Page 13 of Snowed in with the Vampire Prince

Pierce leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he searched my face. “Your pupils aren’t dilated. That’s odd. The effects of my blood must have burned away from healing your wounds.”

He settled back, but the frown on his lips deepened as he regarded me, as though that made my behavior even more confusing for him.

“So, I am in my right mind, and I do know what I’m saying.”

He pursed his lips, seeming annoyed. “It appears so.”

“And now what?” I asked, my pulse pounding faster than before. But not from fear. “We’re stuck here together until the wolves beat down the door or go away on their own?”

“I suppose not. I can call for backup. I can even get us a ride out of here by chopper.” He stood and flashed me a triumphant smile. “Being the only child of a vampire king has its advantages.”

He reached into his pants pocket, and then the smile died on his lips. He patted each pocket in turn, a look of total disbelief transforming his face. “That’s impossible. My phone is gone. I must have dropped it somehow when I was carrying you back from the campsite.”

“So, we’re stuck here together,” I confirmed. “Like I said.”

“I don’t suppose you have a cell phone on you?”

“It’s also back at the campsite. Not that I would have gotten any reception up here anyhow.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. He sank back into the chair. “The werewolves need moonlight to remain in their wolf form. When the sun rises, they will become human again. They won’t be a match for me, and I’m sure they know that. When the morning comes, I’ll see you to your Jeep myself. Can I trust you to remain here with me until then?”

“The sunlight isn’t going to be an issue for you?”

“No,” he said. But I could tell from the stiff way he said it that he was lying again. He added, “Your word, please?”

“Why is sunlight a problem?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest.

He sighed. “Sure, I’ll tell the human all about vampire weaknesses—why not?” He shook his head, as though in disbelief that he was going to humor me. “Sunlight is irritating. It’s overpowering, so it dulls our senses and saps our strength. Not enough to matter, really. But it’s a nuisance. We become less sensitive to it as we age. Newborns have a much harder time with it. I will be fine.”

“You don’t burst into flames?”

“That’s a ridiculous myth.” He gave me a look edging into glare territory. “Give me your word that you won’t leave this cabin until it’s safe to do so—with me at your side.”

I grimaced. “I don’t like making promises.”

“And why is that?” From the way Pierce’s gaze zeroed in on mine, he had clearly caught that I had just revealed something very real and very important about myself.

I didn’t want to tell him, but I was stuck. Grudgingly, I admitted, “Because I don’t break my promises. Ever.”

“Even better.” Pierce grinned at me. It made my heart pound harder to see his smile. "It's decided. We will ride out the storm—figurative and literal—and then I will see you to safety. But I need your word that you won’t leave this cabin until dawn.”

“I don’t want to promise you anything of the sort.”

“You owe me,” Pierce reminded me, his amber eyes dancing in the orange light of the fire.

I swore under my breath because he wasn’t wrong. I’m sure he caught exactly which choice curse words I used because his smile widened into something a lot more genuine, filled with real amusement. And he waited me out, the bastard.

“Fine,” I snapped, giving in at last. “I promise. You have my word that I won’t leave this cabin without you until dawn. Unless I have no other choice.”

He sighed with clear annoyance at the loophole I had introduced, but then he seemed to give in. “That will have to do. So, I’m afraid you’re stuck in here with me for another—” He broke off to look at the gold watch on his wrist. Then he grimaced. “Five hours.”

He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly like a human would have. It was clear from that small action that he wasn’t quite as blasé about our current predicament as he pretended to be.

Nice to know we had that in common, at least.

“Vampires can breathe?” I asked, still studying him as carefully as he’d studied me.

“Of course,” he replied, momentarily distracted from our plight. “Vampire bodies still work basically the same way as they did when we were human. We don’t need to breathe, strictly speaking, but we’re still capable of doing it.” He paused, shrugging at me. “Plus, it’s pretty much a requirement of speech to use the breath to form words. Not to mention, it’s a habit. And it’s calming for us, just like it would be for a human.”

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