I’m banking on her internal clock keeping her sleepy and calm as I lead Evie over to a sofa and leave her to curl up on it while I fiddle with the remote, trying to pick a movie.
Now, what does a centuries-old vampire want to watch?
“Shout if you see something you like. They’re like plays, but recorded, so you can watch them over and over.”
I waffle about how movies are made as I flick through the options at speed. I need something modern to get her used to the world, but I don’t want anything that might trigger her after her ordeal.
At the same time, I monitor the bond for any flash of interest.
Nothing.
She might be awake and moving, but the barely-formed bond between us is dead of emotion. Her brain is operating on survival mode, absorbing the new world without processing what she’s been through.
When that hits...
I pick a generic Christmas rom com—so what if it’s May?—and settle in to be bored out of my mind as the perfect vampire leads are inevitably drawn to one another.
Ugh, I’d kill to watch an old lycan slasher flick or a bad human action movie.
I don’t want to crowd her, so I take the seat on the other end of the sofa, giving her space.
Evelyn
The ‘movie’ is dull, filled with propaganda, and ten minutes in I hate the doe-eyed lead actress with a passion.
A part of my mind—the part ruled by instinct—is still drinking in every detail. Obsessing over every part of this new world revealed by the electric screen.
The rest of me is focused on the man snoring at the end of the sofa.
He’s… kind. Or at least, a better actor than the ones in the movie.
If his piss-poor imitation of sleep is anything to go by, it’s the former.
The more I drink, the longer I can go without having my thoughts derailed by the thirst. The movie ends and I’m still sane enough to groan when the device flicks straight to another one.
Not more romance. My nose wrinkles in distaste and I grab for the remote, trying to figure out which combination of buttons will turn it off. All I succeed in doing is flicking to yet another one.
Only this one makes me pause.
The blonde female is rocking over her partner, making ridiculous squealing noises while he stares up at her with the same level of interest he might show the evening paper. There was a similar scene in the first romance Silas put on for me. Is filming your lovemaking expected in this modern world? And how have women’s breasts become so balloon-like? I cock my head at the screen and frown. They’re not even moving with his thrusts. How is thisactressachieving this?
I glance down at my own chest in disappointment before returning my gaze to the screen.
After several long minutes of staring at her gravity-defying breasts in envy and confusion, I switch the movie again. Only to press the wrong button and end up back at the menu which the lycan chose from earlier.
The amount of movies to choose from is astounding. Eventually, I choose one at random, only to frown again.
Do lions really talk now? No. This must be wrong. Unmoving breasts is one thing, but lions cannot talk. That muchcan’tchange in a few hundred years. It must be some kind of magic.
No. Cain hates magic. It’s the only thing worse than ghouls in his eyes. Charlatans were executed whenever they came into his territory before my imprisonment. Even a hint of witchcraft in a village was followed by extermination of anyone suspected.
So how are they doing this?
Just thinking of it is giving me a headache, so I flick back to the menu and pick a new one. My next choice is darker. The lead actors are vampires—again—but there’s a lycan in the supporting cast… until he gets shot by a human.
So that’s what guns look like now.
The vampires still use swords, and I nod in approval.
