After some time, when still no answer came, I added, “Karson?”
“Vampires and witches are enemies, Amelia. We have held a truce for a number of years now, but it remains delicate at best. I think at this stage it’s something you need not concern yourself with.”
“Why are they enemies?”
He set eyes of ice onto me, frozen icicles pierced through to my bones. I had to refrain from rubbing my arms. “I said, it is of no concern to you.”
If not his look, then his tone was enough to scamper away any further questions about the relationship between species.
“Fine,” I muttered, staring out the window, frustrated. I could feel his gaze burning the back of my head and the silence became unbearable. Unable to stand it, I asked, “Who do you think killed Katrina and Robert?”
“I suspect Cole and Jefferson may have played a role, one way or another we will find out. Of that I can guarantee you.”
“Have you spoken to Matt yet?”
“No, I prefer to do my own research first.”
I’d started with the most difficult of questions, there was no holding back now. Still, I was troubled by what his answer might entail.
“Which involves?”
“Whatever it needs to.”
“Which is?” I pushed. He ignored me. “Karson, which is?”
“Let it go, Amelia.” He raised his voice. “You are not ready to know.”
“I am, or I wouldn’t ask,” I replied with equal heat.
His fingers tightened around the wheel. “You are not. I am protecting you by not telling you, could you please just drop it.”
“Okay, fine. I will drop it,” I retreated. “For now.”
His jawline clenched. I knew I was annoying him, but I didn’t care. Well, much anyway. I didn’t want to push him too hard. I’d seen his temper and I had no desire to be at the mercy of it.
I’d noticed something about him. When we were at the nightclub, and in front of Monique and Michael, he stood like a statue for the most part. Stoic to the point of stone. He didn’t speak with his hands to emphasis his words. His face was a constant mask, like a Viking in battle, his thoughts shielded and protected behind a pool of unreadable darkness. As if the very essence of emotion was a highly guarded secret, locked and hidden in an impenetrable vault from anyone seeking to understand him. He kept you guessing what he might be thinking. Except, of course, when he exploded, then nothingwas left to the imagination. But when we were alone he used his hands when he spoke and showed more emotion on his face. Perhaps it was some unconscious, instinctual survival mechanism and he didn’t see me as any threat.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“I stopped ageing sometime in my late twenties. I tell people I’m thirty-one.”
“And what year were you born?”
“1502.”
I drew a deep, shocked breath. “You’re 517 years old?”
“I guess so, I don’t think about it anymore.”
“Can you die at all?”
“Vampires need their hearts and brains, their bodies can repair just about anything, except if they are removed.”
I didn’t need to ask how they removed them. “How did you become a vampire, did someone bite you?”
His facial expression shifted to tenser lines. “No, most are converted that way. But I was born this way.”
“Born a vampire. It must have made breastfeeding tricky.”
