Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Ihaven’t seen Elliott in days.
I’ve heard him moving around the apartment– footsteps sounding overhead, the quiet click of doors opening and closing– but every time I venture out of my room hoping to catch him, he conveniently vanishes.
Even on the nights I’m supposed to work in the lab, he never comes downstairs to get me like he usually does.
It’s weird.
I hate it.
Especially because we’re supposed to go to that science award dinner together tonight, and we haven’t had a chance to clear the air. Meaning instead of a fun night out, it’s bound to be awkward as hell.
If he’s even still planning on taking me with him, that is.
I haven’t seen or heard from Albert, either, and I’ve been too chicken shit to text him since the whole blowup with Elliott was technically my fault.
I know I should probably apologize. At the very least, I should confirm Elliott didn’t seriously maim him.
Instead, I’ve been doing what I do best– avoiding the problem and hoping it’ll somehow resolve itself.
Which is why he’s the last person I expect to find when I step out of the bathroom after showering, casually leaning a shoulder against my bedroom doorframe like he’s been waiting for me.
A relieved breath whooshes from my lungs, a grin instantly spreading across my face.
“Hey,” I greet, hitching my towel a little higher against my chest. “Look who’s still alive.”
Albert rolls his eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t look any worse for the wear,” I say, giving him a once-over. He’s clean-cut and freshly shaven, dressed like a preppy nightmare in his usual polo and pressed slacks without a single blond hair out of place. “Nobody would guess you were almost murdered the other night.”
“Nah, that’s just how vampires show affection,” he replies smugly, inclining his chin.
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
“So what happened, then?” I ask, padding barefoot across the room to the dresser. “You two kiss and make up?”
“We worked it out,” he answers cryptically.
I glance back at him over my shoulder, arching a brow expectantly.
He shrugs. “Then I left.”
“Boring,” I snort, untucking my towel and letting it drop to the floor.
Albert makes a strangled sound from behind me, and I glance back to find him staring at the ceiling like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room.
My lips curl into a smirk.
Turning to face him fully, I plant a hand on my hip and strike a pose. “You like what you see?” I ask, wagging my brows.
His gaze flicks over me once, lingering for all of half a second before he bites back a smile. “You’re hot and all,” he admits, “but you’re missing a crucial appendage for my taste.”
I click my tongue.
Knew it.
“So why are you in here creeping on me, then?” I ask, folding my arms with an exaggerated huff. “Want another bite?”
He cuts me a glare.
Probably too soon.
“Brought your dress for the award dinner tonight,” Albert says with a sigh, lifting a black garment bag into view.
My eyes narrow suspiciously as they flick from the bag to his face. “Am I gonna hate it?”
He waves it back and forth tauntingly. “See for yourself.”
I cross the room to him, still completely naked and not the least bit ashamed about it. Plucking the garment bag from his hand, I carry it over to the bed and drape it across the duvet, dragging down the zipper to see what’s inside.
My breath catches as I carefully lift the dress free from the bag, because it’s stunning.
Black, with shimmering iridescent embroidery cascading across it like blooming dahlias.
The flowers shift between shades of violet and blue against the dark fabric when they catch the light.
Delicate straps crisscross over the open back, while a dramatic slit climbs all the way up the left hip– perfect to frame the ink winding down my thigh.
Actually, now that I think about it, the whole dress looks like it was designed with my tattoos in mind.
I glance up at Albert. “Did you pick this out?”
He shakes his head.
“Then who did?”
“Don’t know,” he mumbles, eyeing the gown. “I was just told to pick it up and bring it over.”
“Hm.”
I smooth a hand over the skirt one last time before laying it carefully across the bed, then wander back over to the dresser. “So what’s his deal, anyway?” I ask, fishing a pair of black panties from the drawer and stepping into them.
“Who?”
I turn to give him a deadpan look as I settle the underwear on my hips. “Who do you think?”
Albert huffs a quiet laugh. “Well, you’ll have to be more specific about which deal. Doc’s got a lot of quirks.”
“Whatever issue he’s got with me,” I grumble as I slip on a bra, hooking it behind my back before adjusting the straps on my shoulders. “He hates me, he won’t touch me, but he’ll go all crazy possessive.” I glance over at Albert again, frustration creeping into my voice. “Make it make sense.”
“Vampires are possessive by nature,” he replies with a casual shrug. “We value blood above all else. You’re his source, so it’d be strange if he wasn’t possessive.”
My stomach sinks.
Of course.
This isn’t about me, it’s about my blood.
“Oh.” I turn back to the dresser before he can clock the disappointment on my face, absently finger-combing my damp hair. “Weird that he’s so possessive over my blood when he hasn’t even tasted it,” I mutter.
“It’s instinctive once a vampire claims a source,” he explains. “And I added your bag to his supply, so he’ll taste it soon enough.”
I pull open another drawer and grab the first t-shirt I find.
“Once he does,” Albert adds after a beat, “I have a feeling I’ll be drawing your blood a lot more.”
I glance back over my shoulder, cocking a brow.
“You’re fucking delicious.”
A snort escapes me as I tug the shirt down over my head. “Don’t flatter me, Albie.”
“I’m not.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that I stop smoothing my shirt.
“I’ve never tasted blood like yours before.”
I turn to look at him fully, head tilting in skeptical disbelief.
Albert shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess it’s also been a while since I had blood that fresh,” he admits, sounding almost sheepish.
“Don’t you order donors from Bite?” I ask.
He scoffs a bitter laugh. “Most vampires don’t have that luxury. The buy-in just to get on their client list is a million.”
I blink, mouth dropping open. “Seriously?”
He nods. “They cater to the rich. The rest of us make do with blood banks.”
“Damn.” I lean back against the dresser, folding my arms. “They’re seriously underpaying their donors.”
Albert shrugs. “That’s business, babe.”
I roll my eyes, though my gaze drifts back to the dress spread across the bed, the iridescent flowers shimmering softly against the black fabric. Bet it cost a damn fortune.
“Are you sure he’s even still planning on taking me to this thing tonight?”
Albert furrows his brow. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Oh I don’t know.” I throw my hands up. “Maybe because the guy’s been avoiding me for days? And he wasn’t exactly my biggest fan before that.”
His brows draw in even further, lips turning down in a frown. “What makes you think that?”
“Please,” I scoff. “I can tell when someone hates me.”
Albert lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “He doesn’t hate you.”
I bark a wry laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He sighs, shifting his weight against the doorframe. “He doesn’t,” Albert says again, quieter this time. “He just… struggles with variables he can’t control.”
“Oh, so I’m a variable now?” I cluck.
He chuckles under his breath. “Bex, you’re all the variables.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means there’s no predictable outcome with you.” He gestures vaguely in my direction. “You don’t have an off switch. You don’t think before you act. Half the time, I don’t think you even know what you’re going to do until you’re already doing it.”
I lift my chin. “Some people appreciate spontaneity.”
“Sure.” Albert shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Doc isn’t one of them.”
“And that’s my problem because…?”
“Because he likes knowing exactly what he’s walking into.”
My frown deepens. “So he’s a control freak.”
Albert hesitates, then gives a little shake of his head. “No.”
“No?”
He shakes his head again. “Control freaks usually want everyone else to play by their rules.”
“And he doesn’t?”
“He mostly plays by his own.”
I blink at him, completely lost. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Albert pulls a hand from his pocket and scratches absently at the back of his neck, seemingly searching for the words to explain whatever it is he’s trying to convey.
“Look, I’ve worked with Doc for years,” he says. “If he makes a decision, it’s because he’s already thought through every possible outcome first. He doesn’t wing things. Ever.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
He laughs. “I’m sure it is.”
I lean back against the dresser, studying Albert’s face like I’ll find the answers there. “So what’s the right play here, then?”
He heaves a long-suffering sigh as he pushes off the doorframe, shaking his head. “There’s no play, Bex. If you want him to come to you, then stop playing games. Remove the variables so there’s a predictable outcome and make it easy for him to choose.”
I stare at Albert, waiting for him to elaborate.
He doesn’t.
“That’s it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “That’s it.” Then he turns, stepping into the hallway. “Have fun tonight.”
Before I can ask him what the hell any of that is supposed to mean, he pulls the door closed behind him. The latch clicks into place, leaving me alone with a beautiful dress and a hundred unanswered questions.