across her shoulders. He slowly tracked the length of her long, long thighs, the graceful lines of her calves, and the dainty, bare feet.
She was as beautiful now as she’d been damaged then. There was not a flaw on her, save for the sewn sections of her cheeks, reminding him of a macabre porcelain doll.
“I dreamt of you,” she said, voice even and smooth. Apart from her outburst the moment she woke up, she was now the picture of composed calm.
George and Frenzy exchanged glances. Not sure what that meant or whether there was even any true meaning behind it, so much as a muddled brain still working through the “change,” he choose to ignore the comment for now.
She lifted a brow, holding her hand up in front of her face. “So I’m a vampire now, right?” There was a small hitch to her voice, something that would barely be discernible to anyone without his ability to hear the scamper of mice ten miles downfield.
There was an absolute stillness to her body, not a wrinkle or a frown around her eyes or mouth. She hardly took a breath.
George shook his head. “Actually, no.”
At the sound of his voice, she turned. She was measuring him, it was obvious by the way her eyes touched his cassock, moved across his face and hands. Frenzy was amazed she didn’t rail or shiver, violently questioning who, what, when, where, or how? Maybe she was in shock.
Those haunting amber eyes were cold, hard, and unswerving.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” she all but growled at Frenzy. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” Gaze dropping to his bony hand for a split second, she whispered, “You should have killed me.”
“Why?” It was George asking. “Who are you? Why has the Ancient One taken such an interest in you?”
All questions at the forefront of Frenzy’s mind, but he’d been unable to voice them because he couldn’t make her out. Most humans would be falling over themselves with gushy tears of joy that they lived, had a new lease on life. Instead she seemed not only pissed, but disappointed in him. The thought prickled.
“You don’t seem shocked by this,” he finally spoke up.
Violently yanking on a thread poking from her robe, she shook her head. “Should I be? I knew the second they found me it was done.” Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she inhaled deeply and then paused. Frowning, she inhaled again. “I smell…dirt?” She sniffed again. “And acorns?”
George’s brows dropped, gathering in a caterpillar bunch at the center of his forehead. Kneeling, he crept slowly forward, cocking his head to the side and studying her like one of his specimens.
“What?” she snapped at him.
“It’s just that”—pausing, he glanced back at Frenzy briefly as an astonished question mark flitted through the film of his eyes—“you feel different.”
“Different?” Her tone dropped, became deeper and richer.
“How are you?” George asked her, not bothering to answer her question.
Running her hands across her flat abdomen, down her thighs, and up her biceps, she shrugged. “I feel fine. Great, actually.” But then her fingers touched the scars on her cheeks and she hissed. “What is this?”
Crossing his arms, Frenzy decided he was done with this game of fifty questions. “Enough. You want answers, so do we. Start with who you are.”
Nostrils flaring, she jerked to her feet. Her movements were swift, so fast, she obviously hadn’t been prepared for it. One second she was scooting off the bed, the next she was on the domed ceiling with her fingers driving through the stone, anchoring her firmly into place, looking much like a terrified house cat.
“Let go.” George’s accent thickened as he shambled slowly to beneath where she was clutching onto the roof and breathing heavy, panicky breaths.
A cascade of blond hair waved in front of them as she shook her head. “Give me a second.” Her voice wavered, but again, it wasn’t nearly as thready or panicked as it should have
She was as beautiful now as she’d been damaged then. There was not a flaw on her, save for the sewn sections of her cheeks, reminding him of a macabre porcelain doll.
“I dreamt of you,” she said, voice even and smooth. Apart from her outburst the moment she woke up, she was now the picture of composed calm.
George and Frenzy exchanged glances. Not sure what that meant or whether there was even any true meaning behind it, so much as a muddled brain still working through the “change,” he choose to ignore the comment for now.
She lifted a brow, holding her hand up in front of her face. “So I’m a vampire now, right?” There was a small hitch to her voice, something that would barely be discernible to anyone without his ability to hear the scamper of mice ten miles downfield.
There was an absolute stillness to her body, not a wrinkle or a frown around her eyes or mouth. She hardly took a breath.
George shook his head. “Actually, no.”
At the sound of his voice, she turned. She was measuring him, it was obvious by the way her eyes touched his cassock, moved across his face and hands. Frenzy was amazed she didn’t rail or shiver, violently questioning who, what, when, where, or how? Maybe she was in shock.
Those haunting amber eyes were cold, hard, and unswerving.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” she all but growled at Frenzy. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” Gaze dropping to his bony hand for a split second, she whispered, “You should have killed me.”
“Why?” It was George asking. “Who are you? Why has the Ancient One taken such an interest in you?”
All questions at the forefront of Frenzy’s mind, but he’d been unable to voice them because he couldn’t make her out. Most humans would be falling over themselves with gushy tears of joy that they lived, had a new lease on life. Instead she seemed not only pissed, but disappointed in him. The thought prickled.
“You don’t seem shocked by this,” he finally spoke up.
Violently yanking on a thread poking from her robe, she shook her head. “Should I be? I knew the second they found me it was done.” Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she inhaled deeply and then paused. Frowning, she inhaled again. “I smell…dirt?” She sniffed again. “And acorns?”
George’s brows dropped, gathering in a caterpillar bunch at the center of his forehead. Kneeling, he crept slowly forward, cocking his head to the side and studying her like one of his specimens.
“What?” she snapped at him.
“It’s just that”—pausing, he glanced back at Frenzy briefly as an astonished question mark flitted through the film of his eyes—“you feel different.”
“Different?” Her tone dropped, became deeper and richer.
“How are you?” George asked her, not bothering to answer her question.
Running her hands across her flat abdomen, down her thighs, and up her biceps, she shrugged. “I feel fine. Great, actually.” But then her fingers touched the scars on her cheeks and she hissed. “What is this?”
Crossing his arms, Frenzy decided he was done with this game of fifty questions. “Enough. You want answers, so do we. Start with who you are.”
Nostrils flaring, she jerked to her feet. Her movements were swift, so fast, she obviously hadn’t been prepared for it. One second she was scooting off the bed, the next she was on the domed ceiling with her fingers driving through the stone, anchoring her firmly into place, looking much like a terrified house cat.
“Let go.” George’s accent thickened as he shambled slowly to beneath where she was clutching onto the roof and breathing heavy, panicky breaths.
A cascade of blond hair waved in front of them as she shook her head. “Give me a second.” Her voice wavered, but again, it wasn’t nearly as thready or panicked as it should have
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