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“It’s not Checkers,” he managed to grumble.
“Then what is it?”
“Chesley or Chess,” he said, showing me his teeth. It wasn’t a smile. “Though my father is the only one who calls me by those names anymore. It’s Rook to everyone else.”
“How about I make you a deal?”
“I’m listening.”
There was something about him—maybe the way he listened so attentively, but I didn’t think he was all bad—maybe there was a decent guy under his hard exterior. “I’ll stop calling you ‘Checkers’ when you stop calling me ‘Carrot Top’.”
He chuckled. “What’s so bad about ‘Carrot Top’? You have red hair.”
I frowned up at him. “It reminds me of being in high school.”
“As in… mundane high school?” he asked, still wearing that surprised expression as I nodded. “You seriously went to high school with humans?”
“Yeah, when I moved to the Hollow there was only one witch around to teach me, and she had a day job to do. So, I had to learn basic life skills somewhere. It was boring as hell, but I did learn a few things.”
“Like?”
“Don’t kiss Harry Edwards behind the bleachers. He has no clue what he’s doing, and you’ll end up with mono. I guess math was useful too.”
Rook bit his lip gently to contain a smile or a laugh and bent over my arm again. “I think you’re trying to distract me from stitching up your arm.”
“Yeah, a little bit,” I admitted. “It’s not like we have any painkillers, so this is going to hurt like hell.”
“Probably. I could spit on the wound if you want.”
“Spit?” I repeated, faintly disgusted. “That sounds... highly unsanitary.”
Rook rolled his eyes. “I guess your vampire friends neglected to mention that vampire saliva is antimicrobial, encourages healing, and, if we want it to be, it can also have analgesic properties. Injected, it’s supposed to be better than morphine, but on the skin, it’s more like local anesthetic.” He shrugged then. “If you don’t want it, just say so.”
“It depends. Are you going to lick me or just wet willy the cuts?”
Rook let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Wet willy? What are you, ten?”
Heat prickled along my cheeks. “The question still stands.”
“Why?”
“Because I think letting you lick me is tempting fate. Jack looked like he wanted to swallow me whole.”
“Jack has no self-restraint,” Rook shot back, apparently annoyed to be compared to the bastard. “The only reason he’s here and not in a cell or six feet underground is because his daddy pays people to look the other way when he slips up. He’ll be dead-dead before he hits fifty if he keeps it up.”
“He’s fifty?” I asked, obviously surprised.
“Almost,” Rook answered.
I swallowed hard, because it begged the question: “How old are you?”
“I’ve been a vampire for four hundred and fifty years. The point is: I can control myself.”
I was silent, too shocked to form words. Four hundred and fifty years old? That meant Rook was older than Lorcan. A lot older. I felt like a kid in comparison. At eighteen, I hadn’t done much with my life yet. I’d barely traveled, had only dated a few boys, was behind on my magical education, and my sexual experience was nil.
“You’ve been at Blood Rose all that time?” I asked, finding it suddenly strange that he hadn’t graduated.
He looked at me and frowned. “Not all that time.”
