9. Emily
9
EMILY
“ J ust a weird dream,” I muttered, as I fixed myself a cup of coffee, blinking back my exhaustion. It was nine in the morning, but I’d been moving around my apartment like a zombie since I’d woken up.
All night long, I’d been plagued by dreams that didn’t make sense. Dreams about the book on my desk—blood leaking from the pages, flashes of memories that weren’t mine, and then, I’d woken up in the middle of the night, and I could’ve sworn the book had been surrounded in red light.
The light had disappeared almost instantly, but it had been there. Hadn’t it?
I pressed a hand to my forehead and came away with a damp palm. Why was I so sweaty? Was I coming down with something?
I drank the coffee, sitting at the kitchen counter, and stared at my notepad. I’d brought it and the book with me from the bedroom. I grabbed a pen from the holder and considered the book. I needed to get it back to the library as soon as possible, but even the thought of taking it back made me uncomfortable .
As if taking it back would be dangerous or something. But that was absolutely ridiculous.
Still, I couldn’t help connecting the strangeness that had recently taken place with this book. The minute it had landed on my desk in the library, things had started happening. The guy who had dropped out of nowhere in the library, and the attack at my apartment building, and then meeting Alex, and feeling sick, and Michael’s behavior.
“Get over yourself. You’re actually crazy for thinking that,” I muttered, and finished the last of my coffee. I made quick work of showering and getting ready for work, noting how pale I was in the bathroom mirror, and then grabbed the book off the table and started toward the door.
Nausea gripped my stomach, and I stumbled, groaning.
“What the—?” Bile rose in the back of my throat, and I backed up a few steps and sat down, pressing my hand over my mouth. Sweat streaked down my cheeks. What on earth was going on with me?
I prided myself on being the “anti-sick” when it came to the flu and stuff like that. I was reliable in that I never got the flu and I always got to work on time. But this felt … It felt as if there was fire in my veins, as if I was burning up from the inside out.
I set the book down on the counter again and grabbed my cell phone out of my tote. I wasn’t about to go into work and make other people sick. A quick call later, and I was off the hook for the day. Not that I wanted to be. I loved work.
The nausea faded slowly, but I grabbed a glass of water and went to lie on the sofa. My eyes drifted open and shut, traveling toward the counter and the book that waited there.
If you feel that you cannot trust your thoughts, that your desire to be near it is consuming you, then you are under its spell.
Beware your thoughts and the beating of your heart.
The predator seeks only to ensnare you.
The words were a whisper in my mind, and I jolted upright. No wonder I’d had those weird nightmares last night—I was sick.
I fetched the book from the counter, along with my notepad and pen, and sat down to page through it. If I was going to be home sick, at least I could catch up on my translation.
But the words on the pages blurred and swam together, and my head dropped to my chest.
To bond a vampire is to commit oneself to that void. To understand that your life is now forfeit, and this is exactly why those who have the unique ability to do exactly that should avoid it at all costs.
To strengthen such a creature is tyranny to humankind.
Perhaps, an eradication of the ability to bond with vampires is a necessity. But to do that would make one no better than the beast.
A knock pounded against my door, and I snapped awake, swallowing heavily.
My gaze fell to the blood-stained page in front of me. The words in French, not translated into my notepad, had been drifting through my mind. But that was impossible.
The knock came a second time.
“Coming,” I said, clearing my throat. “Just a second.”
I rose from the sofa, shaking, and went over to the door. Still trembling, I drew back the chain and opened it.
Alexander filled the hall with his presence and a masculine scent that was spicy yet light. He wore a black peacoat, the collars raised, and his dark hair was tousled. “Emily,” he said.
“Alex,” I managed. “You’re back.”
“Emily, what’s the matter?”
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t even have opened the door.” I swiped the back of my hand over my forehead. “I’m not feeling great.”
Alexander’s golden-eyed gaze darted past me and into the apartment. “No? What are your symptoms.”
“I just have a fever. I was feeling nauseous earlier, but I’m okay now, I think.”
“You think.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you need to see a doctor? ”
I took a step out into the hallway. “A doctor?” I stumbled, and Alex’s strong arms caught me. He lifted me to my feet, making soft noises of supplication.
I blinked then looked up at him. His eyes were hyper-focused on me, the pupils dilated, and his lips parted a little. “Emily.” My name growled in his chest. “I think you need some fresh air. And something to eat. When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t … I think last night?” Strangely, a little of the heat had lifted. But I still clung to him, even though I didn’t need to. I wanted to. The feeling of his arms around me was intoxicating.
This is all wrong. What am I doing? I don’t even know this guy.
A door slammed, and the frantic sound of growling and barking filled the cramped hallway.
Michael stood nearby, holding the end of Reginald Tailwag’s lead. The labrador, usually so friendly, snarled at us, as if he wanted to rip right past Michael and attack.
Alexander didn’t remove his arms from around me but tightened his grip, helping me stand upright, pressing me to the hard planes of his chest. “Good morning, Michael,” he said.
“You’re back,” Michael replied, bringing Reginald to heel. The dog didn’t wag its tail or whine, but stared at us, its fangs bared.
“Hi Mike,” I said. “We were just about to—What were we about to do?” I blinked. “I mean, sorry. I was feeling sick, and Alex was helping me.”
“Sick?” Michael’s thick blond brows drew inward. “Sick? Sick how? What’s bothering you? Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
“She’s fine now,” Alex said. “I’m helping her.”
Michael opened his mouth then shut it again. “I’ll text you later, Em. Be safe.” The last comment was sharp. And then he guided Reginald away.
Weird. The whole interaction had been weird, but I couldn’t place my finger on why. There was something about the way that Michael’s dog had behaved that set me on edge, and I wasn’t sure what it was.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, my hands resting against Alex’s chest. I stepped away from him, blushing now that I wasn’t on the verge of collapse any more. It was almost as if I wanted to stay with him. Stay in his arms, even though that had to be the most ridiculous thought I’d ever had.
I’d never felt this way about a guy. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had experience. I’d dated. I wasn’t inexperienced, but there was something about the way Alex looked at me, the way he felt.
“Emily?”
The question brought me back to the present and how silly I had to look just standing in front of him aimlessly. “Hi,” I said. “Sorry. Like I mentioned, not feeling great. I should probably go back inside and?—”
Alex caught my hand and held it. “What you should do is get out of the house. Get some fresh air.” Again, he glanced into the apartment. Why? “It would be good for you to go out.”
“I can’t go out. I called in sick to work.”
“It’s New York City, Emily. Nobody from work is going to see you,” Alex said, and he gave me a smile that sucked the resistance right out of me. He was gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than when he was brooding.
“Point taken,” I said.
And I was feeling a lot better now that I wasn’t in the apartment.
“I should get changed,” I said. “I’ve been sweating—” Why did you just tell him that?
“You look perfect the way you are,” Alex said.
Swoon.
“I—”
Footsteps came back up the hall, and both Alex and I glanced around. Michael was back, and he walked toward his apartment without Reginald Tailwag. He gave me a nod.
“Where’s Reginald?” I asked. “Is he okay? He?— ”
“You’re sick and you want to know if my dog is okay?” Michael laughed under his breath. “Seriously, Em? He’s fine. He’s just in the car. I forgot my wallet.” And then he slipped into his apartment.
Alex tensed beside me, and I frowned.
Morgan claimed that Michael was just being nice to me because he was interested in me romantically, but Alex didn't know that. And even if it had been true, it wouldn’t matter.
Michael came out again and shut the door. He locked it then waved to me again. “See you later, Em. I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll text you,” Michael said.
Was it wrong that Michael had started annoying me lately? It made me feel weird that he was so protective when we were just friends. But then again, that might’ve just been because of what Morgan had said.
“You told her that already.” Alexander’s words were gruff, and they sent a shiver through me.
“Huh?” Michael stopped mid-step and turned toward us again. “What did you say?”
“You told her that you would send her a message, didn’t you? Why repeat it?”
“Why do you have an issue with how I talk to my friends?” Michael asked, and shot me a wide-eyed quizzical look. It said, “Are you sure about this one, Em?”
Alex stepped between us. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“A blind man can see it,” Alex said, putting an arm out when I tried to step past him.
I grabbed his arm and tried to force it down, but it was like trying to bend steel. “I’m fine, Alex. Michael, just … drop it, all right? There’s no need for all this weird tension out here. I’m good.”
Michael stared up at Alex for a second longer then scoffed. “Yeah, whatever.” He brushed a hand through his blonde scruffy hair then sighed. “I’m not going to cause any trouble, Em, but I don’t think you can say the same for this guy.”
Alex growled. He actually growled.
And why do I find that attractive? What kind of a psycho am I?
Michael walked off, shoulders back, but his steps were quick.
“What was that about?” I asked. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I didn’t need to, no,” Alex said, and he sounded thoughtful. “I didn’t need to.”
“So why did you do that? I can handle myself.”
Alex turned toward me. “You think you can, but you have no idea—” He took my hand gently then raised it to his lips. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I overstepped.”
“Thanks,” I said, watching his lips as they inched toward my skin, my breath catching in my chest.
“So,” he replied. “Are you ready to go out? Where would you like to eat?”