A/N: I think I did pretty well with this chapter… I try really hard to make it about more than just copying the dialogue. Can anyone guess which song Edythe is singing at the beginning? You get a cookie if you get it right! ;) (TBH, it's not hard to guess…)
Song of Inspiration: "Drive" by The Well Pennies
…
Gladness filled my hollow heart.
And what better way to proclaim your gladness, but to sing?
"Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear—love you all the time…"
"You like fifties music?"
I glanced over at the object of my affection, my one true love, my Beau. Our hands were twisted together on the bench seat between us, and I drove one-handed. Every so often, the setting sun—streaking the sky with red, orange and blush pink garlands—would shimmer off my skin, and ruby-tinged rainbows would reflect across his face.
"Music in the fifties was good," I informed him, "Much better than the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" I shuddered in revolt. What had come over the music industry in those ten short years had been reprehensible. I was glad for the passage of time, and where it had brought me. "The eighties were bearable."
"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" he begged.
I smiled at his insatiable curiosity. "Does it matter very much?"
"No," he conceded, "But I want to know everything about you."
"I wonder if it will upset you," I mused under my breath. Would he find it disturbing—would it change how he thought of me? I considered what I knew of Beau's character, and I decided that I doubted this very much.
"Try me," he urged.
I stared into his eyes, trying to ferret out the motive behind his curiosity. But I did not see any apprehension or bracing of any sort. Could it be that he was merely curious? That was all I could comprehend in his eyes… Besides, Beau had heard much scarier things about me than my age…
I sighed, relenting. "I was born in Chicago in 1901." I peeked at him sideways. His face remained unchanged—a mask to hide the shock? "Carine found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and I was dying of the Spanish influenza."
Beau gasped. His sharp inhalation was one of sympathy, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw pain there—pain for me.
Tenderness overwhelmed me.
"I don't remember it very well," I assured him, "It was a long time ago, and human memories fade." My memories of this time, especially before my change, were muddy and unclear. The clearest memories had been the scratchy bed linens… My father's half-crazed emerald eyes, caring for me, even as he died. The conjecture was inevitable to stick with me. Carine had discussed it enough—she had admired his great sacrifice, seeing how much he'd loved me. Enough to sacrifice his own life, in the very slim chance that he would be able to save mine. In truth, I did not survive. In the conventional way, at least. And the pathway to survival had been wrought with pain and torment…
"I do remember how it felt when Carine saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you could forget."
"Your parents?" he queried.
"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That's why she chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."
"How did she… save you?"
The one question I had hoped he wouldn't ask. But it was elemental to the story. I chose my words carefully, not wanting to bring any undue stress to his mind. He didn't need to know all the gory, horrific details—especially about things he would never experience.
"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carine has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of all of us… I don't think you could find her equal anywhere in history. For me, it was merely very, very painful." Even in sharing that much, I felt I'd said too much. I clenched my jaw against anymore accidental truths I might share. I waited for Beau to ask another question, but it didn't come, so I continued. "She acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carine's family, though she found Earnest soon after. He fell from a cliff." Again, Beau didn't need to know all of the horrific details. Besides, I would make a better effort, from here on out, to put my family members in a good light. It would be their responsibility whether they wanted to share their darker sides or not. I would not shed any uncomplimentary light on them. "They took him straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, his heart was still beating."
Earnest's injuries had been horrific. Even Carine, who had studied human anatomy night and day for centuries, was appalled that his heart was still beating.
"So you have to be dying, then…" Beau presumed.
"No," I corrected him, "That's just Carine. She would never do that to someone who had another choice, any other choice. It is easier, she says, though, if the heart is weak." I stared ahead at the road, wondering if I'd shared too much on that last part—again.
"And Eleanor and Royal?" he wanted to know.
"Carine brought Royal into our family next. I didn't realize till much later that she was hoping he would be to me what Earnest was to her—she was careful with her thoughts around me." I rolled my eyes at the whole ordeal. "But he was never more than a brother. It was only two years later that he found Eleanor. He was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish her off. He carried her back to Carine, more than a hundred miles, afraid he wouldn't be able to do it himself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for him."
I gazed into Beau's sweet, tepid eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like, to carry him a hundred miles, all the while streaming blood… I had found a newfound respect for my brother today. I truly did not think I could have done it. Tenderly, I lifted our conjoined hands, brushing the back of his across my face.
"But he made it," he murmured pointedly.
"Yes," I agreed. "He saw something in her face that made him strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple." Much to my severe gratitude. The quietness was incomparable. "But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks is perfect in many ways, so we all enrolled in high school." I laughed at the predictive pattern of our story. Time and time again, we replayed these same chapters. "I suppose we'll have to go to the wedding in a few years. Again."
"Archie and Jessamine?" he wondered.
"Archie and Jessamine are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jessamine belonged to another…" I wondered how to phrase it. Family was not the right word, not at all. What made up a family had been in complete absence of the group Jessamine had belonged to. But for the sake of the story, I supposed it would have to do. "A very different kind of family. She became depressed, and she wandered on her own. Archie found her. Like me, he has certain gifts."
"Really?" Beau jumped in eagerly. Archie would like that. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."
"That's true. He knows other things. He sees things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change." I glanced quickly toward his face, and then away. Yes, things changed. Like how today had ended. Like the fact that I hadn't killed him; that I would never kill him. And the other vision, well, Archie was wrong sometimes. That had to be the explanation. Because, not under any circumstance, would I subject Beau to a half-life of eternal darkness.
"What kinds of things does he see?" Beau pushed.
"He saw Jessamine and knew that she was looking for him before she knew it herself," I illustrated, "He saw Carine, and our family, and they came together to find us. He's most sensitive to non-humans. He always knows, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."
The nature of Archie and Jessamine's relationship had always fascinated me. They'd both come from beginnings of horrendous proportions—Jessamine from the awful bloodbath of the Southern Rebellion; Archie from absolute darkness. He had no idea who had created him, or how his human life had ended. It would be completely reasonable to understand if they'd resigned their lives to the nomadic fashion. With no foundation of compassion or delicacy to lean upon, it was by all means a miracle they'd found their consciences.
As a result, I had always found their relationship had gone much deeper than that of Carine and Earnest, or Royal and El. They shared a bond on a level that was deeper than physical intimacy, deeper than mental, spiritual or emotional compatibility; there were times I swore they could read each others' minds.
"Are there a lot of… your kind?" Beau asked now. I did not miss the way he skipped around the word. I didn't blame him. I avoided speaking it when I could, as well.
"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting people…" I paused to glance worriedly at him, concerned I'd offended him. "…can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there was so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live… differently, tend to band together." I'd gotten myself so wrapped up in my own monologuing that the words spilled naturally from my lips—I did not think of how it might scare him. But his face was impassive, his eyes bright in the changing light. To him, the world around him was darkening. But to me, shadows merely transfigured; colors intensified. I found fresh hues in Beau's eyes that I had not noticed in the light of day.
"And the others?"
"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."
"Why is that?"
I thought it would have been obvious. We were in front of his house now, and I twisted the key in the ignition to kill the engine. Underneath me, the rattling contraption stilled, and it was very quiet in the cab.
"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" I teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."
I took a minute to think about the fact that the nighttime wouldn't be so bad if I had Beau's eyes to look into.
"So that's where the legends came from?" he guessed.
"Probably."
"And Archie came from another family, like Jessamine?"
"No, and that is a mystery. Archie doesn't remember his human life at all. And he doesn't know who created him. He awoke alone. Whoever made him walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If Archie hadn't had the other sense, if he hadn't seen Jessamine and Carine and known that he would someday become one of us, he probably would have turned into a total savage."
I was exceedingly grateful for my brother, the one other I had safely been able to call my confidante, my best friend. I truly did not know how I would have gotten by, all these years, without him. I loved all my siblings, but as annoying and overbearing as he could be, Archie was the one I went to, more often than not, when I needed a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, or advice to glean.
We'd driven around town together, studied together, endured many first days of school together. We'd sat in house after house after house, playing our own made up games, driving El nuts with the way we were able to communicate so silently. I remembered the time we'd literally driven her out of the house with our mute conversations. We liked to see how long we could go without talking. Our record had been a week, communicating simply through mind-reading and precognition, though that had been a long time ago, and I was sure we could extend that timeframe significantly now.
Beau's stomach growled just then, and remorse jerked me to attention. How inconsiderate I'd been! Why hadn't it occurred to me that Beau would need to eat halfway through the day—especially after hiking five miles through the uneven woods! I had detained him long enough, and as sorrowful as it would be to part, I would leave him to attend to his needs.
"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."
"I'm fine, really," he insisted.
"I don't spend a lot of time around people who eat food. I forgot," I confessed. A fool's mistake on my part.
"I want to stay with you," he said, his voice quiet and intense. The joy nearly overwhelmed me. I didn't want to leave him, either.
"Can't I come in?"
"Would you like to?"
"Yes, if you don't mind." I would stay with him for as long as he'd have me. I had nowhere else to be.
He smiled at me now, the expression illuminating his entire face. "I do not," he assured me.
We climbed out of the truck together, and then, just because I could, I hurried ahead to retrieve the key from under the eave, unlocked the door, turned on the porch light, and replaced the key in its former residing place, all before Beau could comprehend my movements. Maybe I was boasting, just a little.
I met him at the door after turning on the lights inside, too.
He gazed at me for half a second, standing in the doorway of his father's house, and incomprehensible emotion flitted through his eyes.
Before I could ask about it, he said, "Did I leave that unlocked?"
"No, I used the key from under the eave," I admitted shamelessly. This surely would bring on a host of all sorts of other questions.
He thought about it for a minute, and then he just shrugged.
What? He was letting it go? This unlikelihood was absolutely unheard of!
"You're hungry, right?" I turned and headed toward the kitchen, flicking the light switch on as I stepped through the doorway. I heard Beau's automatic steps behind me. The kitchen was small. A refrigerator, a counter, the sink, a corner cupboard, the stove, and an end counter. The cabinets were painted a sunny yellow color, and the paint was chipping in places. All of the appliances were second hand. The small round table made of dark wood took up the remainder of the space. Four mismatched chairs circled the surface.
Earnest and Archie would have been horrified by the humble state of the room. Kitchens were their specialty. I reminded myself not to invite them here.
I, however, loved it. It was modest, and cozy—bits of Beau, personified.
I took a seat, and then appraised him, standing motionless in the doorway. He was staring at me.
"Eat something, Beau," I reminded him.
He turned to the task at hand, and I was surprised by how fascinating it was to watch him cook. I had never witnessed the small, seemingly insignificant tasks of his daily life. I had never seen him cook, or clean, read a book or do household chores. I drank in his every motion. The way he swayed easily from refrigerator to countertop to microwave. The way his fingers entered in the combination for the contraption with no thought at all.
I drank in the set of the muscles in his back, the way his thin t-shirt clung to his shape, as he stood at the sink, washing the pan he'd just emptied onto the plate that was now revolving in the microwave.
I memorized what I could—the contents of the refrigerator, the scent of the ingredients I could smell in whatever was in the microwave. I didn't know how to cook, but I would certainly be willing to learn—for Beau.
The smell of human food put me off something awful, but it seemed like it smelled good to him. His stomach rumbled again.
"Hmm," I murmured thoughtfully.
"What's that?"
"I'm going to have to do a better job in the future," I surmised.
He laughed, and the carefree, happy sound brought a smile to my own face. "What could you possibly do better than you already do?"
The answer seemed obvious. "Remember that you're human. I should have, I don't know, packed a picnic or something today." Surely, that would have been a refined lady's thing to do. I had not done my etiquette justice this afternoon.
The microwave dinged on the corner counter, and Beau practically dove for the food. The remorse grew. He winced and dropped the plate on the countertop.
"Don't worry about it," he said, but alas, I was.
He unearthed a fork from the drawer by the sink, sawed off a hunk of the slimy, congealed slab, and shoved it in his mouth, chewing hurriedly.
"Does that taste good?" I asked him, curious. He seemed like he was enjoying it, but it didn't look very good to me.
He swallowed the food loudly. "I'm not sure," he answered, "I think I just burned my taste buds off. It tasted good yesterday." He watched me for a minute. I didn't think I could completely mask my expression of distaste. "Do you ever miss food?" he asked, "Ice cream? Peanut butter?"
"I hardly remember food. I couldn't even tell you what my favorites were. It doesn't smell… edible now."
"That's kind of sad," he mused.
"It's not such a huge sacrifice." Not in comparison to other things I wish I could have… Warmth, normalcy, safety… The chance to go through the stages of life alongside Beau, the chance to give him a love that didn't risk his life at any given moment. I wanted to grow old with him, have babies with beautiful cerulean eyes… Alas, it would never come to fruition. All I could offer him was my cold, dead heart—and it hardly seemed like enough. Not when he gave every warm, precious part of himself every minute we were together.
It wasn't fair that he had to risk his very life, and I had to risk nothing of any consequence.
My heart broke for the boy taking a seat across the table from me now. I would never be able to give him what he deserved out of life. It was cruel, cruel fate that had brought us together. The workings of evil demons, twiddling their thumbs, thinking up ways to torture me.
And it wasn't enough that I was in love with him—I could have handled that. But to ensnare him in this volatile, peril-fraught web… It was inexcusable.
Never had I desired humanity more. To be as frail and delicate as Beau was. To live every day with the chance of never waking up again, just so I could hold his hand without fear of fracturing every mandible. So I could kiss him without fear of losing control and tearing him apart.
If I could be a girl, and not a monster, there was a chance that I could be enough… Alas, I was not.
"Do you miss other parts about being human?"
I answered judiciously: "I don't actually miss anything, because I'd have to remember it to be able to miss it, and like I said, my human life is hard to remember." I knew I was being circumspect with my answer. "But there are things I think I'd like. I suppose you could say things I was jealous of."
"Like what?" he asked.
I picked off an easy one, determined to stay on the surface. "Sleep is one. Never-ending consciousness gets tedious. I think I'd enjoy temporary oblivion. It looks interesting." Oops. I'd realized I'd made a slip, and I waited with bated breath, for Beau to realize my lapse.
He was very quiet, eating a few bites before answering. "Sounds hard," he simply said, "What do you do all night?"
I hesitated, wondering if he really was feeling so casual, or if he was attempting to ferret out the nature of what I'd mistakenly said. I kept my answer vague, hoping to inch my way around the near-blunder. I knew I would have to confess to my nocturnal reconnoitering sometime, but right now, I was embarrassed at being caught. Would he think badly of me? Would he be angry? And though I didn't fear his wrath by any stretch of the imagination, I did want to avoid displeasing him.
"Do you mean in general?" I hedged.
His eyebrows pulled a fraction of an inch together and then relaxed. Damn. I'd said too much… Or, rather, too little. "No, you don't have to be general," he said, "Like, what are you going to do tonight after you leave?"
I hesitated.
"What?"
I wrinkled my nose. I couldn't bring myself to do it—I just couldn't outright lie to him. But I stalled for as long as I could, drawing out the now inevitable. "Do you want a pleasant lie or a possibly disturbing truth?"
"The truth," he decided immediately, but I detected a note of apprehension in his words.
I sighed, relenting. Time to confess, I supposed. "I'll come back here after you and your father are asleep. It's sort of my routine lately."
He blinked, his face going completely blank with shock. His lashes fluttered once, and then again. I waited for the screaming, the shouting, the fainting—oh, sorry, the 'syncopal episode'…
But all he said, somewhat haltingly, was, "You come here?"
"Almost every night," I affirmed, for what was the point in hiding anymore? I'd been caught out.
"Why?" He sounded breathless.
I could deny my rapture no longer. "You're interesting when you sleep. You talk."
His jaw unhinged, color flooding into his face. Was it the flush of anger, or embarrassment? Maybe both?
He didn't say anything.
"Are you very angry with me?" I murmured. It was true—I had infringed on his privacy. Not to mention, it was such a creepy, vampire, fan girl thing to do. But I still hadn't heard the answer to my question.
"How do you… Where do you… What did I…?" The three unfinished sentences served a great annoyance for me—or they would have, if I hadn't known that his train of thought had been lost in the sea of now-apparent horror. He was in such distress he could hardly utter a coherent sentence. I knew how he must have felt—mortified, exposed, frightened. But he didn't understand how fascinating a creature he was; he didn't know he had nothing to be embarrassed over. He didn't know he had nothing to be afraid of. He had been in perfectly capable hands while he slept.
I reached out to cup his hot, rosy cheek. "Don't be upset," I pleaded, "I didn't mean any harm. I promise, I was very much in control of myself. If I'd thought there was any danger, I would have left immediately, I just…" And the last part of the sentence came out somewhat quietly, contrite, "…wanted to be where you were." That was truly the simplicity of it.
"I…" he stammered, and then finally, he uttered a sentence I could understand, "That's not what I'm worried about."
"What are you worried about?"
"What did I say?"
Unintentionally, I smiled. For he had not been afraid. And as much as it dismayed me to see him in distress, I was relieved that it was simple, petty, human-born mortification that had him all out of sorts. "You miss your mother," I shared, hoping it would help ease his discomfiture, "When it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green.'" I laughed softly in remembrance, conscious that I was attempting to keep his confidence intact.
"Anything else?" Obviously, he had something specific on his mind.
I knew what that something might be, and I surrendered. "You did say my name."
He sighed in resignation. "A lot?"
"Define 'a lot'," I prevaricated.
"Oh no," he moaned.
Without having to think about it, I looped my arms around his neck and eased myself into his chest. His heart pounded out a jagged, uneven rhythm and his skin was flushed and warm with embarrassment. I wanted to comfort him, and I suspected this would help.
Automatically, he wrapped his arms around me.
"Don't be self-conscious," I breathed into his shirt, "You already told me that you dream about me, remember?"
"That's different," he complained, "I knew what I was saying."
"If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it." The confession came effortlessly, for it was true.
He stroked my hair, braiding it through with warmth and the lushness of his scent. I closed my eyes and let him hold me—realizing that this had been impossible to me yesterday. Yes, today had been significant. I would have to thank Archie later.
"I'm not ashamed," he finally whispered into my hair, and my response came without thought.
The low hum of pleasure that was caught somewhere between human and animal, but it felt completely natural to me, slipped from somewhere deep inside my throat. It was a sound of affectionate pleasure, and its utterance didn't embarrass me. I knew that Beau accepted me for what I was, and that freedom gave me the ability to truly express myself without reservation.
I had been so caught up in our embrace, that I hadn't noticed Chief Swan's approaching thoughts. He pulled into the driveway, the lamps of his headlights bursting through the window and down the hall. Beau jumped.
I pulled back cautiously.
"Do you want your father to know I'm here?"
His eyes were tense. "Um…" he hesitated.
"Another time, then…" I conceded.
Not for the first time today, I moved too quickly for Beau to notice, flitting from the kitchen and up the stairs before he knew I'd gone. In his bedroom, with the door shut tight, I reclined on his made-up bed, and stared at the ceiling.
Charlie's thoughts were expectant, but happy. Probably hungry. Judging by the scent I caught, he'd had a successful day at the fishing hole. He turned his key in the already unlocked door and stepped into the house.
"Beau?" he called. It was still unusual for him, to share a house.
"In here," Beau called from the kitchen. His voice broke—he was nervous.
Charlie's footsteps were loud on the worn parquet as he tromped into the kitchen.
"Did you take all the lasagna?"
"Oh, sorry. Here, have some."
"No worries, Beau. I'll make myself a sandwich."
"Sorry."
It was quiet for a few moments, the only sounds Beau's digestive processes, and Charlie's preparation of his own dinner.
The chair creaked as Charlie sat at the table.
They exchanged some small talk about their days, and then Charlie's thoughts turned suspicious. Beau's unusually frenetic mood had triggered wariness. Small town or not, Charlie was a police chief, and he didn't miss this odd change in behavior.
"Got plans for tonight?"
A pause. Through Charlie's eyes, I saw Beau shake his head vigorously, cheeks bulging.
"You look kinda keyed up," he noted.
Beau gulped loudly. "Really?"
Very subtle, Beau… I thought, rolling my eyes.
"It's Saturday," Charlie said, trying to play it cool, but he wasn't fooling me. And that wasn't just because I could read his mind—partially. He was a better actor than Beau, but not by much.
Another non-response from Beau. I looked through Charlie's eyes again, and giggled at the sight of his expression. The wide-eyed bewilderment…
"I guess you're missing that dance tonight," Charlie hinted.
"As intended." Beau's tone wasn't quite casual.
"Sure, dancing, I get it." Some sort of mutual understanding occurred in his mind, and I wondered about that. "But maybe next week—you could take that Newton girl out for dinner or something." I hissed quietly. "Get out of the house. Socialize."
"I told you, she's dating my friend."
"Well, there're lots of other fish in the sea," Charlie murmured.
"Not at the rate you're going."
Charlie laughed good-naturedly. "I do my best…" But the suspicion remained. "So you're not going out tonight?"
"Nowhere to go," Beau said, but the lie was not convincing. Charlie's suspicion grew. "Besides, I'm tired. I'm just going to go to bed early again."
Beau's chair scraped across the worn linoleum, and his footpath crossed the kitchen. Water splashed against ceramic—washing his dishes, I was guessing. That meant he was finished, and expectation welled up inside me. Soon we'd be together again.
"Uh-huh. None of the girls in town are your type, eh?" He was curious—he had to be. He'd heard the rumors of Beau's many admirers, and he wanted his son to be happy.
Another long pause from Beau. Amusement from Charlie, and more suspicion, but this felt different… A distinctive type. I was missing a piece of the puzzle, and I focused once more, staring through Charlie's eyes. I saw where he was looking, at the back of Beau's neck, which was bright red.
Ah. I giggled softly, and had to suppress the urge to run a single finger down the back of his suffused neck.
"Don't be too hard on a small town. I know we don't have the variety of a big city—"
"There's plenty of variety, Dad," Beau insisted, the awkwardness clear in his voice, "Don't worry about me."
Why did he insist on no one worrying about him? He'd said it to his mother in his sleep more than once, and now he was saying it to his father… I had never been more concerned for anyone's well-being than I had been for Beau's. He deserved all the concern in the world.
"Okay, okay." Charlie relented, disappointed. He felt responsible for the distance between him and his son. He wished he'd insisted on more regular visits over the years. He regretted not being closer to Beau. "None of my business anyway."
Beau exhaled, and the running water stopped.
"Well, I'm done. I'll see you in the morning."
"'Night, Beau."
His footfalls were heavy as he headed up the stairs—a little over-exaggerated, I thought. It was like was dragging a dead body behind him.
I grinned widely when he entered his room without seeing me, slammed his door, and dashed to the window clamorously. He shoved the pane out of his way and leaned half of his body out into the night.
"Edythe?" he whispered.
I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to tame the quake in my shoulders from laughing so hard and so silently. "Yes?"
He whirled, hand lashing out to swipe a book off his desk. It thunked on the wooden floor, and downstairs, Charlie jumped.
"Oh!" he gasped. His knees quaked, and he reached out to grip the edge of his desk for support.
"I'm sorry," I apologized automatically. I hadn't meant to startle him, but it was rather amusing.
"Just give me a second to restart my heart," he croaked.
I sat up slowly, even for a human, watching his face. As soon as his heart rate began to regulate, I patted the empty spot next to me, eager to have him close again.
He made his way across the room carefully, and took a seat beside me. I laid my hand over his, barely having to think the motion through. I had been terrified to touch him just a day ago, and now, here I was—doing it without conscious thought! What a long way we'd come! My heart sang with joy.
"How's your heart?" I teased.
"You tell me—I'm sure you hear it better than I do."
I laughed. As always, he was more perceptive than most.
We sat quietly for a moment, and I listened to his galloping heart eventually meander into a more normal pace.
"Can I have a minute to be human?" he asked.
"Certainly," I allowed. He could have more than a minute. I wanted him to have all the time in the world to be human.
He rose from the bed, appearing a little steadier than he had before, and then turned to look down at me. Some impenetrable emotion passed through his eyes.
"You'll be here when I get back, right?"
"I won't move a muscle," I promised. It occurred to me that maybe he thought I was going to leave… Where before I'd been prepared to take haste regarding that action if needed, now I was entirely unable to do so. I would be here as long as he wanted me. To humor him, I locked my muscles down and became completely still.
Only my eyes followed him as he gathered sleeping clothes from the bureau, and then slipped out into the hall, pulling the door behind him.
He slammed the bathroom door, too, probably for Charlie's sake. He brushed his teeth—twice—and the thought of that made me smile. Was he self-conscious about how he might smell around me? The irony was not lost on me.
Charlie heard the commotion in the bathroom upstairs, and his thoughts turned distrustful again. Maybe he thought he was getting ready to go out, after all. To meet up with McKayla Newton at the dance, maybe… Envy rose like the tide inside me—completely unreasonably, because I knew that Beau had chosen me; but still. Though I hated to admit it, McKayla would always be a safer choice for Beau than I undoubtedly was.
Just as Beau was finishing up, Charlie mounted the stairs to check on his son. His evasive thoughts were totally focused on Beau. He didn't suspect there was a girl waiting on his bed in his room.
I heard the bathroom lock disengage and then the door swung open.
"Huh!"
"Oh, sorry, Beau." Charlie was surprised to see him dressed for bed—in a pair of ratty sweats, and a t-shirt. "Didn't mean to scare you." I frowned when, through Charlie's eyes, I saw the decal on the front of the shirt—a pig, smiling elatedly from where it was sandwiched between two buns. Should the big really be so happy to be food?
Beau had obviously been caught off guard. His face was red, and his heart was hiccupping again. He took a steadying breath. "I'm good."
Charlie took in Beau's apparel once more, huffing a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. He was surprised, certainly, but the suspicion wasn't totally eradicated, either.
"You heading to bed, too?" Beau asked his father.
"Yeah, I guess. I've got an early one again tomorrow." Exhaustion was suddenly apparent in Charlie's mind, and I knew that was a contributing factor, but the wariness was still strong. He wanted to keep a closer eye on his son.
"Okay," Beau said, "'Night."
"Yeah."
Charlie watched his son's retreating back, questioning his judgment for a moment, but then decided to stand firm.
The bedroom door opened, and Beau stepped into the room. He looked fresh and cozy in his casual apparel, hair damp around the edges, skin smooth and radiant. How was it possible, I thought again, for one human boy to be so absolutely delectable?
His lips stretched into a pleased smile when he saw me still sitting on the bed, in the same position he'd left me in, and I couldn't help but break my composure. The edges of my lips pulled up in answer to his own happiness. I couldn't resist. Beau pulled me like the moon pulled on the tide. I was helpless to its ensuing lure.
He returned to me, and I swiveled to face him, pulling my legs up to cross them under me.
"I'm not sure how I feel about that shirt," I murmured softly, too quietly for Charlie to hear.
"I can change," he offered.
I rolled my eyes. "Not you wearing it—its entire existence," I explained. And then I brushed my fingers across the joyful pig's face, voicing my earlier thoughts. Beau's pulse spiked when I touched him, and that pleased me.
Beau grinned. "Well, we don't know his side of the story, do we? He might have a reason to smile."
I caught the double-meaning in his words, and again found myself questioning his mental stability.
Beau folded my hand in his, flooding me through with pleasant warmth.
"Your dad thinks you might be sneaking out," I confided to him.
"I know," he replied, "Apparently I look keyed up." He repeated his father's earlier words.
I wondered about that. "Are you?" Keyed up, nervous, apprehensive, excited… All of these things could so easily be misconstrued when I didn't have unconscious thought to go off of. Was he really so glad about my staying?
"A little more than that, I think," he said, and delight washed through me once more. Yes. He did want me to stay. He had chosen me. I forced myself to remember that—but it was so easy to lose the wholly undeserved gift when faced with the reasonableness of reality. "Thank you," he added, "For staying."
"It's what I wanted, too." Selfishly. Unreasonably. But I chose to ignore my dark nature now, to focus on my time here with Beau. While he would have me, while his choice was still me, I would bask in it.
I unfolded my legs incrementally, and draped them over his. Then I nestled into his warm, soft shape and pressed my ear against his palpitating heart. It was a more beautiful sound than I could imagine—so entirely delicate and strong, all in the same moment. So easily a human heart could be stopped; but against so many odds, the organ usually found a way to persist. I would keep his heart beating for as long as inevitability would allow.
I felt his arms wrap around me, and he pressed his face into my hair. Warmth surrounded me, from the crown of my head, to the tips of my toes.
My throat scorched, but this urge was becoming easier to reign in, the longer I was around him. Compared to this morning, it was a dull scalding compared to the stabs of fire it had been.
I hummed contentedly.
"This is much easier than I thought it would be," he murmured softly.
I smiled. "Does it seem easy to you?" I tilted my face toward his, and very softly traced the curve of his neck with the tip of my nose, inhaling his succulent fragrance as I went. The fire flared and smoldered, warring with the smolder in my abdomen.
"Well," he gasped as I pressed my lips to the edge of his jaw, "It seems to be… easier… than it was this morning… at least."
"Hmm," I hummed again, lost in the thrumming of his heart, the heat of his skin against mine. The humming electricity that coursed over the surface of my skin, the ache in my stomach that didn't feel anything like thirst… I slipped my arms over his shoulders and boosted myself up until my lips were at his ear. I brushed the delicate outer shell with my bottom lip, breathing in the luscious scent of his hair, his skin… His blood. My throat burned with the thrill of it. But I was merely observing—I appreciated it for what it was, and nothing more.
"Why is that, do you think?" he asked shakily.
"Mind over matter." I breathed the words directly into his ear. Until I'd laid my ear against his heart, until I'd heard the gentle pulse of its vitality, a beating heart had always meant one thing for me. Today, the human heart had become something much different—Beau's, specifically.
Then he shivered, and I pulled back. I'd gotten lost in the moment—for a split second, I had forgotten that the temperature of my skin was so much colder than his. I forgot that he wore only a thin layer of clothing, and that my iciness would chill him almost immediately.
When I brushed my hand across the skin of his bicep where the sleeve of his t-shirt ended, I felt goose bumps.
"You're cold."
"I'm fine," he blatantly lied.
I frowned, disappointed, and resumed my former position. I so wanted to touch him, but it was more important that he stay comfortable. Beau's hands didn't quite let me go. They settled on my hips, the warmth of his hands sinking through the layers of my clothes quickly.
"Your whole body is shivering," I observed.
"I don't think that's from being cold."
We stared at each other in the dim room, and it occurred to me that human bodies trembled for all sorts of reasons. My skin would, of course, make him cold, but it hadn't occurred to me that my closeness, my lips, could have had a similar effect.
Desire rocketed through me so strongly it made my head swirl.
"I'm not sure what I'm allowed to do," he finally said, "How careful do I need to be?"
I paused, displeased by his phrasing. I didn't want him to have to be careful. I skipped over that discussion and answered his earlier question instead. "It's not easier." Experimentally, I brushed my hand over his forearm, watching the goose bumps rise under my touch. "But this afternoon… I was still undecided. I'm sorry, it was unforgivable for me to behave as I did."
"I forgive you."
"Thank you." I smiled at him gratefully and then dropped my eyes to our point of contact once more. It was easier to talk about this without having to look into his eyes. "You see…" I began again, struggling to admit to my weakness, as I lifted his palm to cradle my face, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough… And while there was still that possibility that I might be… overcome"—I pressed my nose to the inside of his wrist and inhaled his scent—"I was… susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would… that I ever could…" But I couldn't say the words out loud. It was too painful.
"So there's no possibility now?"
I looked up at him, repeating my declaration from before: "Mind over matter."
"Sounds easy," he said, grinning. I was glad he could joke about it.
"Rather than easy I would say… herculean, but possible. And so… in answer to your other question…" Yes. I remembered again how closely the two desires overlapped, how they tended to dovetail.
"Sorry."
I laughed. "Why do you apologize?" I meant the inquiry rhetorically, and put my finger over his lips in case he felt the need to elaborate. "It is not easy, and so, if it is acceptable to you, I would prefer if you would… follow my lead? Is that fair?" I dropped my hand so he could reply.
"Of course," he agreed immediately, "Whatever you want."
"If it gets to be… too much, I'm sure I will be able to make myself leave," I assured him. Why did this not sound convincing to me? I would keep Beau safe, at any and all cost—including my own happiness.
His eyes glinted with the metallic tinge of fierce resolve. "I will make sure it's not too much."
"It will be harder tomorrow." I resigned myself to the fact. I would have to leave so he could sleep, now that he knew I'd been coming here at night. I didn't know what I would do with myself tonight. I'd occupied my time by coming here for weeks on end… It would be unfamiliar, and uncomfortable. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think." Although, of course, this was only a theory.
"Never go away," he proposed simply.
I grinned, liking the sound of that. "That suits me. Bring on the shackles—I am your prisoner." I looped my fingers around one of his wrists like a fetter. "And now, if you don't mind, may I borrow a blanket?" He had not quite stopped shivering, and I was going to remedy that.
"Oh, um, sure. Here." He reached behind me, leaning in as he did so, and I breathed in the fragrance that washed over me. Yes, it had gotten much easier over the course of the day, but it was not without effort. The fire in my throat flared. He passed me the quilt that had been folded over the edge of the bed, and I released his wrist so I could unfold it. He looked surprised when I handed it back to him.
"I'd be happier if I knew you were comfortable," I explained.
"I'm very comfortable," he assured me.
I fought a smile. "Please?"
He draped the quilt over his shoulders like a cape.
I giggled. "Not exactly what I was thinking." I stood, covering anywhere our skin might touch, and then I climbed back into his lap—the place I liked most to be, with my ear nestled to his chest so I could hear his heart beat.
This was a far more beautiful symphony than I could ever compose. The steady thumping of his heart was a full-bodied masterpiece.
"Better?"
"I'm not sure about that," he pouted.
I smiled. "Good enough?" I compromised.
"Better than that," he said.
I laughed.
I felt his hand stroke my hair, carefully, and I closed my eyes.
"It's so strange," I mused without opening them, "You read about something… you hear about it in other people's minds, you watch it happen to them… and it doesn't prepare you even in the slightest for experiencing it yourself. The glory of first love. It's more than I was expecting." All those long years of watching Carine and Earnest, El and Royal, Archie and Jess… To see their bonds and appreciate them for what they were, to hear their viewpoints on it in their own minds was one thing… But to experience it—physically, emotionally, mentally—was an occurrence like none other. It was stronger, more life-affirming, disorienting and grounding than I had ever thought love could be.
"Much more," he agreed, and his voice was ardent.
"And other emotions, too," I went on, "Jealousy, for example. I thought I understood that one clearly. I've read about it a hundred times, seen actors portray it in a thousand plays and movies, listened to it in the minds around me daily—even felt it myself in a shallow way, wishing I had what I didn't… But I was shocked." I lifted my head to look him in the eye, finding that I was pouting. "Do you remember the day that McKayla asked you to the dance?"
He nodded. "The day you started talking to me again."
"I was stunned by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. I didn't know jealousy could be so powerful… so painful. And then you refused her, and I didn't know why. It was more aggravating than usual that I couldn't just hear what you were thinking. Was there someone else? Was it simply for Jeremy's sake? I knew I had no right to care either way. I tried not to care… And then the line started forming."
Beau groaned, and I laughed at the memory of his expressions.
"I waited, more anxious than I should be to hear what you would say to them, to try to decipher your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure. I didn't know what your answer would have been, if I'd asked." I glanced up at him guiltily, wondering if this would disturb him, "That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral, ethical, honorable, and what I wanted. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would find someone you wanted, someone human like McKayla. It made me sad," I admitted.
"And then,"—I was reliving the moment, flooded with pleasure by the memory—"as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The emotion that coursed through me then was unnerving… staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer."
I took a brief moment of pause, to listen to the acceleration of his heart.
"But jealousy," I continued, "It's so irrational. Just now, when Charlie asked you about that annoying girl…"
"That made you jealous. Really?" His tone was incredulous.
"I'm new at this," I explained, "You're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."
"Honestly, though," he insisted, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Royal—male model of the year, Royal, Mr. Perfect, Royal—was meant for you. Eleanor or no Eleanor, how can I compete with that?"
I grinned, remembering Royal's unreasonable jealousy. He didn't hold a candle to the flame of desire Beau provoked in me. I snaked my arms around his neck again. "There's no competition."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Beau murmured, his own arms folding around me, cloaking me in warmth. "Is this okay?"
"Very," I conceded. "Of course Royal is beautiful in his own way, but even if he wasn't like a brother to me, even if he didn't belong with Eleanor, he could never have one tenth—no, one hundredth—of the attraction you hold for me." I gazed into his clear, blue eyes, and wondered how I could explain sufficiently. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours… all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet." My life, of course, had points of reason up until then—but looking back on it now, I remembered the undeniable permanent shift Beau had created in me, and it seemed so entirely obvious now.
"It doesn't seem fair. I haven't had to wait at all. Why do I get off so easily?"
"You're right," I scoffed sarcastically, "I should make this harder for you, definitely." I paused to brush my hand ever so softly against his cheek, my voice serious now, though I tried to keep up with the joke. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, surely that's not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity… what is that worth?" A lump rose in my throat, icy and unforgiving.
"I'm not feeling deprived," he said softly.
The shame had me burying my face in his chest. "Not yet," I whispered. As time passed, as his mental and emotional capabilities grew and shifted with his age, surely he would come to want things that I could never give him. Surely he would come to resent me… I was unmovable in my current state—never maturing, never shifting—surely he would come to crave someone who could grow and change alongside him.
"What—" he started to ask, but then noticed me tense. Charlie's thoughts had been so quiet I almost hadn't heard him get out of bed to check on Beau one last time before he went to sleep.
I dove for the shelter of his closet. "Lie down," I hissed at him.
He did as I asked, throwing himself back onto the mattress, jerking onto his side and tugging the quilt over his body. He took long, exaggerated breaths—heaving lungfuls, as if he were preparing to dive underwater, rather than feigning a boy asleep.
From where Charlie cracked the door open, peering in, he saw the rise and fall of Beau's shoulders, but the motion didn't look as melodramatic as it did to me, with his dim human sight.
Satisfied that Beau apparently had no intentions of gallivanting off into the night, he clicked the door shut and went back to bed, his mental atmosphere appeased and groggy. I didn't think he'd bother us again tonight.
I joined Beau on the mattress, pulling his arm over my shoulders as I nestled into his chest. I was back where I belonged, and the delight of his warmth combined with the pleasure of even being able to be this close, overwhelmed me. The thirst flared in the back of my mind, of course, but the tenderness of this moment took center stage.
"You're a terrible actor," I teased, "I'd say that career path is out for you."
"There goes my ten-year plan," he muttered sarcastically. I grinned at his joke. Against my breast, his heart was thrashing behind his sternum.
Without the ministration being a conscious action, I began to hum the composition I'd created for him, hoping it would calm his erratic state. I paused, realizing I hadn't asked. "Should I sing you to sleep?"
"Right. Like I could sleep with you here."
"You do it all the time," I pointed out.
"Not with you here." And he tightened his grip around me, his palm flattening between my shoulder blades. It made me grin.
"You have a point," I agreed. His closeness was doing strange, electric things to me, too. "So if you don't want to sleep what do you want to do, then?" I flirted with the vague question, knowing how many different ways it could be taken.
"Honestly?" he said quietly, "A lot of things. None of them careful."
I realized I was holding my breath. The cacophony of eagerness and trepidation were at war inside me, pushing my insides around. I didn't know how to process it.
"But since I promised to be careful," he continued hurriedly, "what I'd like is… to know more about you."
Relief and appreciation replaced the apprehension and doubt, and I smiled gratefully. I appreciated his gentlemanliness to no end.
"Ask me anything." Again, the freedom I felt in being able to tell him truly anything was outstanding.
"Why do you do it?" he inquired, and at first I didn't know what he meant. "I still don't understand," he went on, "why you work so hard to resist what you… are. Don't get me wrong, of course I'm glad that you do—I've never been happier to be alive. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."
"That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it," I murmured. So many of our kind had not been able to share our viewpoint, had not understood the purpose of the self-imposed struggle. "The others—the vast majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been… dealt a certain hand… it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above—to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."
I remembered the long evenings I'd spent in conversation with Carine, trying to grasp and understand these things as she'd first told them to me. Even then, before I'd had a reason to live for much of anything, I had wanted to believe them. Part of it was that the desire to redeem myself in any way I possibly could had been at the forefront of my mind. Regardless of whether I was going to hell or not because of what I'd become, I could see the value in doing the best I could with my fate, just as she was doing.
Of course, my rebellion a few years later had still occurred, but all the while, I had justified myself with the belief that I was making the world a better place by doing away with its mortal wrong-doers. Surely, my efforts had to count for something.
A long moment had passed, and Beau laid completely still, and quiet. His breaths came and went evenly.
"Did you fall asleep?" I breathed softly into his t-shirt. If he had, I didn't want to wake him.
"No." His voice came husky and low in the quiet.
"Is that all you were curious about?" I inquired.
"Not quite."
"What else do you want to know?"
"Why can you read minds—why only you?" he wondered, "And Archie, seeing the future and everything… why does that happen?"
I shrugged. "We don't really know," I answered truthfully, "Carine has a theory… she believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. She thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Archie had some precognition, wherever he was."
"What did she bring into the next life, and the others?" he wanted to know.
"Carine brought her compassion," I shared, "Earnest brought his ability to love passionately. Eleanor brought her strength, Royal his… tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness," I—mostly—joked, giggling. "Jessamine is very interesting. She was quite charismatic in her first life, able to influence those around her to see things her way. Now she is able to manipulate the emotions of those near her—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."
Beau was quiet for a moment, and I waited for him to digest what I'd told him. I supposed it could be very overwhelming.
"So where did it all start?" he finally asked, "I mean, Carine changed you, and then someone must have changed her, and so on…"
"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation?" I didn't know where Beau stood on a religion standpoint, so I left the options open-ended, "Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"
"Let me get this straight—I'm the baby seal, right?"
"Correct," I laughed, and touched the delicate curve of his lips. The urge to press mine to his once more, even chastely, nearly overtook me. "Aren't you tired?" I inquired to distract myself. If he was sleeping, it would be easier to control my desires. "It's been a rather long day."
"I just have a few million more questions," he stated.
"We have tomorrow," I reminded him, "And the next day, and the next…"
I hugged myself closer to his front, marveling at the miracle he'd given me. The rest of his forever, spent next to him, if he'd have me… Ah. It was bliss to imagine.
"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" he asked. "You are mythical, after all."
"I won't leave you." This vow I could make confidently.
"One more, then, tonight," he conceded. And then, I felt the heat rush up his neck, into his face. His heart stuttered and sprinted.
"What is it?" I was surprised at his strange, biological reaction. What could that be about?
"Um, nope, forget it. I changed my mind."
Ugh. That old torturous deaf curiosity flared. How I wished I could hear his thoughts in these instances. "Beau, you can ask me anything."
He was silent, and I moaned, the inquisitiveness very nearly painful.
"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse." How was such a thing possible?!
"It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking," he accused lowly.
"Please tell me?" I spoke with gentle-influence, in the way that I hoped would get him to talk. It had worked before…
He shook his head.
Okay, so cajoling hadn't worked… How about coercion? "If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is."
"I shouldn't have brought it up," he muttered, and then his teeth locked—audibly.
The edgy curiosity grew exponentially. "Please?"
He exhaled heavily, and I smiled, knowing I was winning. "You won't get… offended?" he clarified.
"Of course not," I assured him. He'd asked me questions before he thought would offend, and they hadn't. Surely, this would be much of the same.
He took a bracing breath, and the anticipation widened. "Well…" He hesitated, and then surged forth, "So, obviously, I don't know a lot that's true about vampires—" He stalled.
"Yes?" I prodded.
He sighed again, sounding relieved this time. Had he been worried about my reaction to the word? But I didn't have time to ponder this, because he was speaking again: "Okay, I mean, I just know the things you've told me, and it seems like we're pretty… different. Physically. You look human—only better—but you don't eat or sleep, you know. You don't need the same things."
"Debatable on some levels," I said, "but there are definitely truths in what you're saying. What's your question?"
He took another deep breath. "I'm sorry," he blurted.
Agh! "Ask me!"
Then the words spewed forth in haste: "So I'm just an ordinary human guy, and you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I am just… overwhelmed by you, and a part of that, naturally, is that I'm insanely attracted to you" And I to you. "which I'm sure you can't have helped but notice, what with your being, like, super aware of my circulatory system" I smiled, amused. "but what I don't know is, if it's like that for you. Or is it like sleeping and eating, which you don't need and I do—though I don't want them nearly as much as I want you? You said that Eleanor and Royal go off and live like a married couple, but does that even mean the same thing for vampires? And this question is totally offside, completely not first date appropriate, and I'm sorry and you don't have to answer." He drew in a ragged lungful of air.
Of course. This had been what he'd been embarrassed about, and it suddenly all made sense. Abruptly, I was amused by his teenage-esque curiosity.
"Hmm…" I joked, "I would have said this was our second date."
"You're right," he agreed, his voice tight with humiliation.
I laughed. "Are you asking me about sex, Beau?"
The heat from his skin radiated through the air between us anew. "Yes," he admitted. "I shouldn't have."
I laughed again. Why had this not been more obvious to me? He was a teenage boy. Of course he would wonder… "I did climb into your bed, Beau. I believe that makes this line of inquiry quite understandable."
"You still don't have to answer," he said.
"I told you that you could ask me anything," I reminded him. "So…" I refocused, "in the general sense—Sex and Vampires One-Oh-One. We all started out human, Beau, and most of those human desires are still there—just obscured behind more powerful desires. But we're not thirsty all the time, and we tend to form… very strong bonds. Physical as well as emotional. Royal and Eleanor are just like any human couple who are attracted to each other, by which I mean, very, very annoying for those of us who have to live with them, and even more so for the one who can hear their minds."
He laughed softly, and I took part.
"Awkward," he stated.
"You have no idea." Then I sighed, my mood falling. "And now in the specific sense… Sex and Vampires One-Oh-Two, Beau and Edythe." I exhaled again. I wasn't sure how closely linked my desire for Beau's body, and my desire for his blood, were. Where one resided, did the other, as well? Did they feed off of each other, encourage each other? I simply didn't know the answers to these questions, and I wasn't going to unearth them by means of experimentation. "I don't think… that would be possible for us."
"Because I would have to get too… close?"
Very, very vigilantly, I kept my mind completely focused on the conversation at hand. "That would be a problem, but that's not the main problem. Beau, you don't know how… well, fragile you are. I don't mean that as an insult to your manliness, anyone human is fragile to me. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, simply by accident." Softly, I laid my palm against his cheek. "If I were too hasty… if I were at all distracted, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."
He cringed, and I thought he understood.
"I think I could be very distracted by you," I admitted in a low murmur.
"I am never not distracted by you," he returned.
I was surprised when an unbidden flash of anger coursed through me. No, not anger—envy. The question wasn't appropriate, but I just had to know anyway. I struggled to sound casual. "Can I ask you something now—something potentially offensive?"
"It's your turn," he allowed.
"Do you have any experience with sex and humans?"
"Not even a little bit," he confessed, and relief sunk in, swift and sure. "This is all firsts for me. I told you, I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."
"I know. It's just that I hear what other people think. I know that love and lust don't always keep the same company."
"They do for me."
More elated reprieve. "That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least."
"Oh," he said simply, sounding surprised. "So, you do find me distracting?" he asked.
"Indeed." I grinned up at him, the soft, sleepy ocean of his eyes, the lush fringe of lashes, his dark, thick hair, the sinewy shape of him… "Would you like me to tell you the things that distract me?" The full camber of his lips, the sweet dimple that showed in his chin when he smiled widely…
"You don't have to." He sounded self-conscious, and I remembered that Beau was not as sure about himself as he ought to be. That resolved my decision.
"It was your eyes first," I began, staring into that beautiful, starry gaze now, "You have lovely eyes, Beau, like a sky without clouds. I've spent all my life in rainy climates and so I often miss the sky, but not when I'm with you."
"Er, thanks?" He didn't sound convinced.
I giggled. Those eyes looked adorably disconcerted now, in the face of my proclaimed admiration. "I'm not alone," I pressed, "Six of your ten admirers started with your eyes, too."
"Ten?"
"They're not all so forward as Taylor and McKayla. Do you want a list? You have options."
His eyes narrowed. "I think you're making fun of me. And either way, there is no other option."
Tiny detonations of ecstasy exploded in my chest, hearing those words.
I continued on: "Next it was your arms—I'm very fond of your arms, Beau—this includes your shoulders and hands." I ran my hand softly up and down his arm, from shoulder to fingers, up and down, and then one more time. "Or maybe it was your chin that was second…" I touched my fingers to his face, unsure. There were so many competing candidates. "I'm not entirely sure. It all took me quite by surprise when I realized that not only did I find you delicious, but also beautiful."
His face and neck were radiant with color, brightening his eyes.
"Oh," I remembered, "and I didn't even mention your hair." I pushed my fingers through the strands, brushing my nails ever-so-gently against his scalp—aware of just how catastrophically easy it would be to peel the skin away from his skull.
"Okay," he said, "now I know you're making fun."
"I'm truly not," I insisted. "Did you know your hair is just precisely the same shade as a teak inlaid ceiling in a monastery I once stayed at in…" I thought for a fraction of a second, "I think it would be Cambodia now?"
"Um, no," he said, "I did not." He yawned loudly, and I felt his body relax against me.
I laughed, pleased by the fact that he could relax in my presence. "Did I answer your question to your satisfaction?"
"Er, yes." His eyelids drooped.
"Then you should sleep," I encouraged in a whisper.
"I'm not sure if I can."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No!" he blurted, too loudly, and in the next room, Charlie started—not quite waking.
I giggled, delighted, and started the lullaby over, humming softly in his ear till I felt his limbs grow heavy, and his breaths grew even and slow.
After a while, I pulled back to look at his relaxed face.
"Are you asleep?" I whispered.
He didn't respond, which gave me my answer. I grinned, and, because he was asleep, I reached forward with careful, gentle fingers, and traced the shape of his face, over and over.
…
A/N: If you have a free minute, please let me know what you thought of this one. Until next time! :)