I couldn’t resist laying my hand down so my fingertips were almost touching his. We were so close I imagined I could feel heat emanating from him.
“Your scent changed.”
I was so distracted by his hand that I didn’t hear his answer at first. When the words registered, I raised my eyes to his.
“What do I smell like?”
His head tilted, the hood keeping his features in shadow except for those faintly glowing eyes focused on me. “Delectable.”
“You wouldn’t, uh,” my throat went tight and I had a hard time speaking. I grabbed my water, almost dropping the cold, condensation-covered glass.
“Your scent changed again. I don’t like this new smell,” he said, his voice clearly displeased. “Why?”
“Because you said you were going to eat me,” I whispered in a rush of words. “Like you did with those guys.”
My words were so rapid and jumbled that I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer right away. He probably couldn’t make out what I’d said. Did I have the courage to say everything again? It was one thing to flirt with danger, but to actually ask him ifhe’d ever literally consume me one day might be a step beyond what I was capable of.
He must’ve worked out what I said because his head jerked back a little. “No!” he exclaimed loud enough to make a server at the other end of our row of tables jump and drop a glass.
“Sorry,” I called out to her. She didn’t look at me or acknowledge our table. If we ever had dinner together again, we’d need to do a take-out situation. Forcing Vie on unsuspecting patrons wasn’t nice.
Although it would be a fun thing to do to that one restaurant that “lost” my birthday reservation last year.
“You must believe me, Willow,” he said, his voice back to his normal deep tone instead of the startling otherworldliness of earlier. “I’d never hurt you. Ever. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. Not that I’d ever want to.”
He spoke quickly, but unlike my word vomit, he was easy to understand.
“You said I smell delectable,” I reminded him.
He went silent for a moment before answering. “The way I want to taste you is much different from how I eat. I’m drawn to you in a way I’ve never been drawn to anyone before. I want to spend time with you. Talk to you. Care for you.”
He nodded his head at my plate. “Please, eat. I can sense your hunger. Your body needs sustenance."
I picked up another fry and popped it into my mouth. He could be lying, but I didn’t think so. There was nothing to do but see where this went. While I was at it, I might as well ask all the questions swirling around in my head.
“You say you’ve never been drawn to anyone,” I said after finishing the fry. “Why me?”
“I don’t know.”
Right, I guess that was fair. How did you explain attraction and love? They were complex emotions, and his “specialness” didn’t simplify anything.
“How long, I mean, how, um,” I thought better of my question and tried to think of a different one. My hand was still resting on the table, my fingertips almost touching his. He nudged his hand forward until our fingers were touching.
Gooseflesh broke out on my arm that had nothing to do with the air conditioning kicking on in the diner. It was like I’d put my fingers into a warm bath when they’d been a little cold. It was uncomfortable, but in a good way. Like the anxious tingles you get before doing something exciting.
“Ask me anything,” he murmured.
“Where did you come from?” The words popped out of my mouth without me really thinking about it.
“I don’t know where my kind comes from,” he said.
“Your kind?” I asked. “Is there a name for what you are?”
“We’re called wraiths.” As he spoke, he moved his fingers over mine. “At least my oldest brother named us such.”
“How many of you are there?”
He paused, as if considering. “I’ve met over a hundred in my lifetime. There are more of us, but I don’t know how many.”
