“No.” The word comes out hard. Sharp. “They’re no good to me.”
I get it. Family is a loaded topic for both of us, apparently.
I hand him the pillow and he takes it, arranging it carefully behind his back.
“I think...” He pauses, and when I look at him, those gray eyes are fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I think I’m ready to eat a little more. If there’s any left.”
I freeze, suddenly hyperaware of how close I’m standing. Close enough to see the way his pupils dilate slightly when I meet his eyes. Close enough to notice he’s taller than I first thought, even sitting down.
He still looks too thin in those clothes—the sweater hangs off his shoulders, the pants held up with a belt—but cleaned up like this?
He looks...good.
Better than good. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. The strong line of his jaw beneath that beard. The breadth of his shoulders. The way his eyes track my every movement like I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.
Heat creeps into my cheeks and I force myself to look away.
“Yeah. Let me get you some more.” I practically sprint toward the kitchen area.
Grandfather would lose his mind if he saw me in a rustic cabin with no running water. He drowns himself in luxury—overcompensating for something, obviously.
But that’s the thing about Grandfather and my “uncles.” They don’t have pulses. They’re undead, every one of them.
I come from a family of vampires. Every generation transforms at twenty-five—bloodlust and sexual lust hitting in unison, creating the next generation through a frenzy of violence and fucking.
TMI about one’s own family, if you ask me.
Twenty grandfathers and great-grandfathers, all of them forever looking twenty-five. The four from the 17th century are barely more than feral. The ones from the 19th century are bearable. The newer ones are so power-hungry I never let my guard down when I’m anywhere near home.
They all think Grandfather will leave his dynasty to them.
Pointless.
The old bastard can’t be killed and has no plans of leaving.
Also pointless because everyone knows if hedidchoose a successor, it would be me. The one who was born, not made, and broke the chain. The one who isn’t a vampire but is somehow more powerful than all of them.
And Vlad Dracul values power above everything.
Which is why he always finds a way to get me back. Even as I run away, I knew that. I’ll never be able to truly get away from him.
Vlad always gets what Vlad wants.
I sigh and turn back with a plate of bread slathered in butter.
When I walk back over, Layden is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. Something softer than before. Almost... wondering.
“What’s your name?” I ask suddenly, pausing before handing him the plate. “Your real name.”
He hesitates, like this question is somehow more intimate than telling me he’s a Horseman of the Apocalypse. His throat works. His jaw tightens.
Finally, he inhales deeply and releases the breath slowly.
“Layden.”
The name settles between us. Heavy with meaning.
“Layden,” I repeat, testing it. Letting him hear it again. “Nice to meet you.”
