Penelope’s lips curved, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “Flattery now? You must grow bold in your old age,Vampire.”
“I have learned from the best teacher,” he murmured, letting his gaze linger on her for just a heartbeat too long.
“And I am…?” she asked, arching a brow, teasing him back.
“Patient,” he replied, voice low, almost a confession. “And remarkably difficult to resist,” he mocked, pretending to lunge at her with his fangs bared, but rather than scream, she only laughed harder, shielding her face with her hands.
As of late, her laughter had become a music he wished to covet.
“Oh please do not eat me, Mr. Vampire!”
Elias allowed the shadow of a grin to tug at his lips. “I make no promises,Miss Adams. You have been most… tempting company.”
Penelope wrinkled her nose in mock offense, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “Tempting, am I? And yet, you have not taken a sip since we made our deal. I must say, I am disappointed in your restraint. I must taste something terrible.”
“You may consider it disappointment,” he replied, his voice low and teasing, “or a display of my… admirable patience. And your taste is… far from terrible.”
Penelope’s blush deepened, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You grow bold, Vampire.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, letting his gaze linger on her for a heartbeat too long.
Penelope pressed her hands to her chest, shaking her head with a laugh. “But you are truly a terrible student.”
Elias chuckled softly, the sound rich and unguarded. “I believe you are being an unfair teacher. It has only been a few days, I beg for some grace. At this rate, I shall never hand over these letters.”
Penelope leaned a little closer, eyes glinting. “Well then, youwillread one to me, yes? You cannot hide them forever.”
Elias’ gaze flicked to the stack of letters Eleanor had left, then back to her flushed, expectant face. He hesitated, savoring the quiet intimacy, before finally conceding. “Very well,” he murmured, reaching for the nearest ribbon-tied letter. “But only one—for now.”
Her scent—lavender, parchment, the faintest trace of blood—threatened to intoxicate him as she leaned in, trying to read the words inked on the parchment.
Elias loosened the ribbon and pulled free a letter. He didn’t open it immediately. His eyes lingered on her—her flushedcheeks from the firelight, the slight downturn of her mouth, the way her breath caught when she thought no one could hear.
Then he unfolded the letter and began to read.
“She says… she misses the way your music could capture even the deepest of truths from someone, as if your notes could snare souls,” Elias read, voice steady but low. “She said that when you play and the light hit you just right, she was sure she saw something divine—something not quite human, not quite earthly either. As if you had come from some other world.”
Penelope smiled faintly, ducking her head. “Eleanor always was a bit dramatic.”
“I agree. But not about this.”
“What else did she write?”
“She says,” he continued, “that she often wonders about how you are faring. Not what you tell people. Not the way you smile. But the sadness behind your eyes. The one you don’t think anyone notices.”
“She wrote that?” Penelope’s brows drew together. She leaned in closer, pressing gently against him as she tried to glimpse the letter.
The truth was, the letter had been shorter than usual. Updates on their movements, well wishes for her and her father. Eleanor hadn’t said any of what he’d spoken aloud.
He’d chosen the words hewishedhad been written. Because he couldn’t bear to say them as his own.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. His voice, when it came again, was low—almost confessional.
“She misses you. Says there’s no one quite like you in the Evermore forest.”
“I am sure she can find more me’s. I am not exactly special. Not like her.”
“I am not so sure about that,” he spoke under his breath.
