Outside, the night air is crisp with the approach of winter. My Harley sits waiting, black chrome gleaming under streetlights. I grab the spare helmet from my saddlebag and hand it to her.
“Safety first,” I say with a smirk.
“Says the man who said nothing will hurt me, as if you’ve got superstrength and fortune-telling abilities to stop anythingfrom happening to me,” she mutters, then freezes. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
Because she’s right.
Because somewhere deep down, some part of her knows there’s more to me than meets the eye.
“Hop on,” I tell her instead of acknowledging the accuracy of her statement. Well, except for the fortune-telling part, that’s more Eden, Oracle, and Reyna, each with their specialized foresight gifts.
She climbs on behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist, and I have to bite back the surge of Bloodfire that roars through me at her closeness. She presses against my back, her heartbeat a steady drum I feel through my leather, her scent, clean skin, and something floral, filling my lungs with every unnecessary breath I take.
This is a mistake.
I already feel the tension building inside me, my blood beginning to bubble beneath the surface.
But I start the engine anyway.
We ride through the city, weaving through late-night traffic, the rumble of the bike drowning out thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking. Sloane’s grip tightens at first, nervous, but gradually she relaxes into the rhythm of the ride. She leans when I lean, and somehow she trusts me to keep her safe.
If only she knew how unsafe she really is.
I take us out of the downtown core, away from the noise and lights, toward hills that overlook the city. There’s a spot I come to sometimes when the club gets too loud, when the weight of immortality presses too heavily. A scenic overlook where you can see everything, the sprawl of humanity below, oblivious and fragile and somehow still beautiful.
I pull into the empty parking lot and kill the engine. Silence rushes in to fill the void, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and Sloane’s elevated breathing.
“Holy cow,” she murmurs while pulling off her helmet. Her hair is tousled, cheeks flushed from wind and adrenaline before she climbs off the bike. “This is…” She spins around, taking in the view. “This is incredible.”
I don’t look at the view, because I can’t stop looking at her.
I slide off my ride and follow, my body moving on autopilot while my mind screams warnings I’m determined to ignore. We walk to the railing at the edge of the overlook, and Sloane leans against it, staring out at the city lights spread below like fallen stars.
“Thank you,” she whispers softly, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the peace and quiet. “For this. For…everything. I know I’ve been coming around a lot, asking questions you can’t answer. You could have told me to leave. Most people would have.”
“You’re notmost people, Sloane.”
She glances at me, and the moonlight catches in her eyes, turning them luminous. “Neither are you.” Sloane tilts her head slightly. “You promised me answers. Is that why we are here? Away from prying eyes and ears?”
“No. I come here sometimes to think.”
“But you are going to tell me what’s happening to me, aren’t you?”
She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. And even though there is something about her I can’t quite put my finger on, I can’t have her digging into my world. Into me, into the club. The thing about Original vampires is that we come with our own particular set of gifts, and one of mine is the gift of glamor, bending people’s minds, willing them to think and believe anything I will them to.
So I look deeply into her eyes, turning on the glamor to full force, my voice becoming hypnotic to her as I will my thoughts to be hers. “The thing is, Sloane, I don’t know what you are, but I need to see if you do, so tell me… do you knowwhatyou are?” I stare deeper into her eyes, willing her to tell me.
She jerks her head back like I just accused her of assassinating Kennedy. “I just fucking asked you that, are you telling me you don’t know?”
Widening my eyes, I try a different approach. I intensify the glamor and reshape my mind-bending. “You won’t remember this conversation… you will only remember us arriving. Do you understand?”
Sloane scowls at me like she is utterly confused. “No… are you having some kind of stroke?”
Interesting.
My glamor doesn’t work on her.
My glamor has nevernotworked before.
