Page 11 of By the Pint

But I had to face facts. I was lonely. Chronically so. Had been for centuries. Sure, I’d had friends. Lost friends. Got new, better friends. It wasn’t quite the same.

I’d watched my flatmates, Taurin and Joey, happily married now for over a year, and Goldie and Holly, sickeningly, happily engaged, and I wondered if it would ever be my turn.

But no, it would never happen to me. Never could. Because of my gift/affliction.

Imagine falling so completely and wholly in love with someone, and believing they felt the same about you, only to take them to bed and know they were thinking about somebody else. Or waking up one evening and learning that they’d stopped loving you, but never planned to tell you.

It happened. I knew it happened. But ignorance was bliss.

I’d been robbed entirely of that ignorance.

This was why I should definitely,definitelynot have a one-night stand with the strapping god-like human who bought the last copy of my book. Even if he’d spent the entire five-minute encounter flip-flopping between being awestruck, trying to break into my mind, and wondering what I looked like on my knees.

It’s not that I was unhappy. I was plenty happy. I’d had success in business, and money, and friendships.

But a vampire couldn’t have everything in his un-life.

I should take a shower instead. Let myself remember Casey’s warm, firm handshake just this one time. Crank one out. Watch my self-pity swirl down the drain. Put on my PJs, open a can of B-positive, chuck Wings of Fortune on the telly, and forget about him.

Forget his master had sent him on a mission to extract my business secrets. Because I saw what he was really there for.

Forget his master was Killian. My estranged blood-brother. My arch-nemesis.

Forget that Killian, who I suspected hadn’t changed in the three, no, four centuries since I last saw him, never had a business minded bone in his entire body. Killian never gave a single iota of shit about entrepreneurship, and I highly doubted he did now.

Forget something here felt … off, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Even though I could read every one of Casey-not-Sean’s thoughts and memories.

I should definitely not go to the bloodbath. And I should definitely not leave with the gorgeous, mercurial, telepathic, human ex-athlete.

More importantly, what would I even wear?

I rifled through the armoire. I’d only brought three variations of the same maroon cloak. Three nearly identical flouncy linen shirts, and three exactly identical pairs of black chinos.

Damn, I’d become such a stereotype.

Well, maybe I could go downstairs and have one drink. I didn’thaveto sleep with him.

If it came to it, and Casey wanted to take me back to his hotel room, I would just say no.

I would say no.

No.

No, no, no.

No thank you, kind sir, I do not need your hot human lips on me, or your soft, manicured but fucking powerful hands teasing open my belt. No, nuh-uh. Now you just take those long athletic legs of yours and you march the hell away from me.

Yup, that’s what I’d say to him.

I was so fucked.

The Grand Chamber had been cleared of its chairs and business talk paraphernalia, and was now a mess of writhing bodies. Already. The conference was always held on the eve of Winter Fest, the longest night of the year. Which meant that many patrons were wandering the grounds of DreadmourneCastle and would be for another two or three hours at least. Only coming back in when the sun was due to make its explosive presence known. So, the Grand Chamber was only about half as busy as it would get.

Still, I saw a great many … bodies. Difficult to tell species or living status when everyone was so entangled. There were full latex bodysuits with masks, or masks with literally nothing else, and reins, harnesses, and whips, and a small group of vampires who, for one night only, enjoyed dressing as werewolves. And that was just on my way to the bar.

In the end, I’d opted for my maroon cloak with the gilt floral embroidery, the least frilly dress shirt I owned, and no velvet waistcoat, though it felt sinful not to wear one. I put the thing on twice before removing it again and tossing it across the room. But Casey was modern, with his designer suit and gryphon leather shoes and belt, and I couldn’t bear it if he thought I was fusty and old-fashioned.

I didn’t even have any fancy cologne to wear like he did. He’d smelled like shower-fresh soap, and like the sea before daybreak on a bitter winter dawn, and like the factory-new leather of car seats, and like warm buttery skin.

---