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And in a blink of the eye it’s all just…gone. I haven’t had any time to really process it and now, now that I’m back in the house, and my parents are okay, and I’m settling into this new life with Solon, a life as half of many things but never a whole thing, I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.
Hence, the panic attacks. Tonight I was having dinner with Amethyst (because my human side controls my appetite), while the vamps were in Dark Eyes club drinking with some bloodsucking buddies. Suddenly I felt like the dining room was closing in on me and I was drowning. I told Amethyst I was going for a walk, that I needed fresh air and time to be alone and she dutifully let me leave the house. All I knew was that maybe if I got to the water, if I got to the bay, I’d be able to breathe again.
But even though I just wanted to be alone, I know I’m not alone.
I know it because suddenly, the cold is at my back. Like icy wings brushing over my hair, my shoulders, my spine. The sign of a vampire, but in my case I know exactly who it is because the hair is standing up on my arms, and it isn’t from fear.
Solon.
My vampire.
“I should be offended you keep running away,” his voice rings out, as cool as the ocean air wisping past.
I sigh, staring out across at the lights on the Bay Bridge. “And I should be offended you’re still stalking me, everywhere I go.” I slowly turn around and eye Solon. “You know we’re in a relationship, right? You don’t need to keep tabs on me.”
He doesn’t smile. I didn’t expect him to. But there is a faint twinkle in his blue eyes as he appraises me. I appraise him right back. As usual, I’m struck dumb by how otherworldly beautiful he is. I know that’s what every girl in love thinks when they look at their lover, especially when the relationship is shiny and sparkling new, and it’s also what someone thinks when they’re staring at a vampire, particularly one that looks like him.
From his gray wool overcoat, and expensive dark suit underneath (his standard uniform when he’s entertaining at Dark Eyes), he looks insanely put together, a picture of class and strength, with that carnal hint of elegance in the way he carries himself, like he’d be able to pounce on your jugular before you could open your mouth to scream. His brows are black and arched over his eyes, creating shadows, making the blue of his irises seem sharper, his gaze unforgiving. His hair is black, long-ish, always falling perfectly around his face, showcasing a broad forehead, sublime nose, strong jaw and chin, and full lips that have the ability to make your eyes roll back in your head when he’s putting them to good use.
At the moment though, he’s keeping his distance. In a way it’s hard to believe that this man is in love with me. I don’t mean that in the oh woe is me, how could this ridiculously hot, smart, deadly centuries-old vampire be in love with little ol’ me, I’m just your average college student from the Bay Area, kind of way. I mean in it in that while he’s told me he’s in love with me, he’s not the type to say it all that often. Not that I was expecting to have him shower me with declarations of love over the last few weeks, because that’s really not his style, but even so…there’s a wall that’s up that wasn’t there before.
Or maybe it was always there and it’s something he actually has to push down, with effort. Maybe being in love doesn’t come naturally to him, maybe it’s something he has to keep working at.
He raises his hand and delicately taps his fingers against his temple, his eyes searing me. “You’re thinking too much,” he says in a low voice, in that mild accent that flits between British and American.
“Why is your accent British?” I ask him, changing my thoughts before he has a chance to read them. He can do that sometimes, and the last thing I want him to know is that I’m analyzing whether he loves me or not. Our relationship is new and I’m sure the last thing he wants is me coming on too strong. God, what a normal thing to worry about.
He tilts his head slightly, like a bird. A bird of prey. “My accent?”
“Yeah. I thought it would be Scandinavian or something.”
“I spent a lot of time in England,” he says after a moment. “I told you as much.”
“How much time is a lot of time? You mean, like how Madonna moved to London and six months later had an accent or…?”
