I’d assumed that carrying around an umbrella was how he’d managed to escape any kind of coloring while living at the shore, but being a vampire would do it.
No, Ego was the type of pale that happened after you received tragic news. Like your oldest friend just passed away suddenly, or something. Studying him closer, I realized that everything about him matched what I’d seen in the mirror in the days and weeks after Stevie died. There’d been no way for me to hide the devastation of his loss because I’d worn it like a second skin.
Okay, maybe I needed to rein in how freaking cool I thought it was to know that vampires were real and that I was sitting in a room with two of them, and instead figure out what exactly had happened.
“I’m guessing you’re not happy about this, Ego.”
“You think?” he asked, sounding slightly hysterical.
“Okay.” I softened my voice like I was addressing a toddler mid-meltdown. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
He shook his head hard, sending the longish black hair that generally swooped artfully over one side of his face flying in all directions. That was another thing I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. Ego looked disheveled.
I’d never seen him less than pristine. Even when he’d been living at the manor, hidden from his adoring fans, he’d come down for breakfast already ready and made up for a photo op.
Not the stage paint he wore for his performances, but still a light application of make-up, enhancing his magnetic eyes, highlighting his cheekbones in a way that women online said they’d kill for, and giving his skin an almost airbrushed finish.
And then there was his hair. It had driven me nuts how his black hair had always hung so perfectly, looking tousled like he’d been gloriously fucked—making him look better instead of worse—and unacceptably hot.
When I tried for a purposely messy style, it just looked sticky and gross—like I’d used too much gel. For whatever reason, I couldn’t get it right, so I’d stopped trying a long time ago.
These were just some of the surface reasons he’d gotten on my last nerve, but I’d noticed them. I might not have fawned over him like his multitude of fans, but I had eyes, and he was a masterpiece.
Normally.
When Ego’s response was to bury his face in his hands, I turned to the man—vampire—who I’d considered my friend. “Can you explain what happened?”
He shifted his gaze back toward Ego. “Is that okay, fledgling?”
Fledgling. Holy Shitballs. Ego really was a vampire. “So you turned him?”
Lysandro side-eyed me. “Of course not. I would never turn someone without their consent. I wouldneverturn someone period.”
“Oh.” The emphasis he gave the last part surprised me a little. In all the movies I’d watched, it seemed like some kind of badge of honor for one vamp to create another. I guessed Hollywood couldn’t get everything right. “Uh, sorry. I just thought since you called him a fledgling that…” I trailed off.
“You can tell him,” Ego squeaked out.
Lysandro sighed heavily, and I wondered if that was necessary. Like, he didn’t have to breathe, right? Probably not a good time to ask him, though. This was about Sky’s cousin, and I needed the details.
“He’s been preyed on,” Lysandro started, then proceeded to give me a full account of some mysterious stranger ambushing the diva rockstar after one of his concerts. I sat through the tale in stunned silence. It was like the recounting of a horror movie, except worse. Because this was real life, and it had happened tosomeone I knew. A person who—no matter my personal feelings about him—hadn’t deserved to have his life disrupted this way.
“How did the manager-assistant lady know he was a vampire? Or to bring him blood bags?”
“That’s not our story to tell,” Ego said, speaking for the first time. At some point while Lysandro was talking, he’d curled up in the corner and cocooned himself in the throw blanket. His face barely peeked out, but it was enough for his eyes to glow from the shadow of the creases in the folds of the cloth.
“Okay.” I blew out a breath. My head was spinning with a million thoughts, but one seemed paramount. “What would’ve happened if Delaney hadn’t realized?”
“I’d have died,” Ego said flatly. “Like truly died. I’m not sure that would’ve been the worst thing.”
Shocked, my mouth fell open. “What are you talking about? Sky would’ve been devastated. Everyone would’ve been.”
He snorted. “Not you.”
Guilt slammed into me. Had I been so awful to him that he thought I wouldn’t care if he died? Hell, would we have even known he died, or would Sky have spent the rest of his life doing a full search for his cousin, thinking he’d been abducted or something? Now didn’t seem like the time to ask, but if he’d experienced his final death from sunlight, wouldn’t he have burned into a pile of ash?
“Ego,” I said gently.
“No. I don’t want you treating me differently just because you pity me.”
