Page 10 of Vampires of Eden: Oliver
“I would advise you to accept, your grace. Naturally, Lord Blakeley will be displeased… and you’ll end up picking more flowers for me.”
Groaning, I walk into the bathroom. “Fine.” Isn’t it enough that we’ll be sitting together all night? I suppose he needs the five extra minutes to walk with me to the great hall so that he can come up with new insults. Yet another vampire to admonish me and point out everything that I’m doing wrong.
After I’ve dressed, Camille precedes me down the spiral stone steps and toward the only guest chamber in the east tower. This is where they’ve set the designer up to work for the next month. The room is located just at the landing, and the entrance is marked by an ornate rosewood door.
This guest room is smaller than mine, which, to me, makes it cozier. I wanted this room because it feels tucked away, at least? Intimate—and in the afternoons, the lighting is just right. But I was told it wasn’t appropriate for my station. So, I have the very large and empty room in the tower, up the spiral staircase that overlooks the lake, which isn’t dramatic at all.
Camille dictates my schedule for the rest of the week as we walk, but I am completely focused on this new scent. When I woke up this morning, it immediately called to me—subtle and calm, like a warm whisper. But now, it’s thick as I breathe in, and my nature is shifting inside me in ways itneverhas.
It’s as if… I’ve been starved for something, and I’m finally going to be fed. I don’t know what this means, but everything in my body is electrified and I have goosebumps on my arms underneath my sweater.
“The designer—Mr. Moralis—arrived this morning,” Camille says, glancing over her shoulder as we approach the door. “He’s kind, professional and he’s dressed all sorts of vampire politicians over the past several decades. It’s no wonder Lord Blakeley requested him for your wedding.”
“He sounds expensive.” My heart is beating three times its normal speed, and the warmth of my vampiric energy is quietly snaking up my spine. Suppressing it is taking much more effort than I’m accustomed to. Usually, I don’t need to suppress it at all because it’s always dormant and lifeless.
“He is first-generation. His purebred mother hailed from a moderately old bloodline out of Greece—Mykonos, to be exact. He grew up there, but his father was Albanian. They mated through an arrangement between their families. Both of his parents are deceased.”
“How old is he?” God, my hands are starting to shake.
“Ninety-five.” Camille knocks twice on the heavy door, waits for a response, then pushes it open. The unique, alluring essence hits me full on. I gasp and step back. It literally takes my breath away.
The sensation is like… nightfall in early summer, when the wind carries the scent of the jasmine vines. Sometimes, if my schedule has a large enough gap, I take a long walk away from the castle, past the pageantry of the rose gardens, porcelain fountains and manicured hedges.
I trek out to where the woods are thick. Pristine and wild. It’s a different world there, and when the sun sets, firelight glows between the trees. In that space, I’m free from the burden of time and place. From the chains and irons of monarchy and purebred responsibility.
What is happening right now?
We walk into the room and the designer is there. He’s unpacking something, but then quickly stands and turns to face us. He blinks, taking me in before his face shifts into something like a cool mask as he bows, smooth and unaffected. It is the subtlest of actions, but I notice it as I stare at him with my mouth open and every nerve in my body standing on end.
“Your grace. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Wow. Even his voice is smooth and velvety to my ears. Like coffee liqueur and hot chocolate.
“Mr. Moralis, this is Master Oliver James Blakeley, second son of the Blakeley Clan.” Camille steps aside, lifting her hand in a formal gesture. “You’ll be primarily working with his grace in preparation for and up through the ceremony, as well as his fiancé, Prince Alexander Ethan Kendrick. I believe Lord Blakeley has given you specific direction with regard to the style of their suits?”
“Yes, he has.” The designer stands straight, but flickers his gaze to Camille, avoiding direct eye contact with me. It’s for the best, though, because I honestly cannot look away from him.
He has very long legs, which makes him tower over both me and Camille by at least half of a foot. His dark hair is thick, elegantly wavy but cut short, and his skin is warm like sunlit honey. A neatly trimmed beard graces his jawline, chin and full lips, and he is simply…
I have never felt this attracted to another creature. My nature is practically doing somersaults. The sensation heats up my entire body. Astonishing.
Camille flips her wrist up to check her watch. “Is thirty minutes enough time to take his grace’s initial measurements? Lord Blakeley and the viscount are expecting the young master for breakfast shortly.”
He smiles hospitably. “Of course. Absolutely, I’ll do my best.”
Turning, Camille walks toward the door. “If you don’t finish, no need to worry. We can make time before the banquet tonight—which you are welcome to attend. Did Lord Blakeley mention this?”
“He did, which was very kind. Thank you.”
“Perfect. Your grace, I’ll return shortly to escort you to breakfast.” Camille leaves, closing the door behind her, and I grind my teeth. Am I a child? I’m twenty-two years old. I don’t need her or anyone to pick me up and drop me off from room to room. Humiliating.
When I whip my head toward the designer… Aries… he’s standing with his back to me. What a lovely name. It sounds like a celestial being with wings that dwells within the summer skies. Something beautiful that soars among the sculpted clouds and shooting stars.
He’s moved toward a table against the wall and is looking over the various odds and ends sprawled there. “Would you please remove your sweater, your grace?”
I start, then swallow hard and grab the hem of my sweater to pull it over my head. While he isn’t looking, I briskly and self-consciously run my free hand through my hair to quell it. I’m suddenly very grateful the viscount suggested that I get it cut before the first bonding attempt last night.
“Do you have anything in your pockets? A wallet or phone, perhaps? You’ll need to remove those as well. And your belt.” Busily, he gathers things as he scans the table. What I really want is for him to turn around and look at me. I don’t know why, but Ineedhim to.
