Page 8 of Make Me Bleed

He grins, flashing his fangs. “Elise.”

He smiles like he means it, but I know better. That’s why I do whatever I can to slow my racing heart before I give Julian the wrong idea. “Afternoon.”

His grin widens, and I clench my jaw. Crap. He got the wrong idea alright. Instead of assuming that the way he’s cornering me is enough to spook another vampire, he caught the thrum of my pulse and immediately believed it was a signal of my attraction to him.

He’s gorgeous, of course. It’s a vampire quirk. To lure our prey close, we have to be alluring, don’t we? Tempting, too. We rarely need to rely on thralling our donors when a seductive smile does the job for us.

Julian has aristocratic features: high cheekbones, a sloped nose, firm lips. He’s as fair-skinned as I am—thanks to SPF-5000, I’m sure—with sleek white-blonde hair smartly parted on the left. He has a divot in his chin, and a come-hither look in his eyes as he bows his lean body over mine.

There’s also a slight flush to his cheeks that says he’s not only full, but that he’d recently fed.

Bastard. He’s rubbing it in, isn’t he? I’m almost sure of it, and then he uses his other hand to stroke my cheek, drawing attention to how colorless it is.

There’s something about Julian. He wears civility like a suit, but there’s been poison under every polite word he’s said to me since I followed Bridget to Dyea. It’s another reason why I’ve stayed away from him, so why is he herenow?

I don’t know, and I’m not sure I really want to.

Trying to stay polite myself—as befitting a born vampire, trained from the cradle… and not the coffin—I ease my head out of his reach. “I was on my way to meet Bridget,” I tell him. It’s not a lie. After my walk, I planned on seeing if Bridget would talk to me without her wolfy shadow. “So, if you’ll excuse me…”

I’d hoped that would be enough. That Julian would understand that, whatever’s brought him to my doorstep, I’m not interested.

He likes to think he’s in charge of the vampires in Dyea. Stacey warned me about that my first few days in town, one of the only vamps who deigned to notice our arrival. If therewasa Cadre, Julian would insist on leading it, but since there isn’t, he controls the vampires through the whisper network that doesn’t quite reach my side of the sanctuary.

He’d left me alone, and I was so consumed with making sure that Bridget was okay—and, yes, with my thirst, too—that I forgot about Julian.

Until now.

I thought my excuse, flimsy as it was, would be enough to get the other vampire to drop his hand and back away. Instead, his gaze sweeps over me like I’m a pet who’s performed an amusing trick and he’s debating whether or not to give me a treat.

I don’t like drawing attention to myself. I get enough of it as it is, and I’ve learned long ago that no matter what I wear, my vampiric nature will win out. Whether it’s a burlap sack or a piece of silky lingerie, most males react as though it’s the latter. That thought in mind, I’ve always decided that I might as well choose the style of clothing that I feel the most comfortable in.

My parents insisted that a proper van Duren female is always immaculately dressed. Whether in a skirt or trousers, wearing flats or heels, I haven’t changed my appearance since I was a young fledgling, barely coming into her fangs.

I do prefer my heels. Bridget calls me petite, and she’s being kind. I’m short. The heels give me an added three inches in height, and I crave them.

I totter on them now, trying to hide from his pale-eyed stare.

The way Julian is watching me so closely without saying anything gives me enough of a push to duck under his arm sothat there is some space between us. It helps that I’m a good six inches shorter than Julian, even in my heels, and I’m an expert maneuvering on the high points. Plus, my quick escape only seems to interest him more.

Crap. The last thing I need right now is a male deciding I’m worthy of his attention, vampire or not. One of my favorite things about living in the sanctuary is how small of a community it is. Between staying inside our given cabin and not having such a large population to deal with, it’s been such a relief to justexist.

No constant dates, desperate for a nip. No humans stalking me when I reject or refuse them. No males eye-fucking me without any shame. No females doing the same, or if they’re not, then scalding me with their hateful, jealous glares.

If only Dyea had a blood bank or a few unclaimed donors willing to feed a vamp. It would be perfect then, though it’s fairly close now.

Or so I thought, until Julian moves gracefully down the porch steps, meeting me on the earth, his calculating gaze never leaving my face.

From a distance, it would seem as if we were simply a vampire male and female circling each other, having a chat. He’s not so close as to be considered improper—or a threat—and I’m not showing off any signs of my innate discomfort. Slowing my heart rate further, giving him a lofty expression in return, I ask, “Was there something you needed to discuss, Julian? Because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Don’t worry, Elise. I’m not offended by how eager you are to be rid of me. I know better than most of our kind how testy the thirst can make us.”

I immediately tense up. The thirst… he knows. He can tell just how much I’m struggling with it.

I can’t deny it, and Julian takes my silence as my agreement that he’s right. His voice is suddenly smooth as he says, “The thirst is terrible, Elise. Luckily, I can help you with that.”

Out of the kindness of his heart? Not likely. “And how would you do that?”

“I won’t share my human. I think we both know that. But there’s another arrangement?—”

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