9. Nine
Nine
L eslie probably shouldn’t have ended their second date around five that morning. It had seemed sensible, going home to shower and slake and recharge for a few hours. They’d agreed to meet again at nine, and Ryker hadn’t seemed to mind. But they had one day left together and no need to sleep, and after he flew home tonight, they didn’t have a plan for the next time they saw each other.
By seven, she was showered and ready for the day. Her aqua-blue trail pants and long-sleeved purple-print athletic shirt gave her a special sort of energy boost, as if her body knew that in these clothes, she would exert herself, unleash herself. When her thick, silver hair was finally dry, she texted Ryker.
Forget 9:00. If you want, I’ll meet you in town as soon as you can get there. All I need to do is slake.
His reply pinged back almost instantly.
Ryker: 7:30?
Perfect. Do you have any athletic clothes with you?
Ryker: Sure.
Wear them.
He sent a thumbs-up, and Leslie went to the kitchen. Her bungalow had a lot to recommend it to a single country girl—two bedrooms upstairs, a bonus room she’d turned into her art room, and a cozy living room with a sliding door onto the patio. The kitchen was snug, only four upper cabinets and four below the modest counter space. Perfect for someone who’d rather grab a burger on her way home from work than plan and execute elaborate meals for one. Not that she needed either.
She grabbed a blood bag from the fridge, broke the seal, and poured it into her favorite extra-large coffee mug—a souvenir from the Nashville Museum of Arts, its design a wraparound replication of Monet’s Lilies . She drained the mug in a few seconds, rinsed it out, and set it in the sink. She leaned against the counter and stared at the mug.
Did all vampires slake from a coffee mug? Did some prefer a wine glass or slake directly from the bag?
Ryker didn’t mean to make her question her own habits. She knew this after spending almost the entirety of the last forty-eight hours with him. Still. He’d made her curious. Questions she’d never thought to ask before now seemed very important.
To give Ryker time to arrive in town, Leslie wandered over to her newest diorama, which was still in the unrecognizable stage of creation but would soon be a sand dune and a section of beach. Tiny details would make this one special: dune grass, wildflower tufts, a shell or two. Leslie studied it and tried to decide… Maybe she should include a few beachgoers and a boardwalk. Or maybe not. Some buyers connected most with the little figures and their poses in the scene; some preferred people-free nature-scapes.
Ah, well. She’d do what she usually did: choose what felt right for the individual model. This one was too new to know.
A few minutes later, she drove to town and parked in front of the diner. Then she followed her nose. Ryker smelled so good, familiar yet distinct from herself. She found him looking like a gym model in all black—trail pants and a long-sleeved athletic shirt with a white racing stripe down each arm—and peering into the front windows of the library.
“And here you’d convinced me you weren’t creepy after all,” she said.
Ryker chuckled, and a pleasant dance of icicles ran along her shoulders. “I was going to browse for a minute, but the door was locked. Then I remembered it’s Sunday in a small Southern town.”
They began walking along Main Street, and Leslie said, “So obviously, after two days touring Harmony Ridge, we’ve left no sight unseen. We’ve walked every street, checked out every store, eaten twice at the diner, met the wolf pack.”
He nodded, matching her deadpan with his own earnest look.
“On one of your longer match-test responses, you mentioned you’re comfortable in trail gear.”
His eyes glittered silver in blue. “Is that a challenge?”
“It’s an invitation.”
“I’m listening.”
“Growing up here, I get a lot of my art inspiration from nature. I go out all the time and soak up the mountains. I’d like you to see them for yourself.”
“Let’s do it,” he said.
“No more drop-offs, I promise.”
“I trust you.”
Did he? That seemed fast. Did she trust him? She didn’t not trust him…
Enough. Analyze later.
“Let’s go then. There’s a lot to show you, and the diner will be open by the time we get back. Any other day of the week, we could grab breakfast now.”
A crinkle formed between his eyes. “Um…breakfast?”
“Um…yes?” Why was he giving her his signature curious look? “Please tell me you eat breakfast.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you enjoy food.” She shrugged. “And breakfast food is magical and unique to all other foods.”
“Is it?”
She threw up her hands. “Okay, I know what we’re eating when we get back. The diner serves breakfast all day on Sundays. You’ll thank me.”
Ryker laughed. “Like I said, I trust you. Lead on.”
She did. All the way out of town, past Lunar Lane—yes, the wolves would wake up, but they didn’t seem to mind this time as she and Ryker darted by without slowing. She didn’t mean to be a nuisance to them. At least they’d be out of bed by the time she and Ryker passed by again.
“Whoa,” Ryker murmured without slowing his stride.
Leslie looked around her, trying to determine what had impressed him. She followed his gaze to the mountains on the far horizon. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“They’re majestic,” he said.
“Want to hike one?”
He glanced at her as they ran. “Can we?”
“Not even a vampire can reach one of those summits in a day. They’re farther away than they look, the tallest ones. But we’ve got foothills for days. This is what I do, take off out of town and keep going for hours.”
“Let’s get as far as we can.”
Then they ran. For half an hour, nothing registered in Leslie’s body but her unleashed speed and the nature that surrounded her. The rich scents of earth and sunshine and the fresh streams and still ponds that lay out of sight no more than a mile from their path. The unsuspecting wildlife that continued their foraging and hunting close by—sweat and fur and feathers, and beneath it all the steady course of their heart’s blood. In all of biology, the only creatures that abhorred the scent of a vampire were wolves—both animals and people.
“Hey,” she said, “do you have any pets?”
“Nooo,” Ryker said, a laugh like a melody beneath the word. “High maintenance, low return.”
“Wow, so you’re all about the bottom line even with furry snuggly animals.”
“Pretty much. What about you?”
“I had a rabbit when I was in high school, but no pets since.”
They had reached the base of the first hill, which stretched up toward the sky from their vantage point. The inclined acres were clothed in trees as far as anyone could see. Most were pine trees. The only paths up belonged to the deer.
Ryker slid to a stop and gazed up toward the peak, such as it was. “A rabbit, huh?”
“In retrospect it’s kind of hilarious. All these aggressions and sensations emerging and adjusting in my body—one minute I’m chill and the next I want to break things. Or I’m accidentally breaking things because oh look, the super-strength is back, oops, that was my dollhouse gazebo. Gosh, adolescence was a lot. Anyway, all that going on and the one pet I wanted was the one that looked the meekest, most innocent, all twitching ears and nose.”
Ryker nodded, looking far away for a moment. “It was a lot.”
“Maybe all the chaos was why I wanted a little bunny rabbit. Maybe I needed her to balance things out.”
“Makes sense,” he said.
“I found out they’re not just meek and flighty. They can kick, and they can bite. Mine didn’t very often, though. Only twice the whole time I had her, and she was scared both times.”
“And you didn’t overreact?”
Leslie stared at him. What an awful thought. “Toward a helpless bunny? Of course not.”
“Some young vampires would have.”
She shook her head. “Was it like that for you?”
“No,” he said. “The only things I ever broke were accidental. Pencils, for one. A lot of pencils.”
He looked entirely serious. “And how often were you writing with a pencil?”
“My mom was old-school about math. Wanted to be sure I could solve problems on paper, show my work.” He tipped his chin upward. “But come on, what do I need to know about this foothill?”
Strange that Leslie would be equally content to perch on a boulder with him and chat for the next hour. “I figured we’d turn around here.”
“What? Why?”
“Well…because…tall height?” She gestured toward the slope that rose in front of them.
“It’s steep, not sheer. I can handle steep.”
She didn’t want to offend by doubting him, but the distinction between steep and sheer seemed awfully slim with a phobia involved.
“Really, it’s fine,” Ryker said. “Look, there’s nowhere to fall. There’s just running up and then running back down.”
He wasn’t wrong. Even if a human climber lost their balance, they’d be in for a roll, not a drop. Leslie would trust him to know his own phobia. “If you’re sure,” she said.
“One hundred percent.”
“In that case, how often do you get out into the mountains? I know Virginia has some, and you enjoy athletic stuff.”
“I’m more of an indoor-courses guy.”
“You mean like a gym?” Surely not.
“Yep. Designed to challenge vampires.”
“But…” No way any indoor course could rival her mountains for a challenge. She shook her head. “Okay then. Let’s see how you like climbing the real thing.”
“Let’s do it.”
Then he was gone, darting up the slope in what humans called a “blur” but was, to Leslie’s eyes, a perfectly clear line of movement. She kept her eye on him and shot after him. The terrain grew steeper, but they didn’t need handholds. They kept running, leaping over boulders and fallen trees, and Leslie relished the feeling of gliding through the air like a low-skimming hawk. Her feet barely touched the soil. Her hair whipped out behind her. The wind rushed against her teeth as she grinned.
For an hour they never slowed their pace. Up, up, up they continued until they emerged from the dense foliage onto the plateau at the top of the long hill. This ground too held a thick forest. Several hundred feet away, a few startled deer fled down a narrow trail. Ryker slid to a halt and turned to Leslie. His nostrils flared, and his eyes glittered blue and silver. He was wholly himself away from the possibility of contact with humans, wholly vampire and wholly Ryker.
He was beautiful.
“The smells are amazing,” he said, and the unfurled melody of his voice brought an answering song to her heart.
She let herself emerge the same way, released the music in her own voice. “Compared to a gym? I should hope so.”
“It’s not as if I’ve never been in the Great Outdoors before. I’ve been camping plenty of times. But I’ve never…”
Ryker shook his head, then gazed around them at the long-distance views in every direction—lush and green, so many trees, a textured tapestry of varying shades and intricate leaves. He stared up at the endless mostly-sunny sky that was nearly as blue as his eyes. He kept smiling as he looked down the long slope from where they’d come.
“Still okay?” Leslie said. “With the height, I mean.”
“Oh, yeah. No edge here.” His gaze settled on her, still looking…yes, happy, but also somehow moved. “Thanks for caring about it.”
“Of course.” Anyone who cared about Ryker ought to care about this.
“And thanks for a brand new experience, running up the side of a mountain.”
“My pleasure.”
He spread his arms over his head, then crouched and sprang several dozen lateral feet and about ten feet into the air. He landed in the branches of a pine tree. Leslie leaped after him and landed on a branch across the trunk from his perch. This man kept surprising her in the best ways.
“Well? Does this rival your gym?”
“I’m not afraid to admit it: a real mountain definitely outclasses my climbing wall.”
Then he leaned around the trunk of the tree and kissed her.
So many surprises. She kissed him back, but the stupid tree was in the way. Leslie sprang to Ryker’s branch, and he cupped her face between his hands and…and…she was humming. She sank her fingers into his delightfully soft hair, and he gave a low hum too, and they kissed. And kissed.
She murmured against his mouth, “This is…”
But then he pushed his hand through her hair and ran his fingers along her scalp, and Leslie lost her train of thought entirely. Whatever. Thoughts were overrated.
They kissed.
When they finally stopped, Leslie rested her head on his shoulder and continued playing with his hair. Ryker wound a thick strand of hers around his finger and stroked it with his thumb.
“I think this is special,” she whispered, afraid for the birds in the neighboring tree or anyone else in the universe to hear. Wasn’t it too early to know this? But she did.
“I think so too,” Ryker said.
“You make it so easy to let myself…be all of myself.”
“Mmm,” he hummed.
“What?”
“On the one hand…good. I want you to know you’re safe with me. But on the other hand, it sucks that you spend so much time muted.”
“I don’t mind, Ryker. I’ve spent most of my time muted since my vampire traits emerged as a kid.”
“Maybe it’s not as big a deal as it seems from my perspective, how I grew up. But to me…well, to me it sucks.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “I want to visit you too. See your world, you know?”
He gave a low hum that held musical layers of happiness. “I was hoping you’d say that soon, but I wasn’t counting on it today.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” she said with a nudge of his shoulder. “When I put the effort into an adventure, I’m always glad I did.” But reality dulled the sparkle of anticipation inside her. “I mean…if I can. I might not be able to get the time off.”
“If you’ve only got a day or two, we’ll make it work.”
“It’s not that.” She traced circles on the trunk of the pine, unsure why she didn’t want to admit this. “I’ve got a lot more than a day or two, but the restaurant’s really busy. My boss lets me cash out my PTO at the end of the year.”
She half-hoped he would nod and move on. After all, he seemed fairly driven about his job. He probably didn’t take much time either…besides what he’d used to meet her this weekend. The other half of her hoped he wouldn’t put enough thought into her admission to realize what she meant.
Instead of either option, Ryker’s face furrowed with attention. “When was the last time you took a day off instead of cashing out the time?”
“Um… Well. Three years ago, Hannah and I took a girls’ trip to the Florida Keys.”
“Three years ? Leslie!”
He was actually upset? “It’s a lot of hassle to get time approved. That’s all.”
“If your boss owes it to you, then legally he has to let you take it.”
“He does. As cash. At the end of the year.”
“No,” Ryker said, like an emperor making a decree.
“We have an arrangement. It’s been fine with me all this time.” Mostly fine. “He might not love it if I go back on it now.”
In contrast to his forcefulness a moment before, now Ryker’s whole face scrunched up with the distaste of a young boy biting into a prune. He shook his head. Then his face smoothed again, and he held her gaze with his. Gosh, sometimes this man’s mood was a whole day of Southern weather in a few minutes. Now he was steady, intent.
“Leslie,” he said. “Please. Talk to your boss, take the time, and come see my city.”
Hours later, after a ridiculous game of tag that involved chasing each other across the plateau, dodging boulders and trees at full speed and laughing more than Leslie had laughed in years, Ryker followed her into the diner. She ordered for both of them: one order of eggs benedict, one farmer’s market omelet, a side of hash brown casserole and a side of cheesy grits. For dessert—because of course breakfast should include it too—she ordered the diner’s one-of-a-kind blueberry ricotta pancakes topped with lemon zest and lemon-flavored syrup.
When everything arrived, Ryker’s eyes widened, and the silver glints seemed to throw sparks. His mouth twisted up in the most adorable attempt not to laugh at her.
“Just taste it,” she said.
“Oh, definitely.”
She scrutinized his face as he forked a bite of egg and muffin that dripped hollandaise sauce back onto the plate.
His eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“See?”
“That’s incredible. I never eat eggs.”
“Life-changing, right?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
Ryker hardly said another word throughout their meal. Leslie gave him more than half, mostly in order to watch him savor it. And savor he did. When they’d eaten the last two bites of dessert pancakes, he leaned back in his chair and appraised her.
“Thank you. You were right.”
“You’re welcome.” The chilly little happiness danced across her shoulders again.
“I eat at the end of the day, after I’ve gotten everything done. That’s when I slake too.”
But that was so…sad. Leslie shook her head. “How do you get anything done without the energy from slaking?”
He shrugged. “We’re energized for twenty-four hours regardless of when we slake.”
“I know technically we are, but…” She tried to find the words for what felt so true in her head. “You make it sound like you don’t get to slake until you’ve been productive.”
“Right. Exactly.”
“But, Ryker, that would be like…like a human having to earn water.”
Ryker shrugged yet again. “You use human comparisons a lot.”
“Hazard of living in their culture. Don’t evade.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Slaking is a life necessity, and nobody has to earn those with productivity.”
He gave a low hum of contemplation. “You’re not the first person to hassle me about my slaking habits, but nobody’s ever explained it quite like that.” Before she could push any further, he said, “I’ll think it over.”
She didn’t want to let this go. It was important to Ryker’s health, to how he perceived himself. But she hadn’t known him long enough to earn that place in his life. Then again… “If you can be worried about whether I’m taking PTO, I can definitely be worried about whether you’re slaking regularly.”
A smile pulled his mouth. “Fair point.”
An image flashed before her—herself and Ryker together, laughing and holding hands, their ring fingers tattooed as the vampire sign of…marriage.
“Leslie?”
She blinked. Met his eyes. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
She was thrumming from the inside out. Strange that he couldn’t see it. “Sure.”
She wanted to tell him what she’d imagined. He’d grin his face off, no doubt.
But no, not yet. The picture felt strangely real and strangely sacred. For now Leslie would hold onto it and try to decide what it meant.