Page 40 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
I open the door to my new bedroom and cast a worried glance behind me at his stern face.
“I’m so sorry,” I begin again as Orson pushes past my knees and rushes into the room to sniff everything.
“Forget it, Tess,” he shakes his head, his voice defeated. “If hiding is what you need to do to stay alive while your friends finally destroy your enemies, then this is as good a place as any.”
“But to inconvenience you so when I know how much you like your privacy and solitude. I know how much you didn’t want to be involved in any of this, I don’t understand why you agreed…”
“I said forget it,” he shrugs. “Serena wants you hidden. From what I gather she’s organised it so that for all intents and purposes Solomon’s group thinks Lars killed you and is on his way back to Geneva to rescue his girlfriend.”
“Yes,” I nod, “apparently my funeral was beautiful. But to have pulled all the security away from here, to just leave me with you… I’m no fighter, Ryan, and you’ve said time and again, you don’t want that life any longer. It isn’t fair to endanger you or put you in this position.”
“You forget,” he runs his hand through his hair and turns away, “I’m not a weak human any longer. In fact, Serena says I’m stronger than the average vampire, although she didn’t explain why. And if you ask me, it’s Christopher who’s in real danger, posing as Lars. Only one person needs to recognise him, and the game is up.”
“Chris and Tristan have been playing ‘swap identities’ their whole lives,” I murmur, “and if anyone is smart enough to infiltrate the heart of the beast, it’s he and Serena.”
“So she says,” he shrugs.
“At least we won’t be alone for Christmas,” I smile at him.
“Serena said it wouldn’t be that long,” he shakes his head, not looking back as he walks away down the hall. “She said three months max, and you will be free to leave. We just have to live through three months, if that’s what the undead do, live.”
“Yes,” I whisper after he is gone.
Closing the door firmly, I lean against it and allow the tears to come. His disgust at the idea of having me in his home for up to three months, and his anger at what I’ve made him become, is palatable.
‘And who could blame him? You are a bloodsucking monster, and you’ve turned him into the same.’
Sighing, I walk across the bare timber floor to the spare bed, made up no doubt by Charlotte, with all my favourite bed linen from home. Flopping down, I gingerly feel my neck where a thin blue scar around the circumference delineates where it was almost torn off. Another few days and that too should fade, and I’ll supposedly be back to normal.
‘Normal except I’m living with my neighbour – a neighbour who clearly can’t stand the sight of me. A neighbour whom I adore.’
