren’t affected by the other’s presence.
“Wait,” I said. “What did you say your last name was again?”
Cristian looked up from where he was staring at the toaster. “D’Archeval.”
“That’s the same last name as the guy who built this house.”
He didn’t react. Not even a little. “Ah, yes. That would surely be my insufferable brother.”
I lowered my phone. “Excuse me?”
He said it so evenly, unmoved.
“My brother. Cassian D’Archeval,” he continued. “He probably built this place. Or had it built. He was there when I was put into stasis. I assume he is the reason I find myself in Boston.”
I blinked again. “You’re telling me your brother is the guy from the plaque by the gate? The ‘Founding Settler and Merchant of Boston’? That’s your brother?”
“Mm… I’d assume so, yes, but I’d have to see the picture to be sure.”
“Is he… alive?”
Cristian leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “I have no idea, but it’s very likely.
Vampires are difficult to kill, and my brother had an unnatural talent for staying alive.
If the world is still spinning, he’s probably lurking in the shadows, manipulating someone.
Although, I’m not sure why he would have left this house, so it’s possible he finds himself in trouble of some sort. ”
“Fascinating.” Talking to Cristian about this was like getting to go back in time. “Who’s the older brother?”
“I am, but we were turned into vampires at the same time. We are alike in every way except conscience.”
“That’s horrifying.”
He inclined his head. “Correct.”
My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at it and froze. Venmo notification. Payment from Mr. West. A lot more than expected. My eyes widened.
“Well,” I said, grinning, “looks like I’m rich for the week. Come on, we’re going shopping.”
Cristian frowned. “Shopping?”
“You need clothes. Those sweatpants have served their purpose.”
“I’ve received many compliments on these pants.”
“From a man hanging out of a car window,” I said. “That doesn’t count.”
“I never should have told you about that.” He shook his head. “I cannot take your money.”
“Too bad. You’re my weird, supernatural dependent now.”
He sighed. “I have a vault full of gold overseas. If I ever regain access to it, you will never want for anything again.”
I froze. “That’s… wildly generous.”
“It is the least I owe you.”
“I’ll settle for you owning a pair of jeans that don’t say Juicy on the ass.”
His expression didn’t change. “They are comfortable.”
I groaned. “Okay, but before we go—wait. We can go, right? Isn’t the sun a problem for you?”
He considered this, gaze flicking toward the window. “Typically, yes. But the bond may alter that. When I am close to you, I feel… shielded… at least while inside in indirect sunlight.”
“Shielded,” I repeated. “Like you’re wearing sunscreen?”
“Something of that nature. I believe your resilience transfers through the link between us.”
“That’s weirdly romantic and also a little parasitic.”
“If I am wrong,” he said, “I will know quickly. We can retreat indoors before I turn to ash.”
I stared at him. “That’s your plan?”
He nodded once. “Yes.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Nothing says self-care like trial by sunlight.”
Cristian straightened, all calm confidence. “I trust you.”
Still shaking my head, I grabbed my keys. “That makes one of us.”
Boston in the daylight was a whole different kind of experience.
Horns blared. People hurried past, the tail ends of their conversations drifting toward us.
The scent of coffee from the various cafés and carts permeated the air.
Cristian’s face didn’t move, but I could feel the tether between us, his discomfort brushing against the edge of my thoughts.
He squinted against the sun. “It’s not pleasant, but I’m not erupting into flames, so we’re fine.”
I tried not to stare. He looked unfairly good in daylight. My brain short-circuited somewhere between thank God he’s not burning alive and his jaw could cut glass.
“See?” I said, shoving my sunglasses up my nose. “Totally normal. Just two completely average people going to buy normal clothes. You’re doing great.”
He nodded solemnly, and then—of course—bowed to an elderly woman walking her dog.
I grabbed his arm. “Please. For the love of all things normal, stop doing that.”
“She looked important,” he said.
“She’s wearing Crocs.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
I sighed. “It means no bowing.”
Cristian made a small, put-upon sound but adjusted his pace. When a car sped too close to the curb, he shifted me to the inside of the sidewalk without saying anything. My breath caught, which was ridiculous. It was nothing but a thoughtful gesture. Even so, it still spread warmth through my chest.
When we reached the store, the air-conditioning hit us in a cold wave. Cristian froze.
He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “What is this place?”
“Welcome to the modern temple of capitalism.”
“I see,” he said gravely. “A place of worship.”
I took his arm. “Just walk. Blend in. Pretend you’ve been in a department store before.”