“I didn’t say anything.” I sit back up. The world shifts into its usual perspective.
“You shouted how much you like it,” he says, letting his hands fall back down. “I hadn’t realised you loved Shelley so much.”
“I…wait, you heard that?” I ask.
At first, he stares at me blankly, a little like I’ve lost my mind. Then his face changes.
“Think something once more,” he commands.
I don’t particularly like his tone, but he seems curious more than anything, so I decide to try. I can’t come up with anything, of course, but wasn’t all of this already thinking?
“I heard nothing,” he says. “Try harder.”
How is one supposed to think harder, exactly? I try to picture an apple in minute detail—roundish shape, smooth skin—but all that comes to mind is Lazarus’ fingers covered in tart cherry juice and his hands on my?—
“Ah, that was loud,” he says, eyes scrunched together.
I try it again, gentler this time. I close my eyes and imagine the way he looked so lost the first time he spoke to me in the study. The rage in his eyes when he kicked me out of his room again and again. How he held my throat shut without being near me. How tenderly he stroked my jaw.
When I open my eyes again, I see Lazarus staring at me with an odd look on his face. His eyes are bright red, and the vulnerability in them takes my breath away. I get off the bed andclimb on his lap, then put my arms around him, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. His shirt is open halfway down his chest, and I put my cheek on his bare skin. I hear breath entering his lungs, the slow beating of his heart. His skin is strangely warm, and he smells so good, I can’t stop inhaling his scent.
Can you hear me?a voice whispers so quietly I almost didn’t notice it.Astaire?My name, pronounced in that strange accent of his: fluid, round, yet rough around the edges.
Yes, I whisper back in the same secret way.
“Read more to me,” I say, aloud this time.
He picks up the book he had dropped when I climbed on him, opens to the first page, and starts to read.
XXVI
“Very well, are you prepared for your first challenge?” Lazarus asks eagerly. He’s sitting in his armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees and watching me with glowing eyes.
“Uhm, sure. Why not?”
“Somewhere within this castle, in a location unbeknownst to you, is a human. I want you to find him for me.”
“You mean Bayard?” I ask, confused.
Lazarus only smirks.
“He’s probably in his room, right? I don’t know what he does all day.” I shrug.
“No, almenara, not like that.” His smirk grows wider. Lazarus stands up and glides his fingers through my hair. “Not with this,” he says, stroking my head, “but with this.” He trails his hand over my chest.
“Oh!” I think I understand.
He lifts his hand and opens the door to the corridor with his power.
I have to admit, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been a vampire for, what, five whole days? But I spent most of the time sleeping and the rest of it in bed with Lazarus, of course.
I mean, sure, being a vampire is new and interesting, but so far, it’s not been that different from my life before I died. And I admit, Lazarus is taking all of my attention. But besides the amusement—and embarrassment—of being able to project my thoughts to Lazarus’ mind, I haven’t really thought of what else being a vampire might entail. Would I be able to move things without touching them, too, or was that something only he could do?
I stand up, drawing Lazarus’ ridiculously oversized banyan across my chest, and step into the corridor.
The last few days have been a bit of a blur, and I completely lost track of time in the process. I didn’t even know if it was day or night, but the light leaking from beneath the doors across from me signals it must be daytime now.
Then I realise the gas torches are off, but even with the little bit of sunlight that creeps along the floor, it’s bright enough for me to see the hallway clearly.
