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“Yes,” he admitted.

I held out my wrist.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “We could do this differently. I could avoid touching you if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want that,” I said. “I want whatever you’ll let me have.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes at me, then positioned himself to feed as usual. But something had changed. I was more comfortable, yet more self-conscious when he touched me. This time, when I ran my fingers through his hair, he didn’t push me away or say “no.”

When he was done feeding, Vincent sat back and smiled ruefully at me. “It’s going to be like that, is it?” he asked.

I smiled in return. “I’ll stop if you tell me to, but otherwise, I’m not going to make this easy for you,” I said. “Now that I know you want me too.”

“You’re not playing fair,” Vincent said as he stood. “But thank you, as always, for feeding me and for your understanding. Do you need anything from me this evening before I head to my room?” he asked.

I gave him my best suggestive look, and he rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Well, if you don’t have any other plans, you could spend the evening out here with me,” I said seriously. “You don’t have to hide in your room all the time or run away. This is your house too.”

“I know, I just figured you might want some space.”

“I don’t need more space,” I said. “I have all day to be alone. I’m tired of being alone, Vincent, even when you’re here.”

He shook his head. “I’m tired of being alone too,” he said. “I’ll just grab a book and join you by the fire.”

“That would be nice,” I replied.

And this started our new routine.

Things were better from then on—not as good as I believed they could be, but better than before. I no longer felt alone and looked forward to the time I spent with Vincent. I mostly slept during the day, dozing off in front of the fire beside Vincent before dawn. I raced to complete tasks that required sunlight during my limited daytime hours, then counted down the minutes until dusk.

If the weather was nice, I’d sit outside by the pond, watching the golden orb sink beyond the snow-capped mountain before heading inside to greet Vincent as he awakened. It was a lovely way to start and end each day.

Vincent was as gracious and proper as ever, but he also acknowledged the new status quo. He seemed more relaxed. He didn’t try as hard to please me or do things for me, yet he was always nearby, always available. Occasionally, I caught the vampire looking at me in a way that only encouraged my advances. I understood that nothing might come of my efforts, but I enjoyed the game we were playing; it was a pleasant distraction from reality. Given what was happening in the world outside our winter retreat, I felt somewhat ashamed of how much I enjoyed my time with Vincent. I knew I should be mourning the loss of all I knew, all the people who had passed, but I remained completely absorbed in my infatuation.

I lived for the evening. During those quiet hours in front of the fire, Vincent and I grew comfortable with each other. Being with him felt effortless, natural. But Vincent wasn’t normal. He wasn’t human. It was easy to forget that as we grew accustomed to each other. However, when he fed, I became acutely aware of Vincent’s true nature. In those moments, especially, I toyed with the vampire. The temptation was too great. It was far too hard not to touch Vincent, not to reveal exactly what I felt when we touched.

Tension still hung between us, but it felt different now.

I suspected I enjoyed the game because I knew there was little chance anything would actually happen. It felt safe. I no longer feared rejection. Vincent had set a boundary, but he’d also accepted my feelings, allowing me to express them freely. I suspected Vincent enjoyed it as much as I did. We both had our roles, and I intended to play mine well.

27

VINCENT

Things had changed between us, and I was relieved. In those weeks, we settled into a rhythm for our nights that seemed to please us both. Most evenings, I read by the fire while Julian worked on a project or slept. Now that the stove was installed, Julian had a warm bedroom, but when I was awake, he preferred to sleep on the living room sofa. I didn’t mind. I found it reassuring to have Julian’s quiet presence nearby.

I now spent most of my waking hours in Julian’s company, and we slowly got to know each other better over the days and weeks that followed. We talked about our lives before. Julian shared details about his family and his work as a lawyer. He recounted his relationship that ended just before the pandemic and spoke about his friends. I found myself fascinated by his life.

As his story unfolded, I began to understand Julian more deeply. I listened as he described his past relationships and felt a pang of guilt. Julian might not have realized it, but he was describing a pattern of dependent narcissists who abused Julian’s good nature to get what they wanted. The comparison to our current situation made me uncomfortable. We weren’t lovers, of course, but I didn’t want to become another person who took advantage of Julian that way. I was ashamed that I had little choice.

I also shared more about my life, including my parents and my upbringing in the years leading up to the revolution. Julian asked many questions about my life over the centuries, including my time in Seattle and my friends. As I spoke, I realized I wanted Julian to know me and was eager to learn about him. It had been years since I’d formed a new friendship, and the exchange of stories brought me genuine pleasure.

Julian was especially curious about what feeding had been like for me before the pandemic. It made sense, so I told him about the countless humans I’d fed from and how I did it. Julian seemed to enjoy those stories in a way that I found both amusing and uncomfortable. I suspected he asked those questions to watch me squirm.

“How many men would you say you’ve dated over the years?” Julian asked one night.

“Not only men, women too. I’d guess thousands, maybe even tens of thousands.”