Page 93 of Road Trip with a Vampire
I could lie and tell him that yes, I’d brought them to help me experiment with my magic. But he would see through the lie as soon as I said the words. “I…didn’t trust you at first,” I confessed very quietly. “Not completely. I decided it was better to be safe than sorry.”
If this upset him, Peter showed no sign of it. He nodded, as if this had been the answer he’d expected. His eyes showed only understanding.
“Do you trust me now?” he asked.
“I do.” I smiled at him again. “So much so that after owning most of these things for centuries, you’re the first person I’ve ever told about any of them.”
Peter’s eyes blazed at my admission. His throat worked. “Zelda…
“All of this is to say,” I began, feeling tears prick the backs of my eyes, “I’m coming with you tomorrow. End of discussion.”
I braced myself for him to argue with me again. He didn’t. Instead, he merely reached out and cupped my cheek in his hand.
“Thank you,” he breathed, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “My brave, incredible girl.”
I lost track of how long we stood there like that, his cool hand cradling my cheek, the only sounds the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock somewhere in the room. It felt exactly like the moment it was:
The calm before the storm.
“Will you let me use one of the daggers tomorrow if necessary?” he asked, breaking the silence. “Seems like having two armed people could be better than one.”
Relief flooded me. We’d be walking into that warehouse and facing whatever waited for us together.
I focused on the way he was looking at me—like I was the only thing that mattered—to find my voice. “Of course,” I said. “Two is definitely better than one.”
Twenty-One
Three weeks earlier
The man opened his eyesto unfamiliar surroundings with a soul-crushing, splitting headache.
Where was he?
Why was he lying on his back in the middle of the floor?
He looked down at his right hand, which clutched a small piece of paper. He brought it up to his face so he could read it, but the words were gibberish.
There had to be a reason for him to be dressed all in black and sprawled on the floor of this unfamiliar place. For the life of him, he could not remember what it was.
Gods, his head hurt like hell. He rubbed at it and felt a large lump forming just above his right temple. He must have hit his head on the floor when he’d fallen.
Perhaps that was why he couldn’t remember…anything at all.
Including his name.
Was this amnesia?
Was amnesia evenreal?
The man sat up, panic fully setting in. He fumbled through his coat pockets for some hint as to his identity. He found an identification card with a photograph of an unsmiling man, beneath which the namePeter Elliottwas printed. The address on the card was in Chicago, Illinois.
Was he in Chicago now?
If he went to the address, would he find an explanation for why, among other confounding things, he so desperately wanted to drink human blood?
Neither of us had sleptwell, so we left Reggie’s apartment later than we’d planned. My phone said it would take about five hours to reach Blossomtown, so in theory we’d still get there before nightfall.
Peter drove, and it was his idea to listen to Chappell Roan once we hit the freeway. From the way he cringed all throughGood Luck, Babe!when he thought I wasn’t looking,I now knew he’d only said he liked her to make me happy.
