Except he wasn’t a wolf, and that wouldn’t do.
Sinclair’s work ethic was also a thing to be admired. His willingness to pitch in when someone needed help. Vampires were a selfish species, but this was a generous act. Maybe Mitchel had been wrong about some things. Sinclair never complained as they moved from one row of shingles to the next.
As they took a water break between rows, the sun reached its zenith, beating down on their necks and shoulders. The black shingles radiated heat from below. Sweat rolled down Mitchel’s spine.
In a swift motion, he tugged off his shirt, used it to mop his forehead, then chucked it to the ground below. He glanced at Sinclair and found the vampire's gaze firmly settled on his chest.
Mitchel chuckled, teasing, “My eyes are up here.”
Sinclair’s widened. His reddened cheeks couldn’t get any darker, but the color bled down his neck prettily. “So they are.”
“Aren’t you hot under that?” Mitchel gestured to the black thermal. “I’m sweating like a pig, but you’re not.”
“Vampires can’t sweat.”
“Huh, that so? Guess most of them wouldn’t be in the sun anyway. How come you’re not…” Mitchel waved his hand. “You know.”
Sinclair arched his brows and tipped his head. “Dead?”
“Yeah. That is if it’s okay for me to ask. Not trying to pry."
Sinclair took his time answering. “Not sure it’s for me.”
“You can choose?”
“Generally, you can choose when, but not if.” Sinclair’s stare grew distant. “It’s beautiful here.”
“It is.” Mitchel accepted the subject change gracefully, his gaze drifting along the horizon, across treetops, and over rolling hills. Blue skies dazzled under the sun’s golden rays. He’d never take this place for granted.
“You’re lucky.”
“I am. What’s it like where you live?”
Sinclair shrugged. “I grew up in a city. Spent most of my time indoors. This is a welcome change.”
Mitchel couldn’t imagine staying cooped up inside. Werewolves needed the forest. He wiped more sweat from his brow, glad to be outside despite the muggy air.
Sinclair picked up the nail gun. “Let’s finish.”
It was easy going for the next little while, hot but bearable. Then Mitchel noticed Sinclair slowing down. One look and it was obvious he’d become lethargic. His movements were clumsy and sluggish.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Just hot.”
“Why don’t you head down? Go inside and cool off while I finish up.”
Sinclair gave him a curious look, then went back to nailing shingles. “But we’re almost done.”
“You can throw the pizza into the oven. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Yeah, okay. Starving.” Sinclair handed over the nail gun and went to the ladder, moving in slow motion. His expression went hazy.
Sinclair stumbled, but Mitchel was too late. He grabbed and missed as the vampire lost his balance.
Sinclair slipped, arms flailing, and tumbled off the roof. He landed hard. A squeal of pain burst from his throat, guttural.
“Sinclair!” Mitchel leaped and was next to him in an instant. “Oh my god, are you okay?” Without thinking, he rolled Sinclair from his side to his back so he could see his eyes. They were squeezed shut. He smelled blood. Panic raced through him. “Open your eyes. Please be okay.”
