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He added, “Anna’s pulse always raced when I kissed her. It did not matter the number of years we shared. Her heart always acted like it was the first time.”
“Maybe you’re just a really good kisser.”
“Perhaps. Are you ready for the next test?” he asked.
“Sure,” I lied, my mind sparking back from his hypnotic gaze.
“Brave.” His eyes flickered with admiration. “Come.” He took my hand and led me through the massive living room, which I didn’t see because I was too busy staring at the elaborate murals on the ceiling. They reminded me of something you might see in ancient Rome, with clouds and angels and ripped men in cloth diapers.
Next, we walked past a study with floor-to-ceiling leather-bound books. Thousands and thousands of them. It made the tiny collection in my bedroom look pathetic.Shelf envy.
We then proceeded down a hallway made of glass on all sides, including the ceiling. It reminded me of those aquariums with underwater tunnels. Only, instead of water we were surrounded by racks of wine, reaching three stories high.
“For someone who doesn’t enjoy wine, you have a lot.”
“I have time on my side. It is a very good investment,” he said.
“What’s the oldest bottle you have?”
“I auctioned off my prior collection fifty years ago to a sheik, so I’m afraid not very old, but give it a few more decades.” He winked. “This collection will be nearly priceless.”
A few decades. I laughed uncomfortably, wondering how old he was, but too afraid to ask. If I knew the truth, then I wouldn’t be able to look at him and pretend he was in his thirties—a much less intimidating age.
We made a right at the end of the glass wine-cellar tunnel, landing us at a split staircase with a wrought-iron banister that had elegant swirls between the bars. One set of stairs went up, the other down.
“Choose,” he said.
“What?”
“Which way to proceed for the next test.”
Normally, I avoided basements unless there was a tornado warning. I didn’t like the damp, musty smell of them. But the sick part of me thought I should do what Anna would. He thought I was her. Maybe I should let him keep believing it.
Wait. No. What am I doing?I needed to be free of this dangerous man, even if I kept wondering what it could be like to have him in my life.A man who won’t die, who accepts the parts of me that are damaged.
But this wasn’t about just me. It was about the town, too.Our safety.
Then it hit me: That wasn’t exactly true anymore.
Everything had gotten so crazy tonight that I hadn’t digested what I’d learned. There were way more vampires than I’d thought, and they’d been living in Leiper’s Fork for years, keeping to themselves. The more I quickly mulled it over, the more I realized my initial reaction might have been wrong. Maybe Stark wasn’t my enemy. Maybe he wasn’t so dangerous.
“Did you kill old Merril that night?” I asked.
“Merril?”
“The old guy who smells like whiskey and mothballs. He went missing the night you brought Ronnie to my house.” Stark had said he would kill someone because I’d disobeyed him.
“What if I told you that I did?” Stark asked.
My stomach lurched. “Did you?”
“I did. I drank him.”
I winced.
“Do not look so repulsed, Masie. He did not have much longer to live and felt his wife would be better off not watching his demise.” Stark raised his brows, to punctuate his sincerity. “I am a vampire. Even I cannot resist a free meal.” He drew a breath. “Also, I wanted you to realize how important it is to obey me, but clearly I failed. Tonight being proof. Just know that I rarely give commands for the sake of controlling others. That breed of sadistic behavior is shallow—something I am not.”
I had no clue if he was telling the truth, but time would tell. Either way, poor Merril.
