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“Yes.”
“If you’re not reading my thoughts, why do you think I’m jealous?” she argued.
Seth turned his head to face her and opened his eyes. “Willow, if your jaw gets any tighter you might crack a tooth. And I’m pretty sure the pillow in your hands is about to rip. Unless, perhaps it has somehow found a way to annoy you?”
Looking down, she was surprised to see a small cream colored pillow in her hands. She couldn’t remember picking it up. Her knuckles were white, and the fabric stretched so taut she was shocked it hadn’t been shredded by her grip. Forcing herself to relax her hands, she put it down. “That still doesn’t mean I’m jealous. It doesn’t prove anything.”
Seth gave her a pained but very patient look.
“I’m not jealous,” she insisted. “Let’s see, thus far we’ve established that you’re a vampire, you can enter my dreams and read my thoughts, and feeding isn’t sexual for you,” she changed the subject again. She didn’t like him thinking that she was jealous. Especially when she refused to admit she was feeling that way to herself. “Oh, and after you drank from me no other woman seemed to quite, ‘satisfy’ you.”
“Yes.” He agreed without moving.
“What else do I need to know?”
“What else would you like to know?”
“Do I have to go get tested? Do vampires get STDs?”
“No,” he chuckled. “There is no blood disease in existence that can harm us. Something about the way our bodies process blood.”
“What about pregnancy? Is there a chance you could have gotten me pregnant?”
“Yes. But,” he added quickly before she could begin to panic, “it is very hard for my people and full humans to have a child. Statistically, it’s almost impossible.”
“Almost impossible. That’s different from
impossible. It means there is still a chance. Okay, that’s fine, I’ll just ride it out. No need to panic and scare myself yet… When did you die?”
“I’m sorry? Could you repeat the last question?” Seth jerked his head up from the back of the couch where it had been resting.
“Is it a sensitive subject? It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it. Of course it’s on the weird side, and if I stop to think about it I might start to freak again. I’m sure I’ll get over it eventually… I just never imagined I’d be into necrophilia…”
“I. Am. Not. Dead. Do I look dead? Do I feel dead? By the old gods, why do you think I’m dead?”
“Vampires are always dead. That’s how they’re made. It’s what all the books and shows say…” Her voice trailed off as she confessed her source of information.
“And once again, pop culture misses the truth. I did not die. I was not turned into a vampire. I was born a vampire. I’ve always been a vampire.”
“When were you born?”
“Eight hundred years ago.”
“Wow. You’re old! Way old…older than old… At least you do look good for your age,” she complimented him, her gaze traveling over his body. “Very good…”
“Thank you,” he answered tersely.
“Can you eat? I mean other than blood?”
“Yes. I happen to find some foods very pleasing, but it’s not necessary. My body gains no nourishment from regular foods, though sometimes I do have a sweet tooth. How exactly is this helping you?” He sounded curious and somewhat annoyed. Willow guessed it was the whole “when did you die” question. Maybe she’d struck a nerve.
“It just is. And you aren’t sure what it means that your body only seems to want my blood? Why my blood? What’s special about it? More importantly, what will happen to you if I walk out that door and never look back?”
“I’m not sure,” he lied. Seth closed his eyes and leaned his head back once more. “I don’t know why my body won’t accept any other blood and I can only guess what would happen to me. I believe one of two things will happen. The first guess is that if I can allow myself to become hungry enough I might be able to break past whatever is stopping me from gaining nourishment elsewhere. But then I also run the risk of draining whomever I drink from, unable to stop myself in my hunger.”
“Or,” she prompted. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t quite buy his answer. There was something about the way he refused to look her in the eye, the way he was avoiding looking at her altogether.
“Or, I’ll starve to death.” He said it without being condescending, as if he were merely discussing cold facts instead of his life.
