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Or was? The truth is, I do not know who I am anymore. Killing people used to be so much fun. But now I find myself wanting to enjoy life in other ways. For example, helping Stella’s family. Knowing I can bring that kind of joy to Stella’s existence has lit a satisfying warmth deep inside me. Is it because she is my mate? Is it because when I am near her, my heart beats anew? I am unsure, but I suddenly have the desire to commit acts of goodness.
I never want Stella to look at me like she did last night. I want to be the sort of bloodthirsty, dangerous, supremely handsome, well-endowed, and highly intelligent vampire who can make her feel loved. I want her to feel safe.
And now she is gone!
Neli stares down at her heels in her elegant black satin woman-suit. The crowd files past us, dressed to the nines for the cocktail reception and awards ceremony.
Once inside the large open modern space, I notice the floor-to-ceiling windows Neli warned me about are blocked by large black panels. The floor is black, and the lights overhead are dimmed. The result is a comfortable ambiance that reminds me of the last rays of sunset. They’ve cleared most of the space for the mingling humans, leaving only a few tables to the edges of the room for the judges’ panel. The ball tomorrow night will be in another venue, which I am no longer looking forward to. My Stella is gone. I was meant to win her over in a romantic dance while I whispered sweetness in her ear.
“I’m sorry, Boz,” Neli says sheepishly, likely noting I am stewing. “I really am. I tried to talk Stella through everything, but she’s in shock.”
“Sorry? Do you think sorry is good enough? You lost my mate,” I growl.
Neli’s head whips up, her green eyes tearing and shooting poison arrows. “Do you think I wanted that? Do you? I’m the one who’ll have to listen to you whine and moan for the next eight hundred years because you decided to kill some idiot vampire hunter right in front of her. But yeah. It’s all my fault.” She whisks away a stray tear and sighs. “I wanted this more than you did.”
I note the pain in Neli’s gaze and realize that her disappointment comes from a place of friendship and loyalty. And also deep-seated, codependent, obsessive tendencies. As is common when one is in the presence of such magnetic masculinity. I’ve been reading up. Psychology Today. I’m currently on issue No. 2, 1971. Very riveting, this concept of feminism. Do women truly find being in charge satisfying? Only five hundred and eighty-four more issues to go.
“I am sorry,” I say. “I should not have blamed you. If I had wanted a successful outcome, I should have done it myself instead of leaving it to a simpleton.”
Neli takes my hand, opens my fingers and wraps them around her throat with both hands.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She squeezes harder, pushing my fingers into her neck. “Trying to free myself.”
I jerk my hand away. “Stop it. People are looking, and now is not the time for your odd, twenty-first-century parlor games. I am not down with this…this…Sixty Spades whatever thing I read about in Cosmo.” I really should fly more often. I learned so much from all the “bingeing” and “chilling,” internet surfing, and magazines.
“It’s Sixty Shades, Boz. Sixty Shades of Hay. Not spades of hay. Wait. Or is it Socks? Or…Shades of Gray Socks?” Neli groans and scrubs her face with her hands. “Balls. Who can keep up with humans?”
“Irrelevant. I am the only one you must keep up with. Please try. I know it is difficult.”
“Why did I have to go on a rampage in your honor and kill all the witches? I probably could have paid one to free me,” she mumbles.
What was that? “You did that for me?” I ask, feeling quite touched.
“Never mind. It’s all watery broomsticks under the bridge.”
Sometimes, I feel as though Neli is in her own world. “As you wish. So what is the plan? We must have one to win her back.”
“How should I know? After my nightmare of an attempt to get her to come around, I figured you could lay on the old Bozzy magic and charm her tonight. And the ball tomorrow night would’ve sealed the deal with your grace and elegance on the dance floor.” My chest puffs with pride until she continues, “But she flat out skipped town. She told her parents she had food poisoning and that you offered to fly her home to recover. Really, she bought her own flight.”
This is a disaster. “Her family is broke, and Stella cannot afford such an expense.” My mind quickly shuffles to images of Stella having to sell her maidenhead at the local market simply to pay for her passage home. That was my maidenhead. Mine!
