desk and chairs with a surprising grace I’d never seen from him before, and gently touched Sebastian’s face, avoiding the angry burns. My eyebrows shot up. That was more than just a casual touch. In fact, it seemed possible they didn’t just know each other but knew each other. Like in the Biblical sense. I decided to keep my mouth shut for once, though resisting temptation was so hard it caused actual physical pain.
Sebastian blinked, then opened his eyes as Colin’s touch shifted, his fingers tracing the edges of the raw, red sun marks. They had faded even in the last hour or so but still looked harsh and painful.
Sebastian’s hand rose to touch Colin’s, moving it away from the sores on his face. It was a gentle contact, though, and his fingers lingered. “Colin?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” He drew his hand back. “You okay?”
Sebastian pushed himself up in the chair. “Still alive,” he said, then added with a wry smile, “Or whatever.”
Hunching down, his backside pressed against the edge of my desk for support, Colin peered into Sebastian’s face. “You need food. Like yesterday.”
“More like a week ago,” Sebastian concurred. “I don’t suppose you keep anything here?” The words were almost wistful. I clenched my teeth, unaccountably angry that anyone could still think this starving mess of a vampire had fed on Therese Wilkins, much less ingested enough of her blood to turn her.
Colin shook his head. “Too many humans working here. And, ironically, not enough vampires to get a license for storage. Bob’s is right down the street, though.”
Sebastian nodded. “Can we go there? How likely is he to turn me in?”
Colin exchanged a glance with me. I could tell he was thinking of Bob’s reaction to the news about the “damn foreigners.” I had some reservations, as well, about how Sebastian might be received at Bloody Bob’s, especially since the police were looking for him.
“Bob’s a pain in the ass,” Colin finally concluded, “but he won’t turn you in to the cops. Plus Nimuë can come with, keep him careful.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I started to protest, then realized I didn’t want Sebastian out of my sight. I’d gotten a little attached to him, like he was some kind of fangy puppy who’d followed me home.
“Nimuë?” Sebastian repeated, and I realized I’d never actually introduced myself.
“Nimuë Taylor,” I said, and he smiled.
“Lovely.” For a split second, it seemed he might mean me rather than my name. That would have been lame, though. After all, we’d just met, and nobody ever called me lovely. Annoying, yes. Lovely? Not so much. Still, some weird girly instinct I hadn’t known I had made the base of my throat flutter in response to the compliment.
Colin’s snort brought me back to reality. “Let’s go,” he said. “And keep your hood up.”
We headed out the back way, avoiding as many people as possible, just as I’d done when Sebastian and I came in. Sebastian tucked his hands in the hoodie pockets and hunched a little, the hood obscuring his face. He didn’t seem too out of place—he was thin, and the hoodie was tight enough he could have been a scene kid rather than a grown man, as long as you didn’t register that, appearance-wise, he was about thirty.
They headed down the sidewalk at a fast walk, leaving me trotting to keep up.
“You know,” I offered in a low tone, “if you’re worried about Bob, we could just stop at a Fangs.”
Colin’s lip curled as if I’d suggested Sanka instead of Jamaican Blue Mountain. “Nobody with any sense drinks that shit. Besides, best we get things sorted out with Bob up front.”
So. Bob’s it was, then. I kept the rest of my opinions to myself.
Bob looked just as geeky and harmless as he had last night. His T-shirt of the day featured a yellow smiley face with black, blood-tipped fangs. He was big on the fangs theme, apparently. I thought I saw a slight tightening
Sebastian blinked, then opened his eyes as Colin’s touch shifted, his fingers tracing the edges of the raw, red sun marks. They had faded even in the last hour or so but still looked harsh and painful.
Sebastian’s hand rose to touch Colin’s, moving it away from the sores on his face. It was a gentle contact, though, and his fingers lingered. “Colin?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” He drew his hand back. “You okay?”
Sebastian pushed himself up in the chair. “Still alive,” he said, then added with a wry smile, “Or whatever.”
Hunching down, his backside pressed against the edge of my desk for support, Colin peered into Sebastian’s face. “You need food. Like yesterday.”
“More like a week ago,” Sebastian concurred. “I don’t suppose you keep anything here?” The words were almost wistful. I clenched my teeth, unaccountably angry that anyone could still think this starving mess of a vampire had fed on Therese Wilkins, much less ingested enough of her blood to turn her.
Colin shook his head. “Too many humans working here. And, ironically, not enough vampires to get a license for storage. Bob’s is right down the street, though.”
Sebastian nodded. “Can we go there? How likely is he to turn me in?”
Colin exchanged a glance with me. I could tell he was thinking of Bob’s reaction to the news about the “damn foreigners.” I had some reservations, as well, about how Sebastian might be received at Bloody Bob’s, especially since the police were looking for him.
“Bob’s a pain in the ass,” Colin finally concluded, “but he won’t turn you in to the cops. Plus Nimuë can come with, keep him careful.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I started to protest, then realized I didn’t want Sebastian out of my sight. I’d gotten a little attached to him, like he was some kind of fangy puppy who’d followed me home.
“Nimuë?” Sebastian repeated, and I realized I’d never actually introduced myself.
“Nimuë Taylor,” I said, and he smiled.
“Lovely.” For a split second, it seemed he might mean me rather than my name. That would have been lame, though. After all, we’d just met, and nobody ever called me lovely. Annoying, yes. Lovely? Not so much. Still, some weird girly instinct I hadn’t known I had made the base of my throat flutter in response to the compliment.
Colin’s snort brought me back to reality. “Let’s go,” he said. “And keep your hood up.”
We headed out the back way, avoiding as many people as possible, just as I’d done when Sebastian and I came in. Sebastian tucked his hands in the hoodie pockets and hunched a little, the hood obscuring his face. He didn’t seem too out of place—he was thin, and the hoodie was tight enough he could have been a scene kid rather than a grown man, as long as you didn’t register that, appearance-wise, he was about thirty.
They headed down the sidewalk at a fast walk, leaving me trotting to keep up.
“You know,” I offered in a low tone, “if you’re worried about Bob, we could just stop at a Fangs.”
Colin’s lip curled as if I’d suggested Sanka instead of Jamaican Blue Mountain. “Nobody with any sense drinks that shit. Besides, best we get things sorted out with Bob up front.”
So. Bob’s it was, then. I kept the rest of my opinions to myself.
Bob looked just as geeky and harmless as he had last night. His T-shirt of the day featured a yellow smiley face with black, blood-tipped fangs. He was big on the fangs theme, apparently. I thought I saw a slight tightening
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