Page 26 of Flirting with Darkness

“My sister.” I allowed myself to lean on his grip as I rose. Even let him steer me back to the bed. “I need to—”

“I can send someone to check on your sister.”

My heart went cold. “A vampire?”

Maybe I’d looked a little unsteady at the very thought of that, because his fingers tightened around my upper arm as a flicker of annoyance passed over his face.

“What? You’re afraid of us, now?”

Only when I thought of one of them getting anywhere near my sister.

But then he seemed to soften slightly. “There’s a boy I hire for errands, sometimes. I’ll send him. Perfectly human, I promise.”

I hesitated.

“I’ll have him check on her every day, if I have to,” he added, annoyed. “If it’ll keep you from wandering out into that forest like an idiot.”

A strange emotion passed through me at the irritated urgency of his voice. Why would he care so much?

“Fine,” I said at last. “Thank you, my lord.”

Vale led me firmly to the bed. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbled. “I told you. I’m no lord.”

10

Ihated sitting still.

Despised it, actually.

Vale all but threw me back into the bed, and I sat there for half an hour before I was fidgeting, trying to get up only to immediately stumble again. He caught on fast, soon taking watch at my bedside.

“You’re self-destructive,” he muttered, visibly irritated with me.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re ill.”

So what?

But before I could come up with another protest, he went to the bookcase, withdrew some books, and plopped them heavily onto the bed. “Here. If you want to work so badly, then work.”

I picked up the books. They were all written in a language I had never seen before.

“Is this… Obitraen?”

Only at my tone did Vale seem to recognize the flaws of his plan.

“Whatarethese, anyway?” I picked up another one of the books and flipped through it. It was illustrated. Graphically so.

My cheeks tightened as I turned the book sideways, taking in a full-page spread. “My, Vale. Your taste is…”

He snatched the book away. “Fine. Then sit here doing nothing.”

“What is it, exactly, that you think Ido, if you thought you could give me a random collection of books written in a language I didn’t understand and that would qualify as ‘working?’”

His face flushed with something that almost—almost—resembled embarrassment. Gods, I wished I could capture that expression. It was a thing of art.

“You’re awfully ungrateful of my hospitality,” he muttered, turning away.

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