The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (2 page)

“Thanks,” I stood up and gave her a hug. “You’re right, I need to hustle.”

She closed the door behind her as she left and her keys jingled as she locked the door behind her. I stood there thinking about him for a moment. I closed my eyes and could smell his Ralph Lauren cologne in the air and taste his breath on my lips. My skin burned for his touch. I’ve heard it said that initial passion can smother you if you’re not careful but I found it almost impossible to think of anything other than being with him. Even my normally steadfast routine of studying and excelling in classwork had been disrupted by his delicious distraction.

Yet despite all of that, despite the absolute hunger to be near him that drove me to distraction, there was some part of me that refused to commit myself to him completely. I told myself it was because we had only known each other for a few months but I was getting the feeling that he sensed this and it was starting to bother him. He was being patient with me, but he was such a catch that I was starting to worry that some other girl was going to step in and offer him the kind of commitment I was unable to.

I shook my head to clear it of those thoughts—I really did need to get moving and I didn’t want to go into this date thinking of Peter leaving me for someone else. I walked over to the window and looked down in time to see Tyreen throw her arms around Johnny and give him a long kiss and then watched them as they started walking away, hand in hand.

I turned away from the window and went over to the closet and started looking for something to wear. I wanted sexy, but I also wanted warm.

That was when I noticed the chill in the room as though the Smoky Mountain air had rushed into the room. I looked back at the window to see if it was open and I somehow hadn’t noticed it just two minutes earlier but it was still closed. I looked at the door and blinked my eyes in surprise. I probably should have been scared but I was too confused at how there had come to be a young man leaning casually against my very closed and very locked door.

Although he was standing in languid pose his eyes were locked in my direction, intently watching me. His skin was incredibly pale, as though it had never been touched by summer. The absurd thought that he didn’t look like he was from around here popped into my mind. It turned out that he wasn’t even from my world, really.

ou are getting ready to go out tonight?” the man asked.

His husky voice had a resonant timbre whose cadence reminded me of something from my childhood, perhaps some fairytale my mother had told me, and he had a genteel European accent. Long golden hair cascaded down his forehead, partially covering his eyes—eyes that glowed iridescent, the light slipping through the strands of hair like that of the moon behind a whisper of clouds.

“Beware, Txema. Those who want to end your life have come. They are outside… waiting.”

Staring at him, incredulous, my heart raced faster than I ever recalled before that moment. Not even while driving for a game-winning layup.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “And,
how
in the hell did you get in here?”

“I am Garvan de Sang,” he replied, stepping casually toward me.

He wore dark jeans and a burgundy sweater. The sound of his riding boots hitting the plush carpet was muted. His ashen skin looked garishly death-like beneath my room’s fluorescent light. It was as if every inch of his skin was covered in pancake makeup.

I instinctively retreated to my dresser. I kept a Taser gun there, given to me for protection by my older brother on the day I moved into my dorm room. But before I touched the drawer’s handle, my visitor appeared next to me, traveling silently across the room in the blink of an eye. I gasped as chills traveled up and down my spine. I considered the absurdity of what I had just witnessed, and for a moment wondered if this was some kind of waking dream. My breath rose like a small fog, and the origin of the chilled temperature I had felt before was now revealed to me in a frigid dose of reality. I could feel Garvan’s iciness siphoning the heat from more than just my body as his penetrating gaze studied me.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, gently pushing my fingers away from the dresser.

The coolness in his touch deepened, embracing my entire being. I couldn’t move. I could barely even think of moving.

“We won’t hurt you, Txema.”

“Who’s
we
?” I demanded, surprised by the anger easily coming through despite my unease.

The fire of my rage helped to thaw whatever icy grip he had on me. I glanced around at the stuff on my dresser and nearby on the floor, trying to see what could be used as a weapon. Perhaps my shoes, or the file in my makeup purse?

“And, how do you know my name?”

He started to answer me, but suddenly jerked his head toward my door, as if he heard someone lurking outside my room in the hallway. It could’ve been anyone. When does a dorm floor rest, anyway? The look on his face reflected intense concentration. I also strained to listen, unable to hear much beyond my own nervous breaths. I noticed this stranger took no breaths of his own.

I’m not really sure why I didn’t just scream. Perhaps it was some lingering effect of his presence and of my first encounter with a world that was only supposed to exist in fairy tales and nightmares. Really, in retrospect, I should have screamed. It wasn’t like Garvan didn’t frighten me. It was insane, but I felt I could trust that this man, who alternately terrified and exhilarated me, wasn’t there to do harm.

He remained focused on the door, which gave me a chance to study him more. Despite such paleness, he was actually quite attractive. Not much older than me, his strong brow gave his eyes a glowering look that belied his delicate features. His profile revealed gorgeous cheekbones and a sleek nose that accentuated supple lips, tinted blue. If not for the powerful build that stretched the fabric of his cashmere sweater and tight-fitted jeans, it would be easy to dismiss him as something of a pretty boy, and completely miss the fact that he was one of the most dangerous warriors to walk the planet.

“Your man… Peter? He is coming,” he said, turning again to face me, the glow in his eyes brighter, as if on fire. “Is he always this punctual, to be so early?”

Peter was never one to be late for anything, and as such, would often show up fifteen minutes early for our dates. Normally, I would be in the finishing touches of my makeup, which sometimes irritated him. Tonight could prove more interesting than irritating if he arrived and my uninvited guest decided to extend his visit.

“Yes, he usually is.”

I grabbed some lipstick off the top of the dresser. I popped the cap off and twisted it out to put on but twisted too much out. I was twisting it back down when I realized it was Tyreen’s and popped the cap back on. I set it back down on the dresser and then picked it up again and tried to hide how flustered I was feeling.

Should I do the normal person thing and scream my head off? Or, should I follow the crazy feeling that told me instead to hide this man? Where could I do that in a cramped dormitory room? And if I couldn’t, what lame excuse would come pouring out of my mouth when I sought to explain his unwanted presence to my boyfriend? If things turned violent, I seriously doubted Peter’s athleticism would save him against Garvan’s unnatural speed.

“You should leave… leave
now
!”

“And I will, before he gets here,” said Garvan, chuckling as he regarded my panicked expression.

The iridescent glow of his eyes twinkled in amusement. The corner of his mouth curled in an arrogant half-grin. “But, not before you promise to stay here all night. You
must
make sure you do. If he decides he can’t abide by this, then he leaves alone. Am I clear?”

His face flushed as he said this and the surge of anger caused his eyes to flash even brighter. Any mirth that had been there was erased in a moment and I felt a second of animal terror, that any prey must feel in the presence of a predator. I could scarcely concentrate enough to answer, shaking my head to prevent the spell of his words from infecting my thoughts.

“I-I don’t know if I can promise that.” I felt defiance rise against a hostile takeover of my will. “It’s my birthday, and we’ve been planning tonight’s dinner date since last week. Peter’s gone to a great deal of trouble—”

He glanced at the door.

“We are out of time! You leave me no choice.”

In the instant that followed, he disappeared. At least, it seemed like he did. I felt something warm on the left side of my neck. The warmth soon became painful, two pinpricks that felt as if little knives were digging into my flesh. Then I heard the window’s latch unclick and click shut in rapid succession.

I gasped and reached up to where my neck throbbed, like a little girl who just got stung by a wasp or venomous spider. Wetness grazed my fingers. When I brought my shaking hand before my eyes, there was blood. It dripped down my fingers.

Just then, Peter’s familiar knock rapped upon my door.

“I’m coming!” I called to him, trying to sound as unalarmed as possible.

Garvan was nowhere to be found. The slight sway in the curtains wasn’t enough to prevent me from checking under the bed and in my closet. I began to feel weak and woozy. A wave of sudden nausea threatened, and I worried that our dinner date was really going to suck!

Peter knocked again, louder.

“I’ll be there in a minute… I’m just getting my shoes on!” I said.

I had to look. I needed to see what caused the pain and blood to drip down my neck.

I stumbled over to the mirror. Two small streams trickled down the left side of my neck, threatening to spill onto my dress. Luckily, the black wool would keep it from being immediately noticeable—even to Peter’s keen eyes. What happened when I wiped a Kleenex over the twin wounds astonished me even more.

There were no punctures in the skin. No seepage, just fiery redness like some kind of irritation, and brightest above my pair of birthmarks. ‘Little pink teardrops’ is what my Grandmother often called them. Like the tears tattooed beneath the eyes of the gang leaders in Richmond’s low-rent district, though not as dark in color. Now they were inflamed and tender to the touch.

But still no blood.

I looked back at the deep crimson streaks in the tissue I held, trying to make sense of what just happened. Peter’s urgent knocks grew faint. Then, the world around me went black.