“Oh God.” The plate was practically licked clean. “Yes. I did.”
“Would ya’ like a second helping of anything? We’re not supposed to, but it’s almost the end of the breakfast service. I can make an exception.” He winked at her, and Riley blushed. She was easily ten years older than he was, but he was cute and earnest.
“Maybe another sausage link and toast? I still have to map out where I’m going today before I leave.” She held up her guidebook. “First day in Dublin and I don’t want to miss anything.”
The young man held out his hand for the book. “May I?”
“Um, sure.”
He paged through for a moment, then passed the book back to her. “This tour is supposed to be the best. It leaves from the Paramount Hotel at noon and four. Takes about two hours. One of the oldest working and restored castles in Ireland. When I moved here from the coast, I took it, and it was amazing.”
“Thank you!” As the server headed back to the kitchen, Riley called the number on the page and booked a reservation for the afternoon tour. For a brief moment, she wondered what she was doing. Changing her plans on a whim just because the guy serving her breakfast was adorably cute and enthusiastic?
But…she’d planned and prepared and researched everything her entire life, and where had that landed her? Dying at twenty-nine. On one last vacation before the end.
For the next ten days, I’m going to do everything. Anything. I’m going to be spontaneous and adventurous, and I’m going to taste everything. Feel everything. Enjoy…everything.
If these were her last few months of life, she was going to live them to the fullest.
* * *
Declan
His eyes snapped open a little before 5:00 p.m. From his lavish bed, he could see the security camera footage on the flat screen. Two feeds. One of the western sky, where the sun was making its nightly trek toward the horizon, and the other…his basement—one floor above where he lay.
His stomach ached. There’d been a Hunter on yesterday’s tour, and he’d been unable to feed. Fucking idiots. He didn’t think the man had been looking forhimspecifically, but with their enhanced weapons and senses, hunters could spot his kind easily, and he couldn’t take the chance.
Today, though…he needed blood.
Throwing off the thousand thread-count sheets, he strode naked into his bathroom and grimaced. Lack of blood made his eyes even blacker than usual, and his skin held a sallow tone he did not care for.
At three-hundred and twenty-years-old, Declan was one of the oldest vampires in Dublin. Or so he thought. After he and the other members of his clan had ended the existence of their leader—and his sire—the clan had disbanded, Too many of his brethren wanted to slaughter the humans they fed from, and Declan refused to take part.
He could hold with killing the Hunters when necessary. But not the innocent. He’d seen enough war. Enough death. Including his own. His making had been violent and ugly. Pure agony. He would not wish that pain on another being. Not even the most vile creatures imaginable—the fae—deserved such torment.
With a couple of gentle slaps to his cheeks, he snapped himself fully awake. Fuck. What he wouldn’t give to still be able to drink coffee. Or rather…to still feel coffee’s effects.
Technically, vampirescouldconsume liquids. A fine whiskey, an expensive glass of wine. Even coffee. But his body no longer cared how much caffeine he consumed and would not process the effects. At least alcohol—in sufficient quantities—still gave him a healthy buzz.
Dressing quickly in his signature black pants, black button-down shirt, and black loafers, he climbed the stairs to the basement and slipped into the hidden closet in the corner to wait for his dinner to be delivered right to his door.
