No doubt his towels had been woven by master towel-making craftspeople in the Alps, the glowing white of their cotton unsullied by even the merest speck of dirt.
Ah, fuck it.
“You know what? There’s no need to filthify your towels. Compared to your previous outfit, I might as well be wearing a nun’s habit beneath my coveralls.” Without further ado, she tugged her bag over her head and set it on the countertop, then unzipped her coveralls and shoved them over her shoulders and hips and down her legs. After kicking the stained fabric into a pile beneath the island, she washed her hands thoroughly at the kitchen sink for a second time. “Got any pomegranate juice? It’s my favorite.”
He didn’t respond.
When she turned to check on him, he was staring at her, his expression pained. Which was unfair, because she was actually wearing a bra beneath her tank top for once, and her panties were of the comfy granny variety and fully coveredherass cheeks. Also, they had a cute pink bubble pattern and had never served as the skin of a living creature, so…
“I know, I know. It’s like seeing your mom in her underwear. Get over it,Chad.” To a guy his age, no doubt her late-thirties body seemed like a cautionary tale about the dangers of gravity. Or maybe he wasn’t into fat women of any age, especially those with generous bellies and thick thighs and not much in the wayof T and A. His loss. “While you process your Oedipal trauma, let’s find out what beverages you have in your fancy fridge. Mama’s thirsty.”
She swung open the French doors.
Well. Maybe he wasn’t in his earlyish twenties after all. And maybe he wasn’t an elf or a fae either, as she’d been theorizing all evening.
His refrigerator contained nothing but blood bags. Discreetly packaged, of course, but definitely, unmistakably blood bags.
Not-Chad—her closest neighbor, the guy with whom she was currently locked in an underground lair—was a freakingvampire.
4
Edie’s knees weakened. She clutched the refrigerator doors tightly, unable to stop gaping at the neat rows of blood bags in front of her.
Vampires weren’t somehow inherently more dangerous than elves or fae. Even the weakest representatives of all three species could kill her with ease, as desired. But idle speculation about the Supernatural status of her neighbor was different from being confronted with the reality of his superior capabilities and potential for deadly violence.
He had a fridge full of prepackaged blood. He didn’t need hers.
But the realization that he could take it from her, whether she was willing or not, chilled her more thoroughly than the refrigerated air on her bare legs.
“I…” She swallowed hard, still staring blankly at the tidy rows of flat-bottomed bags. “I kind of knew you didn’t look like a reaper. More like you just got kicked out of an exclusive, pretentious European club for surly hot dudes because you were far too surly and hot, even for your fellow members.”
Her bravado-compliment-insult combo should have distracted him from her sudden nervousness. Alas.
“Human.” When he yawned, he didn’t bother covering his mouth. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“How comforting.” Despite her sarcasm, she relaxed a little, because he wasn’t wrong.
Reports about Supernaturals—their habits, powers, vulnerabilities, cultures, and organizational structures—typically contradicted one another, leaving humans like her unsure as to what was truth and what was mere myth. There did seem to be widespread agreement in four areas concerning vampires, though.
First: Vampires, like all other Supernaturals, weren’t made but born. Supernaturals weren’tsupernaturalat all, in fact, but simply a different version of natural, with varying abilities depending on their species.
Second: Only the lifeblood of humans could satisfy vampiric hunger. There was no substitute. Synthetic versions sickened vamps, and animal blood left them as hungry as ever. Even fellow Supernaturals tasted like fetid rot to Not-Chad’s kind. The same substance circulating in her veins kept both of them alive.
These days, humans willingly sold their blood, which was then purified and pasteurized, packaged for sale, and made available at every supermarket, convenience store, and wholesale retailer. It was all very sterile andbloodless, ironically, apart from the occasional vampire gone murderously rogue and…the flesh trade.
That was the third thing reports reliably indicated: Certain humans flocked to vampire sex workers for their reputed skill as lovers and the pleasure of their bite, while other vampires flockedto humans who offered their blood straight from the tap, so to speak. For a price.
She’d never participated in any such exchange. Her avoidance wasn’t due to moral abhorrence. It wasn’t even due to fear, because the whole idea was too abstract for that. Too impossible. There simply weren’t very many vampires out there, just as there weren’t many of any Supernatural species. Only humans procreated reliably, and only their vast numerical superiority kept them from becoming either chattel to or victims of much more powerful species.
The vampires who did exist certainly hadn’t flocked to the Containment Zone, so Not-Chad was her first up-close-and-personal vampire.
Fourth and lastly: Vampires could tear out throats before their prey noticed the slightest movement.
Despite ample opportunity, Not-Chad hadn’t exsanguinated her yet, though, which was encouraging. And if he didn’t intend to do so in the future, as he’d just intimated, all the better.
His expression had turned thoughtful. “Killing youwouldsave me from this tedious conversation, however.”
“Ha-ha.” Despite her anxiety, Edie knew when she was being trolled. Even though he wasn’t an actual troll. “No Miller Lite in your fridge, I see. I assume you don’t have any pomegranate juice either?”
