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He opens his eyes and fixes them on me and for a moment I think I can see the past in them. I can feel what it was like to have been there, and tears automatically spring to my eyes, goosebumps spreading along my arms. I can feel the cold outside the concert hall doors, hear the hushed murmurs of the crowd, then footsteps walking across a wooden stage. The first notes of a piano, so clear, so beautiful, my heart is almost breaking.
The corner of his mouth lifts as he tilts his head, studying me. “That’s curious. Feels like you’re there, doesn’t it?”
I nod slowly, afraid to break the spell, though I can’t tell what belongs to Philip Glass, and what is Mozart swirling around in my head.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, his voice low as he continues to observe me, “it’s been ages since someone has had my blood. It doesn’t happen often, and it never happens by accident.”
“What does it all mean?” I ask, hushed.
He gets to his feet and comes over, crouching down in front of me, his presence so close, making my skin go from hot to cold and back again.
Utterly alive.
“It means you share parts of my memories now. Of what I’ve felt. What I’ve seen. And what I’ve done.” He reaches out and with startling tenderness, brushes his thumb under my eye. I’m surprised to see it wet with an errant tear. “I better be careful of what I tell you of my past,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, numb and amazed at once.
He gets to his feet and I immediately close my eyes, trying to conjure up the memory of Mozart again, but it’s faded away like a dream does in the morning.
I’m starting to fade too, like the emotions of his past are exhausting me, pulling me under.
“You look tired,” he says again. “You should relax.”
At his words, I sink deeper into the couch, the glass of Scotch dangling from my fingers. He reaches down and takes it from me before I drop it, placing it on the side table.
“You drugged me,” I manage to say, my words slow, feeling so relaxed that I’m melting on the spot.
“I did no such thing,” he says. “This is your body finally feeling safe. You haven’t slept for days.”
I thought vampires didn’t need sleep, I think, too tired to move my mouth now.
We do, he says, deep inside my head. Just like any other creature.
The next thing I feel is him coming closer, his scent washing over my body, then his strong, firm arms are going around me and he’s lifting me up, carrying me. I’m as limp as a ragdoll in his arms.
“Put your hands around my neck,” he murmurs to me. “Please try not to bite me. I don’t want another shirt ruined.”
I do as he says, opening my eyes for a moment to see him staring down at me with a wary expression. I have enough energy to bury my head in the crook of his neck, pressing my nose against his skin, breathing him in until my eyes flutter. He told me not to bite him, and even though I can hear his heartbeat, it only soothes me even further.
He carries me up the many flights of stairs and I feel myself drifting in and out of sleep. We go down the hall and into my bedroom.
My bedroom. That’s what it feels like now.
Like it’s mine.
Like it always was.
He carries me to the bed, throwing back the covers, and then lays me down on it, gently putting my head on the pillow. He takes off my boots, then puts my legs under the covers.
I feel fear for a moment, the feeling of losing consciousness, of losing control.
“Solon,” I cry out in a ragged hush, reaching for him, my eyes too heavy to open.
He grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze that sends warmth through my body. “You need to sleep, Lenore. You’re safe now. Sleep.”
Stop compelling me, I think.
“You’d know it if I was,” he says in a low voice. “When you wake up, you’ll be hungry. Come find me.”
