Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
My hips sway to the beat of the Dua Lipa song blasting from the little portable speaker on the counter, my own voice echoing off the marble backsplash in the kitchen as I shamelessly belt out the chorus.
I’ve never been a great singer, but I swear the acoustics in this place make me sound just like a pop star.
If Dr. Faulkner ever gets tired of science, he could probably make a fortune renting his kitchen out as a recording studio.
I found the speaker sitting on the coffee table when I woke up, so naturally I took the liberty of connecting my phone.
I assume it’s Elliott’s, though I’ve never actually seen the man listen to music.
Not in the lab, not while working out… not ever.
Then again, I’ve also never known him to leave his belongings lying around, so maybe today’s just full of surprises.
For such a tiny speaker, it packs an impressive amount of volume.
I’m giving myself the full concert experience while throwing together a sandwich, my wrist flicking in time with the music as I spread a thick layer of peanut butter across the bread.
A glob lands on the pristine white countertop, and I swipe it up with my thumb before sucking it into my mouth, never missing a beat.
Just as I shimmy toward the fridge for the jelly, a deep voice sounds from behind me.
“Hey.”
I let out a startled yelp, whirling around so fast the peanut butter knife slips from my grip and skitters across the kitchen island. My shoulders sag with relief as I come face to face with Albert, pressing a hand to my chest as I reach over to turn the speaker down.
“What’s with you vampires and sneaking up on people?” I ask breathlessly, my heart racing beneath my palm. “You guys need to start wearing bells or something.”
Albert folds his arms, thoroughly unimpressed by that suggestion. “You’re the one who asked me to come over.”
“Yeah,” I huff. “At dusk.”
One blond brow arches as he gestures toward the wall of windows.
My eyes follow. The sky’s awash in streaks of pink and orange, the sun already slipping behind the skyline.
Dusk.
Right.
I turn back to him, shrugging innocently. “Guess my internal clock’s been a little off since I started living with a vampire.”
His gaze drifts over me, lip curling. “What are you wearing?”
I glance down automatically. Though I didn’t bother getting dressed today, my t-shirt and boy short underwear are hardly scandalous.
I look back up, deadpan. “Uh… clothes?”
“Did you lose your pants?” he scoffs.
“Never put them on.” I flash him a grin. “And my butt looks better in these.”
I spin around and stick my ass out, giving him the full view of the little boy shorts hugging my hips while the bottoms of my cheeks peek out beneath them.
“Right?” I ask as I pivot back around, though obviously it’s a rhetorical question.
Albert just stares back at me blankly.
Rude.
“What did you need help with?” he asks, eyes flicking over the peanut-butter-stained counter with obvious disapproval. “Better not be cleaning.”
I snort. “Nah, figured I’d leave that for the boss since he seems to enjoy it so much.” Cocking a hip, I run my fingers through my hair, aiming for casual. “I need you to do your whole blood drawing thing.”
His attention snaps back to me, eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“Why not?” I lift a brow. “Didn’t you brag about how good you are at it?”
“Sure, but Doc didn’t ask me to draw your blood.”
“No,” I agree. “I did.”
He studies me for a long beat, like he’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing.
“Bex.”
“Albert.”
He sighs, folding his arms. “Why?”
“Because I’m curious,” I reply, shrugging.
He frowns. “About?”
“I’ve been logging all this data from blood samples in the lab, I kinda wanna know how mine compares.”
“You’re suddenly interested in hematology?” he questions dubiously.
I flash him a smile that’s all teeth. “Isn’t that my job as a research assistant?”
He eyes me skeptically, clearly not buying it.
Damn vampires and their unnervingly good lie detectors.
“Come on,” I coax, batting my lashes as I step closer. “Help a girl out.”
His expression doesn’t budge, lips pressed together in a hard line.
“You can even earn brownie points from our boss by filling a couple blood bags for him,” I suggest as I hook my arm through his and start steering him toward the lounge.
Albert plants his feet for half a second before reluctantly allowing himself to be dragged along.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he mutters.
“Sure it is.” I grin over at him. “You said he likes it fresh, right?”
“Well yeah, but there’s an order to these things,” he grumbles, dragging his feet.
“It’s just blood,” I say flippantly.
“It’s protocol.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
He blinks. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Absolutely nothing.” I beam. “I thought we were just saying words that didn’t matter.”
He heaves a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are exhausting.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I quip, smirking. “Loosen the fuck up, Albie. I’m here to be a blood donor. Drawing my blood is literally part of your job description.”
With another resigned sigh, he follows me into the lounge. He still doesn’t seem convinced that this is a good idea, but apparently decides arguing with me is the greater of two evils, pausing at the supply chest for the briefest moment before pulling open the top drawer.
“Have a seat,” he mutters, already reaching for a pair of latex gloves.
I flop onto the cushy sofa, draping an elbow over the armrest while Albert lays out his supplies on the coffee table with practiced efficiency.
Alcohol wipe. Tourniquet. Needle. Two empty blood bags.
Everything has a place, each movement so precise that it almost reminds me of watching Elliott work in the lab. Maybe vampires share traits with their offspring– or maybe Albert’s just been around Elliott so long that he’s picked up the doctor’s habits. Either way, I kinda hate that I even notice.
Albert crouches beside me, extending a hand. “Arm.”
“Bossy,” I cluck, offering it to him.
He gives me a withering look, but proceeds nonetheless– and to his credit, he wasn’t lying when he said he’s good at poking people.
I barely feel the needle slide into my vein.
A ribbon of crimson immediately snakes through the clear tubing, flowing into the waiting pouch.
He keeps his attention fixed on his work, occasionally adjusting the tubing or checking the flow.
Once the first bag is full, he clamps the line with a practiced flick of his wrist before swapping in the second pouch. It’s all professional and efficient… at least at first.
Somewhere during the second bag, I notice the change.
Albert’s breathing deepens, his pupils widening. His gaze lingers on my blood as it pools inside the pouch, a crease forming between his brows like he’s fighting some internal battle with himself.
When the second bag is finally full, he blindly reaches for the cap, accidentally knocking it off the coffee table.
“Shit,” he mutters as it bounces off the rug and rolls across the floor.
He carefully props the pouch against a stack of books on the coffee table before turning back to me. A cotton ball presses against the needle at my elbow as he slides it free, followed by a bandage over the tiny puncture. Then he straightens and goes to retrieve the runaway cap.
I push to my feet, a mild head rush making the room tilt for a second.
“You should stay seated,” he grumbles, stooping to pick up the cap.
He turns back toward the table and lifts the pouch to cap it, but his hand stops halfway. His nostrils flare, and for a long second, he just… stares. The cap hangs forgotten between his fingers, his gaze locked on the blood bag.
I tilt my head. “…Albert?”
He blinks once, like he’s trying to pull himself out of a trance.
“You can have a sip,” I suggest, smiling coyly. “I won’t tell.”
He gives a small shake of his head, but his eyes never leave the pouch.
And just like that, I remember the feeling I used to get– the intoxicating rush of watching something stronger than me struggle against instinct.
Of bringing creatures capable of tearing me apart to their knees with nothing more than the blood in my veins.
God, I’d almost forgotten how powerful it felt.
“Go on,” I coax, my voice softer this time. “Try it.”
His eyes slowly lift to mine, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any blue left. For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then his fangs slide free with a soft pop. He raises the pouch to his lips and takes a tentative sip. The moment the blood hits his tongue, his whole face changes.
Albert’s eyes drift shut, his brow relaxing as a low, involuntary groan rumbles in his chest. He licks his lips slowly, like he’s trying to savor every lingering drop, then whatever restraint he’d been clinging to snaps.
He drags another mouthful from the pouch, then another, squeezing the plastic in both hands like a damn juice box as he drinks greedily. His throat works with every swallow, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he drains the bag completely before finally lowering it from his mouth.
For a second, he just stands there, breathing a little harder than before.
“Well?” I ask.
“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as he slowly licks the last traces of blood from his lips.
I open my mouth, but before I can say another word, he lunges toward me, erasing the distance between us in a single stride.
His hand lashes out, fisting my hair at the nape of my neck and yanking me flush against him.
I gasp as he twists my head sideways, his mouth hovering over the side of my throat.
He doesn’t bite. He just lingers there, nostrils flaring as he inhales, every muscle in his body gone rigid.
I stare up at him with my pulse pounding in my ears, caught somewhere between fear and exhilaration.
“You wanna bite me, Albie?” I breathe.
His jaw flexes, fingers tightening painfully in my hair. For one suspended moment, I honestly think he’s going to do it.
Then something shifts.