With vampire speed, he whips the book from my hand and tosses it into the fire.
“That was a first edition!”I screech.
He shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Ah, Jane is overrated anyway. A real bitch, by all accounts.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “You knew Jane…”
“Yeah, you’d be surprised how many people I knew that are now really famous after fucking dying,” he says. “Stop getting distracted and ask me questions.”
“Well, now I want to know who you knew,” I state truthfully.
“Fine. For each question you ask, I will reveal a famous dead person,” he offers.
“Fine.” I grin, knowing I will ask him everything but the question that keeps me awake at night. “Have you marked anyone?”
“No,” he answers quickly, making me think he’s thought about it. “Shakespeare. Next question.”
“You knew Shakespeare?! Was he nice?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not part of the deal. I said I would tell you who I knew, not give a character reference. Next question.”
I pout in annoyance. “Can vampires mark more than one person?” I ask.
“No. Jack the Ripper,” he says swiftly. “Next question.”
“Whoa, whoa. Hold up. You knew who Jack the Ripper was, and you never told the police?”
He rubs his face, irritated. “I did. They didn’t listen. I left them clues, but they chose to ignore them. It doesn’t matter. I killed him anyway.”
I blink at him, not believing what I’m hearing. “I literally can’t think of any other question, because now my thoughts are consumed with the fact you knew Jack the Ripper.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“Lucian knew Henry the Eighth, Napoleon, Da Vinci, fucking Guy Fawkes. I think Clutch knew Elvis. The thing is, when you are the undead and live as long as I have, you meet a lot of people,” he states.
“I, I mean, I can’t even...” I rub my temples.
“What’s the matter?” Lucian asks, storming in. “You upset her?” he snaps at Cain.
“Jesus, no. You feed?” Cain asks. “You were really fucking quick.”
“Yeah, some guy lost in the woods. Had his leg trapped between two rocks. Easy pickings.” Lucian shrugs as he sits down beside me, lifting me like I’m nothing but air and placing me on his lap, his fingers trailing slowly up my spine to my neck, tracing my pulse yet again.
“I’m alive, okay?!” I snap. Apparently, my resolve is weaker than straw. “Your lifeline is alive. You don’t need to keep checking my pulse every damn minute of every damn day. I’m not about to die,” I rant.
“And that is why I tried to get you to ask questions.” Cain tuts, shaking his head as he walks out, leaving Lucian and me alone.
He shifts me around to face him so I’m straddling his lap. His firm grip on my chin forces me to look at him.
“You want to tell me what that outburst was all about?”
The bubble I was trying to protect is well and truly burst, thanks to my pathetic, overthinking brain. I guess I’m not so good at burying things at the back of my mind.
“I know that you feel the need to feel for my pulse, for confirmation that I’m okay, that I’m alive. Because if I die, you die.”
“Firstly,” he murmurs, his voice low and lethal, “I don’t need to feel your pulse to know you’re alive.”
His finger circles my nipple, deliberately. It tightens beneath him, and I drag in a shuddery breath.
“Right there,” he continues softly. “I can see it. I can feel it. You react to me. That’s life.”
