Eyes of Ice (Eyes of Ice Erotica Series) (8 page)

             
“You know, it looks completely different to me. I wish you could see it how I do.”

             
She shot him a confused glance.

             
“I can see better at night than during the daytime,” he explained, as calmly as if he was explaining that it might snow again tomorrow.

             
Cecelia attempted a passable affectation of his offhanded demeanor. “Oh. So it looks like daytime out there, now?”
This is something to add to my ‘distinguishing characteristics’ section.

             
“No, not at all. It’s still nighttime. But the bright lights are that much brighter, the buildings that much clearer. I can see for miles. One of the benefits, I suppose.” He gazed out the window, too, and Cecelia took the opportunity to study his face. It wasn’t one that betrayed emotions easily, she’d come to realize. Except for cockiness, amusement, and interest, she hadn’t seen anything more complex cross his face. Now, she saw that though he seemed perfectly calm and open, his expression unworried, his brow unlined and mouth soft, his right hand was clenched into a fist on the white tablecloth.

             
Impulsively, before she was fully aware of what she was doing, Cecelia placed her hand on top of it. She was surprised to feel some of the tenseness there lessen instantly. He looked at her much the way he had when she had touched his jaw the night before – with confusion and surprise at the tenderness.

I can’t ask him about his life,
Cecelia understood at once.
At least, not in the way that I have been.
These were clearly thoughts that caused him pain, and if she kept asking, it would amount to nothing more than painful digging.
And clearly I can’t tell what causes him pain, either. Not if just talking about the night sky bothers him so much.

             
“Tell me about this evening?” she asked, struggling to break the silence. “The clan thing? Is that a clan of … your family?” This seemed to ease him a little further, as he was simply no longer the sole subject of the conversation.
Is he just as uncomfortable with himself as I am with myself?
Cecelia had a chance to wonder before he answered.

             
“We don’t really have families in the normal sense. We’re usually … loners. We don’t work well together in groups because, I don’t know, I guess it’s hardwired in somewhere that we don’t like the competition for ….” He was searching for a word, and she felt his fingers flex under her hand.

             
“Prey?” Cecelia suggested, having taken the sharp-edged ‘we’ Andrew referenced to mean ‘vampires.’
I guess it isn’t a word you  use in a crowded restaurant, anyway.

             
“Yeah,” he admitted, mouth twisted in disdain. “Prey. But there are clans for specific regions, or cities, like here, because otherwise there will be conflict over territory. It’s … I don’t know, think of it like voting districts. Everybody’s got to have their own slice, gerrymandered as things get, because it’s better than the alternative chaos. Then we have events like this to make nice and make sure we’re all on good terms, following mutually beneficial rules.”

             
Cecelia’s mouth was dry again. “That makes sense,” she managed weakly.

             
“You’re thinking about prey,” Andrew guessed.

             
She nodded. He took a deep breath.

             
“It works differently, depending on some … people’s … preference. The TV shows aren’t wrong, blood bags from hospitals work just as well, and about half of us try to live that way.” He said.

             
Cecelia got the sudden and sickening feeling that “half” was being a little generous. Wouldn’t it be like trying to make your cat a vegetarian? Possible, but against nature. Eventually the cat would just go out and catch itself a bird or a mouse or, if it was hungry enough from eating vegetables, a whole damn rabbit or something.

             
“The other half?” she asked tentatively.

             
“That’s more complicated,” he muttered, lowering his voice as their food arrived. “Perhaps not the best dinner table conversation, after all?”

             
“It’s fine,” she said in disagreement. She wasn’t, her mind going a million miles an hour. But it was too late, now. She nodded again, encouraging him.

             
“There’s … many do hunt, but try and keep it to the homeless and the drug addicts. People who won’t be missed,” Cecelia tried to read his face for some kind of disgust, but it was evenly emotionless as he continued: “But many of us keep humans. In one way or another. We don’t need much blood to survive, so having a few human friends stashed around the city to donate every so often … a few drops here and there … and then glamored – mesmerized, to you -- back to the way they were so they don’t really remember what’s happened. Glamoring takes a talent, though, and practice.”

              Cecelia’s stomach lurched again. Humans stashed around the city like prostitutes waiting for their next john, only bartering in their life. That wasn’t a donation, not by any stretch of the optimistic imagination. Then a horrific thought set in, one that made her freeze in place.

             
“Is that what I am?”

             
“A donor? Absolutely not!” he answered so sharply that a few of their neighbors at near tables turned around to see if there was to be a commotion. “Cecelia, you have to understand that I will never hurt you.
Do
you understand that?” A kind of true desperation had crept into Andrew’s voice, an earnest necessity to be understood, himself.

             
“Yes,” Cecelia said.

             
Andrew regarded her, unconvinced. A million questions raced inside Cecelia’s troubled mind, questions about all the fantastical creatures that she’d read about and believed from the fairy tales of her youth. But vampires weren’t from fairy tales, were they?

             
“I haven’t been completely honest, however,” Andrew said, interrupting her thoughts. “This party, this meeting, isn’t just more bureaucracy from the clan.”

             
He paused as a tuxedoed waiter swept by their table, depositing silver plates of food before each of them before whisking off again, his coattails flapping. It was as if he knew of the secrecy of their conversation.
Maybe he does,
Cecelia thought with a feeling of dread.

             
Neither Andrew nor Cecelia had reached for their cutlery; they were each, apparently, too distracted by their discussion.

“The clan gathering was prearranged, of course. These things are, months in advance.
So that’s not what happened,” Andrew fumbled.

             
“What are you saying?” Cecelia demanded. He sighed, and she couldn’t tell if this was to maintain his patience or to steady his nerves. Perhaps both.

             
“Devon told them. About … us,” (he ignored Cecelia’s sharp, horrified intake of breath) “And they wanted to meet you to be sure that you were trustworthy. It should be fine. It will be all right. A quick meet and greet. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

             
A second promise in as many minutes
, Cecelia thought. She didn’t doubt his sincerity, just the plausibility of his statements.
How can he possibly protect me against an entire clan of vampires? I thought that yesterday with Devon was scary and dangerous enough.
Andrew was speaking again.

             
“I didn’t mean to deceive you. I thought that, like other things, it was hard to convey over a text message. Are you … having doubts?” He ducked his head, again appearing concerned and implying that doubts were the last thing upon his mind.

             
Yes!
Cecelia thought of screaming at him, but she wasn’t sure whether the scream would come out with tones of fear or anger. Or what his response would be. Or the response of the other vampires. She suppressed a shudder as she thought of Devon, hunting her down for her betrayal.
If you don’t kill her, I will.

             
And what was this about doubts?
Doubts about what?

             
Andrew’s hand was suddenly on her own, firmly reassuring, and Cecelia thought of the last time he had touched her – really touched her. A bit of her fear, in spite of everything that had sent her mind and emotions reeling, faded as she looked into his clear blue eyes and felt the soft pressure of his cool palm on hers.

             
“A few,” she mumbled, not wishing to lie rather than fearing his reaction, now.

             
“What can I do?” He immediately responded, running one of his fingers delicately along her wrist. His voice had become softer, and Cecelia found herself suppressing a shudder of a different kind.

             
“I don’t know,” she admitted, remaining truthful as she watched his finger circle up and down her smooth wrist. Something about the movement soothed her a little more. “Nothing more. There’s no more promises you can make.”

             
“I doubt that,” he said, and when she looked to his face he was smiling once more. “The last promise: after this party, I will give you the best night of your life.”

             
Cecelia had absolutely no idea what to say to that, except that it was one heck of an incentive to offer for the fact that it might be the last night of her life.

“Are you going to eat?” Andrew
inquired, at last.

             
Cecelia looked down at her food, but the talk of blood donors and prey, and the fear of the evening, had finally turned her stomach. Nothing looked so unappetizing as the five-star meal that sat before her, next to what she was sure was a hundred-dollar flute of champagne. And her stomach twisted still further thinking of what might happen if she did survive the clan meeting.

“I don’t think I can,” she said.

              “Let’s go to a party, then.”

Four

              Ten minutes later, they were stepping out of the car once more, this time in front of an old landmark building that Cecelia recognized. It was only a few blocks from campus – she had seen it on some of her walks around the city. But she hadn’t known that it was still in use for anything other than the whims of historical preservationists.

             
“Anything I should know?” she asked, as she took Andrew’s arm again.

             
“What do you mean?”

             
“I mean, anything I … shouldn’t mention, or is a sensitive topic, or…?” she trailed off, uncertain.
He’s the most composed and mannered person I know – surely other … clan members …
(she couldn’t make herself even think the word “vampire” at this moment)
have similar social standards.

             
“No,” he told her. “Chances are, you won’t have to talk much at all. This is a formality, as much as Devon wishes it was otherwise.” His face darkened as he spoke Devon’s name, but Cecelia couldn’t see his eyes in the sudden brightness of the building’s lobby. She was sure, though, that they would have shifted darker as well.

             
However, as soon as her own eyes adjusted, Cecelia’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, as she was wearing the most formal gown she herself had ever seen, but the room was filled with a hundred more of them in all of the shades of the rainbow and shimmering textures of fabric, on the most beautiful creatures (and she couldn’t make herself now think the word “human”) she had ever seen. There were an equal number of men in the room, of course; she had been distracted by the many colors of dresses before her. The men were all as sharply dressed as Andrew in black suits and snowy white shirts, their shoes very shiny on the marble floor. 

Andrew led her forward, into the golden light of what appeared to be a vast ballroom, and Cecelia was able to study the individuals
as closely as she dared. But that was just it – though they had individual characteristics, the similarities between each was striking, as if they were truly all members of the same, strong-gened family. All were dark-haired and pale-skinned, like Andrew and Devon, and like Andrew and Devon, too, they were painfully handsome or gorgeous, depending on their sex. The men were strong-jawed and broad-shouldered, moving about the room with the ease of dancers. The women were delicate, willowy and poised, gracefully gliding along on heels at least twice as high as the ones which Cecelia herself had trouble managing.  And as Cecelia and Andrew proceeded farther into the room, a hush fell over every single being there.