Chapter 11
LEAH
That night, I bake bread before I open one of the books on slayer magic that my great-aunt left me.
Marcus is in the yard, digging a narrow ditch around the perimeter of the garden. He’s under strict instructions not to dig up my herbs. When I asked if he needed help, he simply growled that he was no stranger to hard labor and stalked outside.
I’m not sure what happened at the lumber yard, only that something seems to have shifted between us, and I spent the car ride back fighting to get my bearings.
Now, I cast wary glances out the window as I page through the book. Most of these spells aren’t a possibility for me, and once again, I mentally curse my lack of magic. I’d love to be able to shoot fireballs from my fingers.
My great-aunt’s power lay in drawing intricate spells that she would trigger with her blood.
I can trigger the existing spells, but I can’t make new ones.
My mom was able to channel pure magic through silver weapons.
My dad could create powerful wards. Slayers who can’t use magic are grinders, a dirty word for those who have to kill with weapons alone.
I scrunch my nose and turn a page. I might not be able to cast anything in here, but I use the book to get ideas for devices I can make or spells I can have Karina replicate.
My fire globes came from here, as did the powdered ash I carry.
I might lack strength and magic, but I can always make up the lack with perseverance.
The house isn’t without defenses, despite what Marcus seems to think.
By the time he comes back inside, near four a.m., I have a list of supplies I want to ask Karina about when I see her tomorrow night, and I’m deep in a handwritten entry from my aunt about how to trigger the guardian spell in the garden.
“Shower?”
My head whips up. The vampire is standing before me, chest heaving, finely carved features stark in the moonlight coming through the window. His leather pants are streaked in dirt.
I point him to the downstairs shower and ignore the sound of the water rushing, with the occasional breaks that indicate he’s moving under the spray.
I scurry upstairs before he can exit the shower and change into my pajamas. I normally sleep in an old t-shirt, but tonight I’m tempted to ask the box for something better. What do vampires like? I imagine some sort of collar situation—straps maybe. A harness? Body glitter. Lace.
My pulse thrums.
Stop, Leah. He’d laugh you out of the house.
I shake my head at my foolishness and pull on the ratty t-shirt before I realize that the vampire has nothing to sleep in.
It takes a few tries to get the size right, but I finally get the box to give me a robe and slippers and gray sweatpants.
I add a few long-sleeve t-shirts, and the box decides to add slogans to them.
Marcus hopefully will be amused and not offended by “Vampire Construction Corp. We fang. We bang. We build.”
I exit the closet where I keep the box, right as he opens the bedroom door.
A towel is wrapped around his waist, and his hair is damp and curling at the base of his neck.
Our gazes meet, and the room seems to shrink.
Normally, he looks hard and wary, like the warrior he is. Right now, he simply looks predatory.
Hairs go up at my nape. No mortal is as large as he is, as powerful. His muscles aren’t for looks, but for hunting.
Marcus’s gaze is on my legs, and I fight the urge to tug at the hem of the t-shirt.
“Here.” I thrust the pile of clothes at him.
“What is this?”
“Pajamas”
I can’t read him. He looks stunned. “I checked the size. They should fit you. Even though you’re bigger than usual.”
His mouth lifts at the corner. “Than the usual what?”
I clear my throat, keeping my gaze carefully above his shoulder. “The usual man, I guess.”
“I’m not a man,” he drawls.
I swallow. He sounds almost seductive, but I know it’s in my head. Or unconscious on his part, some vampire instinct to draw humans in like moths to a flame. “I know.”
In my periphery, a hand goes to the towel at his waist, and I release a strangled sound before I turn so quickly that my knee smacks the dresser.
I yelp.
He chuckles. The towel drops to the ground.
“You’re twitchy for a slayer. I expected someone more…graceful.”
My face heats. “I normally am.”
A huff of breath behind me, but no movement. He’s naked. My mind conjures fantasies of what he looks like beneath the towel, and I angrily swat them away. Maybe he’s like a doll down there—no parts to speak of. For my own sanity, I hope so.
“I unsettle you, slayer. Tell me, is it the fangs?”
“Leah.” I clear my throat. “I still don’t trust you. That’s all.”
“Leah.” His voice is husky now. “We’ll have to work on that.” There’s a lilt that suggests he’s…teasing me? Do vampires do teasing? “You want me to wear all of this?”
“Up to you.” I shift restlessly, waiting for the sound that indicates he’s dressing. “Hurry up.”
He rasps another laugh before I hear the sound of fabric sliding over skin. “I might not sweat, but even I don’t want to wear seven pounds of fleece to bed.”
“Fine.”
I shift from foot to foot, and I swear an eternity passes before the bed creaks and he says, “You may turn.”
His gaze is amused as he watches me blow out the scented lavender candle I keep lit before bedtime and slide beneath the covers.
“What?” I snap.
“One wonders why you’re so eager for me to cover up.”
“Does one?”
He huffs a breath. “One does. And one also wonders why you yourself are wearing something so thin.”
My breath catches in my throat. I don’t know how to respond, but I do know he’s messing with me.
“Go to sleep,” I hiss back.
“But my lady, you haven’t bound our ankles.”
I growl and toss the shoelace at him. “Do it yourself.”
His fingers brush my ankle, and I jolt so hard the bed shakes. They skim briefly up my calf before he ties the knot.
There’s silence. I was exhausted from our fight last night and I passed out, but now, I am all too aware of the male form next to me and the fact that he doesn’t need to breathe and he’s heavy enough to make the bed dip.
Even now, I’m fighting gravity to keep from rolling toward him.
“Leah.” His voice is low and soft.
“Yes?”
“You are not what I expected.”
Against all odds, the words make my throat tighten.
“You are—not what I expected either.”
He’s feral, but funny. Competent and charming in turns. Intriguing. Far too intriguing, actually.
“In what ways?”
I stare at the ceiling and the thin sliver of moonlight that paints the plaster.
“You dig ditches. You make jokes.”
He’s still before he says, “I was joking earlier because no one gives me gifts. You unsettle me, slayer. Just as much as I unsettle you.”
“No one? You have no…family? I mean, other than your brother.”
He ignores that. “Vampires are rather solitary by nature. And when I was young…” His voice trails off.
“I guess you didn’t get many presents.”
His chuckle is dark. “Nothing we didn’t win, no.”
Against my will, my heart squeezes with sympathy for him. “I know what it’s like to be lonely. If that’s what you are.” I fear that I’ve said too much. He’s silent for a full minute, and I think that he’s gone to sleep.
“I didn’t think I was. Until now.”
I don’t know what to make of his words, but I do know that I feel like we might be more similar than I ever anticipated.