26. Rune
Rune
“Did you say the artist is from Argentina?”
I nod as I carry the brightly painted canvas to the desk in back.
I’m trying to be present with this woman; she’s very nice. But my attention is still focused on last night. On waking up with a start. On the mirror. On the way I swear I could feel his voice against my palm.
“Do you know what part?”
“Um…” I try to remember what we’re talking about. “I don’t think it says.” I set the painting on the desk and lower myself into the chair.
“I heard there was an earthquake the other day near the southern tip of South America. A big one.” She holds her hands apart, like she’s measuring the natural disaster. “Wonder if the artist lives near there.”
Unsure how to reply, I shrug.
“Then again”—the woman leans a hip against the desk—“I think the article said it was in a pretty unpopulated area. Mostly mountains and wildlife and whatnot.”
My hand stills.
Mountains.
I shake my head and pick up the tablet. This random earthquake has nothing to do with my vampire. “Hopefully everyone is okay.”
She hums, then chatters on about something else as I put my glasses on and open the payment app.
My eyes narrow. The words are blurry.
I pull my glasses off and blink… at the crisp text.
“Forget you don’t need glasses?” the lady jokes.
“Ha.” My laugh is forced. “Didn’t realize they were so dirty.”
I fumble my way through the rest of the transaction, then follow the woman to the door.
“Enjoy the rest of your day.” I wave as she leaves. And as soon as she’s out of sight, I lock the front door.
My nerves are frayed, but my heart beats steadily as I walk back to the desk.
My glasses are clean.
Isip my drink, letting my gaze linger on every face as I scan the coffee shop.
This is my second honey latte since arriving. It’s the same beverage I had on my birthday, but I feel like I’m becoming more obsessed with it every swallow I take.
Coffee Box has a cool vibe. Goth isn’t usually my first choice for interior design. But even with black walls, ceiling, and furniture, the space is cozy.
And it has an eclectic crowd. No one looked twice at me walking in, wearing sandals, linen pants, and a cropped white tank top. Because even though it’s cold enough to see your breath outside, I’m not the only person without sleeves.
The coffee shop is welcoming. Relaxing.
Well, it would be relaxing. If I could find a way to fucking relax.
I absently run my fingers over my stack of bracelets while I slowly scan the crowd again.
My eyesight isn’t just better. I think it’s better than it’s ever been.
Colors seem brighter. I can read the text on that guy’s shirt from across the room. I can see in the dark.
I lift my latte and take another sip. The warm liquid is so unnecessary with how hot I’ve been feeling today. But it does work to soothe the throbbing ache in my upper jaw.
I tap my foot faster.
After the whole mirror thing before dawn this morning, I couldn’t get back to sleep. So I spent the early hours of my day staring at that painting in the book.
I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s all in my head. That I’m simply going mad. But while I was getting ready for the day, I couldn’t deny that… I seem to be changing.
My skin looks brighter. Smoother. The dark circles that would usually be present under my eyes after so little sleep were absent. That white spot on my fingernail from when I jammed it two weeks ago is gone.
Not to mention the fact that my heart stopped when I traveled across the world in the blink of an eye on my birthday. And now it feels like I share a pulse with someone else.
With him.
The vampire I’ve seen through a mirror.
The one whose warmth I felt, through a mirror.
I drag my tongue along the front of my teeth.
It’s not just my appearance and my heartbeat. It’s that I’ve never been hornier, more turned on, wetter… than these last few days.
I drop my gaze to the tabletop.
That’s possibly the biggest difference.
In all my years, I’ve never been attracted to… anyone. Never had a crush. Not on a person I knew, not on a celebrity. And as I got older, I realized that wasn’t normal.
I’ve touched myself. I own toys. I like to read erotica. But I’ve had zero interest in dating. Boys, girls, gender fluid, fictional, didn’t make a difference. I assumed I was asexual. Or something else completely.
So having this constant, all-day, unrelenting need…
I shift in my seat.
But now this never-ending state of arousal is directed at someone.
A vampire.
And I don’t know what to do with it.
The pull. The draw. The clawing urge to run down the street until I find him… It all makes me think of Nix and Volik.
It all makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I’m mated to a vampire too.
Only, unlike Volik, my vampire is unknown to mankind.
When The Gallery was empty today, I looked up the artist who did that painting. He’s long dead, but I thought maybe I could find some clues. About the vampire he hid in plain sight. Some family connection to vampires. But there was nothing. Just your typical two-hundred-year-old bio.
Then I looked up neoclassical paintings in general. Staring at every image, trying to see if I could find my vampire again. But I couldn’t.
It’s like he doesn’t exist.
The weight in my chest pulses, and I lean forward against the table, my body physically rejecting the very thought.
Just like my body rejected the idea of approaching any of the men sitting around Coffee Box.
I thought in my psychosis I’d possibly had a sexual awakening. That I’d find myself attracted to… a human. I lift my gaze, making one final sweep around the coffee shop. And… no. I have no desire, whatsoever, to see any of them naked.
The only person I want to see naked is my long-haired, sword-wielding, smells-of-storm-clouds, possibly-a-figment-of-my-imagination vampire.
My core clenches as I picture him.
I stand.
I need to go.