Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
QUINN
I’m floored. I mean, I’m genuinely speechless, and that’s not something that happens to me very often. Every time I think I’ve got Florence pegged, she surprises me.
She’s made me my own little beach in this cellar room, just a bag of sand and two deckchairs, and I think it’s one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever done for me.
I lower myself into the deckchair next to hers and pull off my shoes and socks, wiggling my feet down into the soft sand.
Growing up at the seaside has made the scratch of sand between my toes feel vital, and the idea that I might never do it again hit me like a slap across the face.
I almost couldn’t breathe, back there on the beach.
Suddenly, the weight of everything that could be coming felt like too much, and my vision began to blur, the edges darkening until the only thing I could see was right in front of me.
In that moment, the only thing I could focus on was Florence.
And she knew exactly what to do to make me feel better.
‘Thank you,’ I say now, turning to face her.
She looks a little flushed, her cheeks and nose pinker than their usual shade.
I wonder if she might be blushing before I realise it’s probably nothing more than a skin reaction from the sun exposure.
But then the smile that brightens her face at my words is more.
I feel that smile in every part of my body.
‘I wanted you to know that not all is lost,’ she says, reaching out a hand. I take it in mine, linking our fingers. ‘If you do turn, I mean. It’s a change,’ she continues, ‘of course it is, but you get used to it. Some things might be gone forever, but in their place you’ll discover new things.’
But what if I die? my brain whispers. What then? I don’t dare say it out loud, though. It’s hard enough to think it.
Instead, I revel in the feeling of her skin against mine. Her hands are a little warmer than usual, as though they’ve retained a little of the sun’s heat. Either way, the contact is warming me too, sending sparks of electricity racing across my skin and down my spine.
She looks beautiful there, lounging in a dusty old deckchair, her hair splayed over the striped cloth, whisky-brown eyes focused on me. I want to kiss her, to drag her over to me and show her with my mouth what I’m too inarticulate to put into words, but I don’t want to ruin this. What we have.
I’ve ruined far lesser connections with my enthusiasm, with my stupid tendency to jump first and look second. This thing with Florence, whatever it is, feels too precious to do that. So instead, I sit back in my chair and return her smile.
‘You know,’ she says then, her free hand tracing a line across the fabric of the deckchair, following the visible seam.
‘I think we need to reassess the timeline here. We’ve been thinking about the things you’ll miss about being human, but maybe it’s time I showed you the perks of being undead instead.
We can’t afford to wait days between these things anymore.
Not when your symptoms are getting worse. ’
The groove of concern between her brows makes my stomach plummet but I mask it with a cocky smile. ‘It’s time for my vampire dates?’
I watch her bite back a smile and the sight of it eases the awful feeling in my gut.
‘Vampire experiences,’ she corrects, and it makes me laugh out loud.
‘We’ll see.’
‘A little heater down here wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ she says, making a show of ignoring my comment. ‘The sunlight is obviously a bit of a no-no now, but the way it warms you through is something we could recreate.’
I notice the we she throws in, and it affects me more than it probably should. I hum a yes, hoping that she doesn’t notice my sudden silence. Because something else is warming me through and it hasn’t got a single thing to do with the sun.
Could I do it? Could I be a vampire?
It seems impossible sometimes, what with the blood issue and all, but I can’t help finding myself wondering about a future in which that happens. Could I overcome my fear enough that I could have a chance at a future with Florence? If that’s my only choice to survive?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I have to make the most of things while I’m still able.
I stretch out in my deckchair, revelling in the scrape of the sand on the soles of my feet. ‘So, tell me,’ I say, unable to resist teasing her, ‘what’s it like being two hundred?’
She side-eyes me. ‘You know perfectly well how old I am.’
‘I know,’ I say through a laugh. ‘I’m sorry.’
Her eyes are still narrowed at me, but I notice a tiny pull at the corner of her mouth, and that’s my payoff. Florence trying not to be entertained by my bullshit might be my favourite thing in the world.
I smile back as I study her, my head lolling against the old fabric of the deckchair. ‘Is it weird?’
‘Is what weird?’ Her brows tug together, like she’s trying to get a handle on the sudden change of mood.
‘I mean, when I think about all the changes you must have seen in your lifetime, I just…’ I blow out a breath, trying to get the words in order in my head. ‘I can’t comprehend it.’
‘It’s a different world,’ she replies, her voice soft.
Her eyes leave mine and scan the room while she talks.
‘Better and worse. But you take the changes as they come. It’s not like flicking through a history book.
Things happen gradually, over years or decades, and by the time you notice anything’s different, you’re different too. ’
I hum in agreement. ‘I get that.’
‘This has been the most difficult time period for it, though.’
‘It has?’
She nods, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
‘Usually I’m good at change – I’ve had a lot of practice at adapting, after all – but the last thirty years have felt like the world’s on fast forward.
’ Her little head shake sends a strand of hair tumbling over her collarbone and I track its path as subtly as I can.
‘It’s the language, more than anything. I used to have to learn a new set of words about every ten years, but now it’s more like ten months.
’ She laughs, soft and breathy. “Body count” took a lot of getting used to. Especially when … well, you know.’
I stiffen. ‘You’ve killed people?’
She doesn’t reply for a moment, and when she does, her voice is a little more tentative.
‘Will you panic if I say yes?
‘No.’
Yes.
She winces. ‘It wasn’t anyone who didn’t deserve it.’
God help me, why am I a little turned on by that?
‘I’m not sure I want to know this,’ I say, ‘but what is your body count?’
She shrugs, like this is a very normal question. ‘Four, maybe five. And only when necessary.’
A prickle of fear trips its way up my spine. ‘Should I be rethinking being alone in this cellar with you?’
‘Yeah,’ she says gently, her eyes catching on mine. ‘You probably should. But you’re not, are you?’
My breath hitches a little, and it’s not because I’m worried she might murder me. It’s the pull I feel towards her that scares me the most. And I’m doing absolutely nothing to resist it.
In fact, I welcome it.
‘No,’ I say, tipping my chin up. ‘I’m not.’
There’s a crackle of tension between us then – something like the charge in the air before a bolt of lightning hits. For a moment we just look at each other. Then Florence looks away and breaks the spell.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Her voice is steady too, low and soothing.
I nod, my heart rate easing just a little.
‘Do you know why you’re scared of blood?’ she asks carefully.
I don’t say anything at first. I’m too busy trying to put my thoughts in order. Because yes, of course I know why I’m scared of blood. I just don’t know if I can say it out loud.
‘I know that some phobias are totally irrational,’ she continues, her voice low and calming. ‘I just wondered if there was somethi—’
‘It’s because of my dad,’ I blurt out. I guess I can say it, after all.
‘He had an accident while he was showering and I found him. He’d slipped and cracked his head on the bath taps.
’ I swallow, remembering. ‘There was so much blood I thought he was dead. But he wasn’t.
Just passed-out drunk in the tub.’ I huff out a humourless laugh.
It still makes me want to puke, even all these years later.
‘It looks like more in the water, that’s what the paramedics told me. ’
She nods, her eyes still fixed on me. She takes my hand with one of hers, cool fingers slipping between mine.
I still find it strange, the idea that she is, technically, dead.
After all, plenty of the very alive women I’ve dated have hands colder than hers.
Idly I wonder which other parts of her might be cool to the touch before I snap myself out of it.
‘How would you cope, do you think, if you were to fully turn?’
That question hits me in the gut. I’d like to say I haven’t really thought about it, but that’s not true at all. In fact, it would probably be easier to count the times I’m not thinking about it.
‘Maybe it would fix me?’ I say hopefully. You never know. ‘Did it change for you?’
She shakes her head, the action making her dark waves fall around her like a cloak. ‘I was helping with unmedicated births at seven,’ she says with a soft smile. ‘I was never squeamish.’
‘And if not,’ I continue, grasping at straws now, really, ‘I don’t have to feed from humans. Bram and Lucy don’t. They’re on a meat-based diet, and they’re doing just fine.’
‘You don’t,’ she agrees, ‘but the urge can be pretty overwhelming at times. You need to make sure that your determination not to hurt people is stronger than your blood lust.’
The phrase ‘blood lust’ makes me want to gag again. Lust in general is kind of my jam, but definitely not in this context. In fact, the mere thought of it revolts me so much that I almost don’t register the last thing she said.
Almost.
‘Is yours?’ I ask, my voice quiet.
Florence turns to me with a soft hmmm?
‘Is your determination not to hurt people stronger than your blood lust?’
She pauses for a moment – just a single, worrying second. ‘Usually.’
‘Florence!’ My pulse, which had finally slowed just a little, ramps right back up. ‘Again with the usually. You’re not inspiring a lot of confidence here.’
She laughs, and for the first time I notice her canine teeth are slightly more prominent than the others, as though she’s got the merest hint of fangs.
‘Don’t worry, Quinn,’ she says, past her smile.
‘Everything I do is above board, from an ethical point of view. Working at the clinic helps with that. There’s often a vial or two that need disposing of. ’
I feel a crease form between my eyebrows. ‘You literally drink people’s blood?’
‘It’s a few drops.’ She shrugs. ‘They won’t miss it. By the time they get back home after their appointment, they will have fully regenerated it.’
I’m a little shocked, I have to admit. ‘So you … what? Take an extra vial of it just for kicks?’
She sobers, looking at me intently. ‘I don’t. I take only exactly what’s requested. But sometimes there’s a mix-up, or sometimes Cam goes rogue.’ Her gaze holds mine. ‘In that case, if it needs disposing of anyway, then I might as well have it.’
I’m both horrified and relieved by her answer, but I understand that she needs to feed. I mean, we don’t judge a lion for tearing a gazelle apart, do we? So it’s morbid curiosity, rather than suspicion, that drives me to ask the next question.
‘Did you do it to me?’
I can feel her studying me before she answers, like maybe she’s not sure I can handle the truth.
‘No,’ she says eventually, and it feels like the truth, but a simplified version of it, like the giant mass of ice hidden beneath an iceberg.
‘Were you tempted?’
Her face falls into a frown. ‘That’s not a fair question.
Of course I was tempted. I’m tempted every time, with every person.
’ She looks back at me, golden eyes searing into me.
‘But God, if we were judged on the things we wanted to do, we’d all be in trouble.
’ Her eyes turn molten, holding mine with an intensity that makes every cell of my body stand to attention.
‘Tell me you’ve never been tempted by anything, Quinn. ’
But how the hell can I, when the mere sound of my name on her lips makes me think ungodly thoughts? I’m tempted by every inch of this woman.
‘I…’ I start, clenching my jaw. ‘I can’t.’
Her eyes flare, like she can see into my mind and likes what she finds there. One of her hands moves towards me, stroking under the edge of my jaw before she lightly cups my chin in her hand. ‘You don’t need to be scared of me,’ she says quietly. ‘Once upon a time I swore an oath to do no harm.’
I nod mutely. It’s all I can do. I can barely cope with the feeling of her hands on my face without combusting. Somehow, inexplicably, her cold skin makes mine ignite, a trail of fire following the path of her fingers until she lets go of my chin and the flames burn out.