22. Scotty
Scotty
SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
“Wait. You’re telling me you left without knowing if Dante survived the mob?
” My brows knit together as I put another record on and let it play.
Another French singer I’ve never heard of before.
One of these days, I’m going to bring her some other albums to add to her collection.
A little Black Sabbath, The Clash, some Banshees.
Maybe the Eagles or Pierce the Veil just to round things out and give her more variety.
Juliette shrugs as she picks up her paint brush again and dips it in the black paint.
“When several weeks passed and Dante hadn’t come for me, I grew curious.
I returned to the estate to find much of the mansion burned to the ground.
And I found the ashes of the staff, including Selene’s, by the front door. ”
“How did you know it was hers?” I ask, and plop back down on the cloth. “I mean, all ashes look the same to me.”
“Their smell,” she says. “And I found Dante’s in his parlor. It seemed he sent the staff to fight off the horde for him. And then when they fell, he did, too.”
What a guy, letting his staff die for him. Already knew he was a piece of shit, so this doesn’t surprise me. But what a way to go.
“How come the humans didn’t just attack you all during the day?” I ask.
“Nosferatu are impossible to kill while we are sleeping,” she says, and I open my mouth to ask her the obvious follow-up question.
But she continues before I have the chance.
“Because our coffins are not only-well hidden in our homes, they are also impossible to break into. This is how the Nosferatu grew in such numbers. Why we were the reigning apex predator for so many centuries.”
“So … why did you paint a portrait of him?” I ask, pointing at the Nosferatu’s gaunt face in the corner, propped up on a crate. It’s the only painting of Juliette’s that I actually hate. “Why bother honoring him at all?”
Juliette frowns. “I do not know. Perhaps there is something wrong with me.”
I stand up and make my way over to her, then kneel to place my hands in hers.
“Juli. There’s nothing wrong with you. Because if there is, that means there’s something wrong with all of us.
Grief is weird, love. And when you’re grieving someone who basically groomed you for decades, shit gets messy. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Juliette runs her fingers through my hair and smiles gently. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Then she leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Thank you,” she repeats in my hair.
She doesn’t have to thank me for anything. If anything, I should be the one thanking her. For saving me. For giving me another reason to hold on when everything seemed so bleak. She probably isn’t aware just how much she’s done for me.
“Hey,” I rasp, and tilt my face up to catch her mouth with mine.
The kiss is sudden, unexpected, and surprisingly warm.
That’s when I realize it isn’t the kiss that’s warm, it’s the blood dripping down her face in thick streaks.
The metallic tang hits my tongue, igniting my bloodlust immediately, and I deepen the kiss with a groan.
Juliette’s fingers are on everything. My hair, the back of my neck, my chest. I’m instantly hard, already aching for her.
She breaks away from my mouth first with a gasp. “Juli,” I breathe. But I’m not sure what I was going to say. Juliette has kissed all the stupid thoughts right out of my head.
Juli takes a step back and yanks her hoodie over her head, then tosses it to the floor.
I can’t help but just … stare as she slowly undresses.
Her skirts are the next thing to go, and she lets them fall in a heap on the ground.
Seconds later, she’s standing before me, completely exposed.
Her thighs tremble. I get to my feet and pull her naked frame against my chest in a tight hug.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” I mutter into her ear. All the tension leaves her body. “My perfect girl.”
Juliette pulls back and looks up at me with an unreadable expression on her pretty face. “Your girl?”
“Yeah,” I say, and caress her cheek with the back of my hand. “Mine.”
She says nothing for a long moment, then bites her bottom lip. For a terrifying second, I think I’ve said the wrong thing, but then she nods. “Yours,” she rasps.
Juliette helps me out of my leather jacket, my shirt, my pants…
“Now what?” she asks.
“It’s your move, Jules,” I murmur. Juliette runs her claws down my chest, and I shiver from the sensation. It’s been ages since anyone has touched me like this. “Just be warned, though.”
Her hand pauses, and she lifts a brow.
“I’m a little bit in love with you,” I say with a smirk, “so I may get clingy after.”
Juliette tosses her head back and laughs—really laughs—again. It’s still the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
“You’re already clingy,” she says, and lifts herself up on her tippy-toes to kiss me.
Yeah. True.