I spin around, back toward the seating area and ceiling-high bookshelves. “Can you fucking believe—what the hell are you doing?”
Orfeo leans back against the fireplace, popping an elbow up onto the mantel, a smoldering look of self-importance painted all over his face. “Notice anything?”
I frown, dragging my eyes around the room. “Uh, no…”
He snaps his fingers and the fireplace leaps to life, yellow flame exploding in a controlled outburst behind the hearth. What I realize, after letting out a humiliating yelp, is that the existing flames grew at Orfeo’s command.
“What are youdoing?! Is that thing supposed to be lit?”
“Of course.” He shrugs off his jacket and settles onto a high-backed chair opposite the flames. “I checked the chimney. I am no amateur.”
“Oh.” I drop my jacket, scarf, and backpack onto the chair opposite Orfeo and sink down to sit on the carpet. “I guess we should get started.” I pull my notebook from my bag, extracting my pen from the spiral binding.
“You’re actually going to do this assignment?”
“Of course. You’re not?”
“Do youreallythink Professor Bowen is going to stumble back from the bar just to get our two essays off his desk?” Orfeo shakes his head, lips twitching into a smile. He sinks a bit lower into his armchair, crossing one ankle over the other.
He’s wearing a heather gray sweater, the fabric molded to the contours of his gently muscular physique, clinging to his shoulders in a way that makes my stomach tighten. Beneath his collar, a thin gold chain catches the fire’s light and glimmers. He watches me through heavy-lidded eyes, absentmindedly tracing his bottom lip with his tongue. If he feels any awkwardness for how we left things—or for how I told him we were leaving things—he doesn’t show it. “This…it’s just busywork.”
“Okay, well…” I sound flustered and whiny. Okay, well, actually, I love homework. I have no plans for tonight, so thisactually seems really fun to me!I clear my throat. “Well, I’m just going to do it. You can do…whatever.”
“Okay.” Laughter rolls through him, a deep and genuine chuckle. “I will do whatever.”
We fall into an easy silence while I, trying desperately to forget that Orfeo and I are alone in this enormous house, attempt stringing together a coherent sentence about unicorns in 15th century art. Meanwhile, Orfeo just sits there.
First, he pulls a lighter from his pocket and plays with it. Opening and closing the lid. Running his fingers through the flame. Then, he stands and paces the room, whistling a Lady Gaga song under his breath.Of all artists.Eventually, he gives up and asks me for a piece of paper and a pen.
“I’m sorry for how I acted on Tuesday,” I say, handing both over. “You were right—I was scared. Of you.”
“Was?” He catches my gaze, lips tugging into a smirk.
“I mean, maybe I’m still a little afraid of you,” I say with a laugh. “The same way I’m afraid of most men.”
“Like I said—I don’t blame you, Diantha.”
My shoulder muscles melt down my back. I didn’t know I was even holding any tension in my body. I meet his eyes. “Thank you for starting the fire. Is that…a talent you have?”
He nods. “Most Mediterranean vampires have some elemental mastery. Fire is easy. We just make the particles interact with each other at warp speed. Friction makes fire.”
“Can I ask…how the fuck you ended uphere?”
“I followed Alfo here about a month ago. Ihadto follow Alfo after he…” Orfeo pauses. “He settled a very big score for me. And now I have to repay my debt. Not only my debt, but my entire vampire family’s debt.”
“Sheesh. I never even knew he existed until, like, a week ago.”
“Men like him are everywhere. They move in silence. They make the right friends, grease the right palms. I’ve watched himwork his demon magic for years now. He brought me down from New York, where I worked in another one of his clubs, to help with Hades House.”
I perk up at the mention of my hometown. “What did you do in New York?”
Orfeo flashes me a lopsided grin. “Shirtless bartender.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “I thought maybe…”
“Henchman? Getaway car driver?” Orfeo shakes his head and slides down to the floor to sit beside me. “People always have this idea—vampires are at the top of the food chain. We’re the silent hand that moves all the chess pieces. But that’s demons. They blend in; they have no moral compass or sense of justice; they’re sinful—gleefully so. They thrive off of suffering. Who better to live amongst humans? Oh, and they’re stupid enough that they’re always underestimated.” He stretches his legs out straight and reclines against the chair, bringing his hands to rest behind his head. I wish I had a sketchbook and charcoal. He doesn’t look like a killer; he looks like a god. “Vampires are weak. Lustful. Beautiful and soft, always yearning for our humanity. Tortured little poets, we are.”
“And Italian vampires?”
