“It’s just out back. Here’s the menus.” Maris grabs a stack off the counter and puts them on the table in front of me. “You pick. My treat tonight for, you know,” she says, pointing at my side.
“Right,” I tell her. I don’t have my shirt on. I tossed it to the side when I got up from the settee. I did it without thinking when I scented her fear. I wanted to get to her, to soothe her as fast as I could. I should hide the wound from her, make an effort but I don’t.
I want her to see that it’s gone. I put my hand down on my hip and her eyes follow. Her gaze lingers for a beat before she clearsher throat and opens the back door. She has to see the wound is gone. I’m not even bothering to hide it now.
“Be back in a sec.”
She knows.
I watch as Maris slips out the back door and vanishes around the side of the house. She could be running for help.Finding a way to get away from you, my subconscious tells me. She could even be running back to town to tell everyone they were right about the vampire. That I’ve healed too fast. That I have to be a monster.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I mutter. It’s true, it wouldn’t. That time in Bulgaria when I got sloppy comes to mind and then again in Paris when I thought I was in love with an opera singer. Rosanna killed her. Probably for the better considering it wasn’t love. It was lust. Hunger.
Not at all what I have with Maris.
In a vampire’s life there’s a one in a million chance they’ll ever find their mate. The other half of their nonexistent soul. I’ve met a few couples through the centuries to know it’s real. There’s a shine to those pairs. Something that lights them up from the inside and makes you wonder if they somehow found a way to be human again.
A vampire’s fated mate is as close as we get to getting our soul back. That’s what Maris is to me. My soul. My reason for being. If it was anyone else but Maris that had just walked out the door, I’d be going after them. I would stop them even if they swore they wouldn’t tell anyone they’d seen me heal completely. The entire town saw me get stabbed today. Even if they didn’t believe Maris outright, there would be questions, suspicions. Both practically a death sentence if the Varcolacus found out I’d been so sloppy around humans.
But it’s not just anyone.
It’s Maris.
If she wants to bring the entire town down on my head in a murdering mob then that’s her right as my mate. My wife. My life's entire existence is hers. If life were a game, then mine is nothing but a dice in Maris’ hand, hers to throw when she pleases.
I’m not going anywhere so long as she’s here. I’m hers to do with as she sees fit.
I sink down into a chair and pull the menus towards me. I’m debating between the merits of curry or dumplings when I hear Maris outside. She’s on the back step, just in front of the door with a hand on the knob. I hear the knob move, just the faint twist of her hand before it stops. She’s hesitating.
Maybe she did call for help. I wonder what would get here faster. Dumplings or the mob?
I look up when the door opens a few seconds later and see Maris. The second my eyes meet hers she drops her head and looks at the floor. Hmm, maybe she did call a mob in.
“Dumplings or curry?”
Maris’ head snaps up in surprise. “W-what?”
“Dumplings or curry?” I hold up the menus. “For dinner.”
“Oh, um, dumplings, I guess. They’re my granny’s favorite and the homemade kind. I haven’t had them in a long time.”
I nod and toss the other menu back onto the table. “Dumplings it is. Which are your favorite?”
Maris hesitates, comes forward a step and then another. She answers me when she’s standing beside the chair across from me. She puts a hand down on the back of the chair and bites her lip. She looks young right now, like a school girl, awkward and uncertain of herself.
“The pork,” she answers me, eyes going to my completely healed side. “The black bean noodles are good too.”
“I’ll get that, too.” I take out my phone and dial the number for the resturant and watch Maris. The phone is picked up on the second ring.
“Thank you for calling Beijing Noodle. Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’d like to place a delivery order.”
“Sure thing, what’s your order?”
Maris and I watch each other while I order. She slips into the seat across from me and leans forwards, elbows on the table. Her eyes go back to my side while I order.
“An order of the black bean noodles, an order of the pork dumplings and an order of the tomato egg noodles.”
