Page 8 of Vampires of Eden: Oliver
Occasionally, I post random photos I’ve taken online. Some interesting cloud formations, a plant or remarkable flower I’ve come across on my walks. A few selfies with Sash. Only once, I posted a series of contrasting photos that I took during a visit to one of the local villages.
This is what got my room raided.
Alexander likes and comments on everything that I post, and his comments get more likes than my stupid posts. It’s always some clichéd declaration, like “You’re so talented!” or “I love this shot of you.”
“My mother was livid about that article and those photos,” Alexander goes on in my absorbed silence. “She even suggested calling off our arrangement. It was an empty threat, though, and my father and me talked her out of it. Not an easy feat, but we did it. Teamwork, eh?”
He finally stops talking for five seconds and reaches over for his tea. I sigh. I wish Lady Kendrick would have called this off. Please, ma’am, do me the honor.
“You’re probably thinking that it would have been nice if this was called off,” Alexander says, peeking over the rim of his cup. “But trust me, Ollie, when I tell you that your elder father wouldnotbe pleased with that outcome.”
How the hell does he know what I’m thinking? I clear my throat, brushing past his odd but precise observation. “C-can we discuss tonight, please?”
“Mm, right.” Alexander turns, sets his cup down on the table and leans on the armrest to stare directly into my face. “Have you ever had sex before? And with a man?”
God in heaven. “No.We’re supposed to have waited, as part of the agreement.”
He scoffs. “Nobody actually does that—wait, you really haven’t had sex ever? Not with a servant or anything behind your parents’ back?”
I exhale and face forward. Have I mentioned that I hate my life?
“Amazing… Oliver James Blakeley, you’re so pure. Too good for this world. I don’t know what to do with you.”
Allegedly, I am an uptight, short andpurenerd horse.
But I wish that I was a professional photographer of some sort. An apprentice? Or that I could take proper classes instead of always researching everything on the Internet. Lately, and before it was confiscated, I’d been reading a book about shooting with 35mm and single-lens reflex cameras. It would be so incredible to travel somewhere beautiful and historical like Italy and take—
“Hello? Are you with me, my love?”
Looking into his face, I’m forced back to reality. “Yes.”
He tilts his head, observing me with his large golden-brown eyes as if I’m some strange creature. “I wish I could know what goes on in that gorgeous head of yours. All sorts of things, I’d bet. Anyway, tonight. The council will watch us the first two or three times we mate, or at least until they feel we’re genuinely making a connection.”
Alexander talks about this as if it’s totally natural. As if it isn’t a big deal that the two of us—who have never even been alone together until this very moment—are expected to have sex, in front of other vampires. Tonight.
The thought alone makes me want to curl into myself and disappear, but he’s so matter-of-fact about it.
“What does ‘genuinely make a connection’ mean?” I ask. I have to try to get on board with this. Sasha is right. There’s no other choice.
“You know, like, we’re enjoying the act. One or both of us orgasms—huge bonus points if our eyes mutually alight or our auras flare out. We don’t have to bond tonight and through these trials. They just want to be sure the chemistry is there. I’ve heard that it’s best if we put on a wild show, and then they won’t have to watch us again.”
Wild? I lift and rub my palms against my face because I cannot fathom this situation. My hands are trembling again. God help me.
“You’ve never had sex, but, Ollie… have you ever been in love? Or do you have strong feelings for someone?” Alexander’s gaze is intense, or, like, hopeful? It’s unbelievably nerve-racking—all of these very personal questions and his bright molten eyes. It feels as if he’s been laser focused on me from the moment he entered this room.
I’m about to tell him no—because with whom or where would I ever be allowed the space or freedom of will to feel something like love? To experience anything aside from pressure, reprimand and stress?
But he holds up his palms, smiling and shaking his head. “Wait! Don’t answer that. Listen, just… we have to fake it, okay? If we can give them a show, the hardest part is over and we can relax. Do you get me? I’ll lead tonight. We won’t do anything too advanced. Just, try to focus on me, yeah? Let’s enjoy each other?”
I’m seconds away from hyperventilating. I’m dreading this. For fifteen years I’ve been dreading this night, and already I have never felt more exposed and mortified in my entire existence. Is it possible to die of embarrassment? I really, really hope so.
“Should we feed?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “May as well—or we could wait until tonight?”
Resigned, nodding, I pull up the sleeve of my blazer and start unbuttoning my shirt at the wrist. Once I have that rolled up, I offer my palm to Alexander, because now or tonight makes no difference to me.
He takes hold of my hand, but his nose is upturned. “I’m glad we’ll be done with this childish hand-feeding shit soon. Christ, I’m over this.” His fangs elongate into sharp white points just as he bites into my flesh.
As he feeds, I look away from him, pretending like my arm is no longer a meaningful appendage on my body. Closing my eyes, I calm myself by imagining that I’m in some far-off, distant land. An exciting place where I have a new, completely different life from the situation I’m in now.
