Page 64 of Vampires of Eden
“Thank you, I will. You too.”
I tap the phone hard to end the call. How humiliating. Why is he like this?
“So, that was the manservant-best-friend-brother?”
“Yes,” I groan. “Soon to be departed.”
“He seems nice. You have so many nicknames. He called you ‘Lexie’ and his ‘little rabbit.’ Leoni calls you ‘porcupine’ in Spanish.”
“Oh,” I chuckle. “That’s just the tip of the ice berg, vampires call me all sorts of crazy things. My friend Sebastian calls me ‘Aleksey’ with a terrible Russian accent. Another friend calls me ‘Goldie’ and my mother calls me ‘Alejandro.’ Hardly anyone says my actual name.”
Daniel sits back, comfortable as he shifts and folds his legs beneath his blanket. “I think abbreviated names and nicknames are nice. It’s a sign of affection. Basically, lots of vampires feel affectionate toward you.”
“I suppose,” I say, dubious. “That’s a positive way to look at it.”
He hesitates, then meets my eyes. “So, what did Oliver call you?”
This makes me laugh. “Oliver didn’t call me anything—he barely ever said my name. It was always more like, ‘Go away,’ or ‘Leave me alone.’ ‘What do you want?’ Stuff like that.”
We both laugh outright because it’s truly pathetic. “Yeah,” I say in-between breaths. “He really disliked me.”
When you scrape all the top-level details away, here we sit, two vampires who loved two creatures that did not love us back. Both me and Daniel were busy chasing after some far-flung dream. Some imagined, self-indulged future that would never come.
Somehow, though, these revelations make the truth of it hurt a little less. It could be that misery loves company? I’m not sure. It’s nice that I’m not walking alone with this load anymore. It feels as if we’re kind of sharing the burden and carrying it together.
“It’s Oliver’s loss, though, isn’t it?” Daniel asks.
“Not really. If only I’d been about five inches taller, seventy-five years older and an international designer with the visage of a perfectly bronzed Greek God. I had no clue that I was so out of my depth with him.”
Daniel frowns. “You don’t need any of those things, Alexander. You… you’re fine, just the way you are.”
“Right, coming from another vampire who definitely doesn’t like me. I’m fine—translation, mediocre. Plain vanilla.”
I chuckle. Daniel exhales a heavy sigh.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yeah but I get it. Don’t worry. Anyway, what is today’s shirt? Can I see, please?”
Daniel grins and sits straighter. Slowly, he parts and opens the blanket to me, like a flasher exposing themselves to their prey.
Except, instead of being horrified, I beam, sincerely amused. His shirt is black, but just across his chest, there’s a silhouette of two crows siting on a branch. Above them in typewriter font are the words, “Attempted Murder.”
I laugh. “Very nice. What makes a murder? Three?”
“I have no idea.” He closes the blanket and snuggles back down. “You checking my shirts so intently is giving me a complex. I’m going to wear a repeat someday soon and disappoint you.”
“I won’t be disappointed,” I assure him. “I’ll just see you and it’ll make me smile again. I mean the shirt—not you, obviously.”
“Why not me?” Daniel asks, his gaze opaque. “Is it impossible thatImight make you smile?”
The fire crackles softly as we sit frozen and watching each other. I have no idea what he means, and the weird rush of electric tingles that I usually ignore is more intense now as it creeps up my arms and floods my chest. “I… don’t understand?—”
“Never mind,” Daniel says, flipping so that his legs hang over the edge of the couch. He likes to wear these tapered sweatpants that make his legs look long and athletic. Today’s pair is light gray. “It’s nothing. I… Shall we watch an episode or two ofBuffy? Wedon’t have a lot of time left since I promised that I’d send the little rabbit home by three.”
Attempting to brush off the confusion and rogue tingles, I reach for the bowl of strawberries. “You definitely don’t need to call me that.”
“I like it—that one suits you the most because you’re jumpy and skittish sometimes. Goldie is nice, too…” Daniel reaches over toward my lap and grabs a strawberry half from the bowl. He brings it to his mouth, then pauses. He glances at me from the corners of his eyes. “Or do you like it when I say your name? Is that better for you, Alexander? Is that what you want?”
