Raphael was like a grumpy cat. He drew his claws and hissed, but with patience and a gentle touch, he was a purring mess. Little by little, Eva was able to squeeze through the cracks in his armor, and even though he'd constantly rebuild his defenses when he felt she was outsmarting him, she'd simply find another way in. Eva could feel the whirlwind of emotions radiating from him. They were mixed and shifted around dramatically, but they became very easy to read. Genuine adoration, then annoyance, then a sense of comfort, then frustration, then blinding joy, then bitterness. It was a consistent cycle.
"Why are you so angry about falling in love with me?" Eva asked suddenly.
He choked and turned his head away from her to cough. They were up at their favorite spot in all of New York City: on the very top of one of the Brooklyn Bridge towers. It became a ritual for Raphael to pick up some food, meet up at the steps of the Met, and then fly on his motorcycle downtown to the Brooklyn Bridge. He'd park it on the top of the tower with the best view of the city's illuminated skyline, and they'd sit on the stone surface with the warm breeze on their faces. Eva would eat the food he'd bring—tacos al pastor, or sandwiches, or Chinese takeout—and he would sip on blood he kept in a silver-plated flask engraved with his family name and the year it was made, Santiago 1878. He'd explained it had belonged to his great-grandfather and has been passed down in his family, though he'd joked that those that owned it before him would be rolling in their graves if they knew what the flask was being used for.
"What?" was his stupid response. Self-consciousness was oozing from him; she never thought she'd feel such a strong emotion from him.
"It's okay to admit it; it's kind of cute."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh yes you do," she put her box of Indian takeout next to her and wrapped her arms around his midsection. If he had a heartbeat, she was sure it would be racing against her ear. Instead, she only felt his muscles stiffen. "If it's any consolation, I think I'm falling for you too."
"How unfortunate," he said, but his chest rumbled with a chuckle. "Now I won't be able to get rid of you."
"You act all tough and grumpy, but you're a big, blood-sucking teddy bear," she raised her head to meet his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Absolutely not."
"When were you going to tell me we're officially official in the Downworld?" she asked with a smirk. "Izzy and I went on patrol a few nights ago and these vampires were causing trouble over by Hell's Kitchen—"
"Oh yeah, I heard about this," he nodded slowly, speaking more to himself than to her.
She continued, "And the moment they saw me, they tucked tail and ran."
"I can't protect you from the demons you fight every day, but I'll give you any protection at my disposal," he pressed his forehead against hers affectionately. Raphael wasn't one to express himself verbally, but Eva had a feeling he had no idea his actions spoke volumes. "In the Downworld, you are the New York clan leader's woman, and anyone that hurts you will risk war with me."
"I feel like Helen of Troy!" she laughed. "How exciting! How much can I get away with?"
"Don't go causing trouble for me, either," Raphael said this firmly, but his smirk gave him away. She loved it when he looked at her like this; like she was the only thing that existed in the world.
"Or what?"
"Or I won't buy you horchatas anymore."
"The horror!" Eva gasped. Raphael smiled and leaned forward to steal a kiss from her. She immediately melted against him and played with his soft hair at the base of his neck. It was such a surreal experience to kiss him; his lips were cold like the rest of his skin, but not as unpleasant as one might think. Books described vampires as undead, as having no pulse, no heartbeat, no body heat, no soul. Even Izzy said vampires were an acquired taste.
Eva felt completely comfortable in Raphael's arms, and she couldn't imagine being in anyone else's.
"Rapha..." she pulled away, gasping for air. He understood immediately, and chuckled against her cheek.
"I forget mi angelito needs to breathe," he kissed the corner of her lips. "It's almost midnight. I should drop you off before that mentor of yours loses his mind."
"Hodge is slowly accepting I have a boyfriend," she laughed. "He's not thrilled you're a vampire, but if I'm happy, he's fine with it."
After about two weeks of late-night dinner dates and outings, Eva confronted Hodge about her relationship with Raphael. He wasn't too pleased, but Eva could sense it wasn't disappointment or utter rejection; it was fear and an exasperated acceptance—fear she might get her heart broken, but accepting that she was nearly an adult, and this was something inevitable. The only rule he set down was that she had to be home by midnight, which wouldn't have been such a problem if it wasn't for Raphael's very strict schedule.
Monday through Friday, Raphael insisted he was out of commission from eight P.M. to ten P.M. He couldn't answer texts, phone calls, or be summoned unless it was a dire—emphasis on dire—emergency. Eva had no idea what he had to do during those two hours that was so important, but apparently it didn't apply to Saturdays or Sundays. At first she didn't mind, since their dates were limited to weekends, but as their relationship got more serious, she began to wonder.
"Now I won't see you until Saturday," Eva said, watching him swinging a leg over his rumbling motorcycle. Tomorrow was Monday, after all. He raised his eyebrows and she added, "You have that stupid thing you do from eight to ten, and then we have no time to go anywhere before midnight."
"It's not..." Raphael began, but considered it briefly before shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. "Maybe a little."
"Do you want to tell me what it is?"
"Absolutely not."
"What, are you in some sort of nerdy club?" she teased. "Raphael Santiago, head of the New York vampire clan and captain of the Manhattan Marvel Comics Club?"
"I have no idea what that is, and no," his lips were curled up only slightly. "If you really want to know, you have to promise me two things."
"Name it."
"You won't laugh, and you won't bother me for those two hours," Raphael said, emphasizing, "At all."
"I swear on the Angel," she raised her hand in the air.
Eva was extremely curious and spent the entire next day pondering about Raphael's mysterious, two hour appointments he had every week from Monday to Friday. It couldn't be some top secret Downworlder meeting, or else she wouldn't be allowed to attend. He said it wasn't some nerdy club like a lightsaber dueling club or dungeons and dragons. She thought it might've been a job, but not even part-times last two hours. By the time the sun set, Eva gave up on brainstorming.
Eva met with him at the Met and they flew off into the night sky before descending into an alley in Midtown. Hand-in-hand, they walked down the street and, to her shock, Raphael led her into the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel. The luxury of the lobby alone was enough to have Eva's jaw drop and eyes widen. Her heart began to pound against her chest as Izzy's voice overwhelmed her ears.
"Hotels are where it's going to happen, because you can't bring a guy back to the Institute, not with Hodge flying around like Hugo, and in your case, Raphael can't even walk in here without turning to dust. So hotels are the way to go, and make sure it's a luxury hotel too. Cheap hotel means cheap sex."
"Eva?"
Eva jumped. His hand was tight around hers; or was it her hand that was squeezing his? He touched her cheek. "What's wrong? Your pulse skyrocketed."
"Nothing," she smiled and hoped he couldn't tell what was going through her mind. But knowing him, he probably knew exactly what it was, but didn't push the topic further. Instead, he led her to the reception desk where the nice lady greeted them and asked them what she could help them with. Raphael asked if the penthouse suite was available, and when the woman confirmed it was, he began to speak in a smooth voice and maintained an intense eye contact. He was hypnotizing her with the encanto.
"No one is to come up to the penthouse suite until midnight," he said, his tone making shivers run up Eva's spine. The poor receptionist nodded. Raphael added, "I'll need the key."
The woman quickly prepared the keycard for him and held it out. Raphael took it and led Eva to the elevators. He explained himself as they began to ascend, "I never stay the entire night, so it doesn't hurt to abuse my power a little."
Eva couldn't help but smile. That smile quickly dissolved; however, when she stepped into the penthouse suite. It was enormous with a modern design, luxurious furniture, shiny floors, windows overlooking the glittering skyline of Manhattan. A grand piano was situated towards an enormous window where she could see both the Empire State and the Chrysler Building. Raphael led her through the suite, clearly aware of its layout, and entered the enormous bedroom with a canopy bed and equally huge wardrobe, work desk, and nightstands. On the wall before the bed was the biggest plasma television Eva had ever seen.
Wordlessly, Raphael shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby armchair. He kicked off his boots and jumped on the king-sized bed. He rummaged through the nightstand drawer until he found the remote. "Aren't you going to join me?"
"What are you..." Eva was utterly confused, but did as she was told. She took off her cardigan and tossed it next to his jacket, pulled off her Chelsea boots, and climbed onto the bed next to him. He was flipping through channels as she fluffed the pillows against the headboard. She didn't know what these pillows were made of, but she could tell each one cost more than a pillow should probably be worth. Even the comforter she laid on felt like magic.
"It's about to start," Raphael told her as he raised the volume on the television.
It was Spanish television, and when Mexican mariachi music began to play and title cards of actors' names and the roles they played began to appear and dissolve away on screen, Eva couldn't believe her eyes.
"You watch soap operas?" Eva's jaw unhinged at the mere thought.
"Telenovelas," he corrected her. "Destilando Amor starts at eight, and then Fuego en la Sangre is at nine. I watch them back to back."
Eva was biting her bottom lip, desperately trying not to laugh. "You of all people like to watch Mexican telenovelas?"
"I'm Mexican, in case you haven't noticed."
"But they're so…" she looked for another word, but couldn't find it. "Sappy."
"I like them."
"And you like to watch them in style too," Eva said, gesturing at the luxury all around them. "I'm sure a single night in this penthouse costs more than the entire budget for one of those telenovelas."
"I used to watch them at the Dumort, but the reception is terrible and I missed an entire episode once because I couldn't get the TV working again," he rolled his eyes at the mere memory of it. "And then someone would always interrupt me, or someone would be talking loudly in the hallway, or a dog would start barking, or an ambulance would drive by, so this was my solution."
"Abusing your encanto to hypnotize receptionists at luxury hotels to stay in the suites and watch soap operas."
He shushed her with a finger over her lips. "It's starting. I want nothing coming out of that sweet mouth of yours."
