Page 89 of How a Vampire Falls

Now the entire roomful of strangers was studiously ignoring them. Without context, they must think her the oddest vampire ever.

She could let it go. They were already moving on, filling glasses with the rich, red liquid that kept them all alive…and it appeared, on occasion, also helped them celebrate.

Perfectly safe. Okay. Leslie cleared her throat, and as one Ryker’s friends turned to her. “I, um, I wasn’t raised among our kind. I keep learning all sorts of new things about vampire culture. That’s why I wasn’t sure about this.” She nodded to the cooler on the floor.

Their eyes brightened with questions. Philippa said, “Were you adopted?”

“No, but my parents weren’t always forthcoming with information about us.”

“For real?” Logan balanced his full glass on his palm and seemed to forget it was there. “Most vampire parents are anuisance with all the culture-passing and oral history and blah-blah-blah. I wonder why yours were different.”

“I’m hoping to find that out.”

Ryker had meanwhile broken the seal on another blood bag and poured its contents into the last empty wine glass. “Pause on the questions, y’all.” Then he held out the glass to Leslie. “Start with a sip. See how it feels to slake when you’re not depleted at all.”

Leslie brought the glass to her lips and took a small sip. Her fangs descended with the familiar passing ache, and then… Whoa. She was alive. She was awake. Pure energy surged from the center of her body to the tips of her toes and fingers, raced across her scalp, buzzed back to her center. She bounced from one foot to the other, and the liquid swirled in her glass; of course, she didn’t spill a drop. She bounced again, sipped again.

“Wow,” she said.

“Doesn’t it feel amazing?” Claire said.

“So amazing.”

“Okay.” Ryker was grinning. “Now we can keep talking.”

As if Ryker hadn’t paused the conversation, Mackey said, “Ryker told us you live in a town with a population below a thousand people.”

“Harmony Ridge,” Leslie said. “I love it.”

“How many vampires live there?”

“Three. Me and my parents.”

She had rendered all of them speechless. A moment later she was answering a volley of questions about her life experience, but in no way did she feel like an outsider. In fact their interest had the opposite effect. Leslie felt accepted as she never had before, not by a group anyway. Coworkers, acquaintances, neighbors—she could chat it up with the best extroverts, but this was different. Maybe because they were vampires. Maybebecause they were getting to know her out of their friendship with Ryker.

They drifted into Ryker’s den, which was Leslie’s favorite room in his condo. Unlike the dark wood and coffee-brown walls of his study/workroom, his den was bright. The wall of windows showed the last ebbing glow of the sunset past his modest green strip of backyard and, past that, a reassuring privacy fence. The walls were a faded sort of blue like light-wash denim. The furniture was pale-gray leather; the bookcases were unstained, natural pine. His pine-green throw pillows and blankets all popped as the only dark things in the room.

Less than an hour ago, Laurence and Senna had sat here with them. Now Ryker’s friends sprawled or perched on his furniture or the floor and made easy conversation, peppering Leslie with more questions.

She answered while continuing to take little sips of her drink. The vigorous rush didn’t last long, only a few minutes past the first sip. After that her body settled into a more relaxed enjoyment of the company as well as the liquid in her glass.

At last, when everyone had at least half-finished their beverage, Leslie said, “My turn. I want to know how y’all met, how this friend-group happened.”

“Ooh, memories,” Philippa said.

“So,” Logan said, “obviously we should tell this chronologically. First of all, I became friends with Nova when we were very, very small.”

“Roughly the size of limes.” Nova nodded with mock gravitas.

“We spent two-and-a-half decades growing our friendship.”

“And then about three years ago we met the rest of these apex predators.”

Leslie nodded along with the ping-pong of the story, each twin taking up a line as if they’d scripted the whole thing. Leslie was willing to bet they hadn’t.

“Hold up,” Claire said. “You said chronological. You skipped a few years.”

“True,” Nova said. “We’re the newest additions—or we were until you, Leslie.”

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