Page 30 of Blood Secret

8

Janna

I wokeup with sweat plastering hair to the back of my neck. Why did I bother showering? I kept my eyes closed in the hope of feeling out the space around me before letting Vale know I was awake.

Was he watching me? Had he watched me the whole morning? The thought made me grit my teeth.

He had told me he didn’t sleep, and I had shown him the collection of books under my bed.

I had been planning to hang bookshelves for as long as I’d lived there, but had never gotten around to it. Just like so many things. Days melted away when I got into my work. Sometimes I’d forget to eat all day, even two days.

I didn’t hear anything from him, but that was because of the fan next to the bed drowning out all other sounds. I had offered to leave it in the window to help him stay comfortable, but he had insisted.

It didn’t bother him anyway, he said. He didn’t feel the heat or cold as acutely as I did. His words.

The old-fashioned way he spoke was charming. Definitely more interesting than the sloppy text talk my generation had slid into.

He was pretty much perfect, except for the whole “drinking blood” thing. Oh, and the ripping heads off thing. Didn’t react to extreme temperatures, didn’t catch colds or other viruses, could move with lightning speed.

I had seen that one for myself. His body was like steel. I had seen that, too, when he hit the brick wall and didn’t so much as groan in pain.

Where was he? What was he doing?

I opened my eyes slowly, cautiously, but I could barely see a thing without my glasses. They were on the table.

When I put them on and looked around, my mouth fell open.

“Did you sleep well?” Vale was placing the last of my books on the shelves he had magically hung while I was sleeping.

Unconscious, obviously, since I had slept through it.

“What the hell went on here?” I asked.

It wasn’t just the shelves.

He had straightened up my supplies, cleaned the paint brushes and set them to dry in cups on the windowsill. The kitchen, what there was of it, sparkled. He had picked up my clothes from the corners and put them in the hamper, lined up my shoes by the front door. Even the windows looked clean—not that I had much to see on the other side of them.

“I had time on my hands,” he explained. “And you sleep like the dead.”

“You would know,” I fired back, only half-aware of what I was saying. It was unnerving and endearing all at once. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were doing all this.”

“Don’t forget: I move fast, and I can be very quiet. I’m not the type to sit still and read for hours on end. I enjoy reading, but I prefer movement.”

“You probably think I’m the world’s biggest slob,” I mumbled.

“Not the world’s biggest.”

It was the closest he would come to being nice.

I decided not to press my luck.

An awkward silence spread between us and threatened to choke me.

What was a girl supposed to say to a vampire who’d just cleaned her apartment? That was something “Dear Abby” had never covered.

“I like where you chose to mount the shelves,” I offered. They were along the wall across from where I normally worked, near the window. “That’s where I was hoping to set them up.”

“I’m glad.” He pulled one of the many art books down and stood by the window as he flipped through the pages.

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