“I amsobad at this. I do have a small saucepan. And a couple of mugs. For tea, right?” I’d seen the saucepan and eyed it cautiously; it looked like it belonged in a museum even though it was blessedly clean. He was talking again. “Do you like pizza? Everyone on television gets takeaway pizza, right?” He sounded unsure of himself, like maybe he shouldn’t assume TV was realistic. It suddenly made me less afraid of him.
“I love pizza.”
“Thank fuck. Come and tell me what you want.” He thumbed his phone open, fingers flying at unnatural speed over the keyboard, then crooked a finger at me. “Closer. I don’t bite.” A fangy grin. “Well, I do, but not when you need to feed.”
“Eat,” I corrected him, resisting the urge to adjust myself. He smelled too good, and when he flashed those bitey sex darts in my direction, I swear I lost a few brain cells every time. Hewassofucking hot. Another point in his favour though, more than being impossibly attractive, was how he hadn’t laughed at me for having been such a monumental idiot I’d let naïvety and an unhealthy dose of fear prevent me from learning the correct terms about certain aspects of my sexuality. He’d looked stunned, but he hadn’t so much as cracked a smile while he explained. I, however, still had the urge to throw myself in the sea when I recalled how embarrassed I’d been. The fact I’d genuinely thought you were only gay if you bottomed was going to mortify me until my dying day.What a fuckwit.
He ordered pizza and cheesy garlic bread, because I must have given myself away by drooling when I looked at the menu, plus a litre of cola. “We can buy you crockery tomorrow,” he promised. “Do you want to put your stuff away while we wait for your pizza to arrive?”
“Can I see the rest of the place?” I countered. It was strange how this tiny kitchen felt like a kitchen rather than a train carriage, except for the shape of the window — it was covered with a heavy dark blind but I’d peeked behind it — and the curve of the ceiling. I was rapidly becoming more interested now it was to be my home. Or, I hoped it was.
The living room furniture was a little old-fashioned, but it had a decent-sized TV on the opposite wall, a small desk and chair, plus a couple of bookcases, as well as a couch and a large armchair. It had heavy floor to-ceiling-curtains across the far wall. I had the feeling there would be blinds behind them too. I was learning quickly how seriously vampires took fending off the daylight.
So, living room, kitchen, bathroom with a shower, and then,
“It’s a bit on the small side and there’s not anywhere to hang stuff up,” Edwin said apologetically, gesturing at the slimline shelving unit running alongside the bed, which was narrower than a standard double, “but you can use the overhead storagetoo. That’s original,” he told me, sounding proud of the fact. “I never planned on a permanent guest, but I’m sure I can find you some more space if you need it.” The foot of the bed was inches from the door, meaning you had to practically shuffle in sideways, but the blue and brown room was spotlessly clean, even if the storage racks appeared to be made of old rope netting. I could deal with anything right now, even a miniature bedroom straight out of a vintage film. Except…
“You don’t want me to share with you?” As the words left my mouth, sounding embarrassingly petulant, I mentally kicked myself. Who the fuck was I to assume he actuallydidwant me? He’d made a lot of encouraging noises, but really, I knew shit about vampires, plus his friends had all seemed shocked he’d invited me to live with him. I was probably the latest in a long line of short-term interests. He was immortal, after all. How boring must I seem after everything he’d probably witnessed? I sucked in a strangled breath and corrected myself. “Sorry, that was rude of me. Thank you for the room. I don’t have much to put away.” If it didn’t fit, I would keep it in my suitcase. I wasn’t planning on unpacking much anyway, not until I was more confident he really wasn’t going to kick me out.
Edwin made an exasperated noise. “James, man, I don’t expect you not to have your own space. That would be…” He ran a hand through his floppy blond hair, messing it up. “That would be fucked up. I think perhaps we need to have another talk about the meaning of the words ‘blood slave’. You’re not a literal slave. That’s, well, it’s frowned upon these days, to say nothing of demeaning.” He managed a little smile which I think was supposed to be reassuring, although it came off as spooky, and rubbed his chin. “Just so we’re clear right now, although I know you’re nowhere near ready for anything more, I’d absolutely love you to fuck me into the middle of next week, as often as you want. If and when you want that. Okay?”
I felt my pulse stutter at the casual way he mentioned sex. I wanted him, more than I could ever remember wanting anyone, but right now, the thought of being naked andinsomeone made my stomach churn and cold sweat prickle over my forehead. Edwin had been very clear about where his preferences lay. They seemed to align perfectly with mine, but it was too soon, way too soon, to deal with more than feeding him, the mere thought of which turned me on to the point I damn near forgot my own name. Typical. I’d finally found a job, with a home attached and a boss who was my physical ideal, and my brain overrode my body at every turn, clock-blocking arsehole that it was. The FWNN hadsomuch to answer for.
Oh yes, Edwin expected an answer. “Okay,” I repeated.
Edwin sighed, long and loud, then tilted my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his very blue gaze. “You’re not and never will be a sex slave either, love. Much as I admit the thought of tying some hot young stud to my bedposts excites me, I’m a very firm believer in consent. I’m also adult enough to draw clear boundaries between my horny fantasies and reality. So, while I can’t imagine I’m ever going to say no, it will always be your choice.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Even if that’s never. All right?” He waited until I nodded, acutely aware of his finger under my chin, my pulse ricocheting wildly to be even tangentially referred to as a stud, before he grinned and asked me if I wanted to see his bedroom.
Unlike the spare room, this was bigger, decorated in shades of green and cream. Still compact, it had a few personal items on top of a chest of drawers, and old photos hung on the walls. It smelled of cedarwood, a comforting aroma that reminded me of one of my nicer foster placements. It was smart, but still felt warm and cosy. I said as much. It was the right thing to say. Edwin lit up.
“It’s my favourite room I’ve ever had. I’ve never been bothered about following design fads, as you can probably tell.” A smirk. “But seeing as I have no choice but to spend a lot of time indoors, especially in the summer months, I’m rather chuffed with it. Well, with the whole place to be honest, but saying that out loud makes me sound like a pretentious knob.”
“It’s okay to be happy with your house,” I countered. Fuck knows, it was more than I’d ever allowed myself to dream of; to live in one room that didn’t have mould in the corners was a step up for me. I shrugged. “You done good, man.”
He acknowledged me with an echoing shrug. “I’ve had a bit of time to get my ducks in a row. I haven’t always been so together.”
“Can I ask how old you are?” I held my breath. Was this too personal? Maybe I should have asked this before deciding to move away with him. He was, after all, a total stranger.
“Twenty-seven.”
“How long have you been twenty-seven?” Oh my God, could Ibeany more of a cliché? I felt my face heat as he raised amused eyebrows at me.
“A century. I was, to coin a phrase, a hot mess after the war.” He shooed me out of his room. “Let’s make you a mug of tea.” It sounded like he needed to concentrate on a mundane task rather than having any sudden compulsion to hydrate me, but I followed him back to the kitchen, frantically doing the maths.
“The First World War?” I evidently didn’t manage to keep the incredulity from my tone.
“I’m sure you can count, James. Yes, of course that one.” And just like that, he went from friendly to moody again.
Turned out Edwin could make a decent cup of tea, although the face he pulled when he added milk was comic. He insisted we go through to the living room, where he handed me a pad of paper and some pencils. I mean, I had a perfectly serviceable phone, but if it made him happy, I’d do it his way.
“Make a list of all the stuff you need. There’s bound to be things that won’t occur to me. Like, uh…” He tailed off, evidently wracking his brains.
“Loo roll?” I hedged. The bathroom cupboard had nothing except a solitary toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, and a small bar of soap on the side of the basin. Nothing else. Nada. I didn’t consider myself high maintenance, but even I used deodorant and shaving gel. I made a mental note to do some digging about exactly how vampire bodies worked. If they didn’t eat and drink, what did that mean for the way they processed blood? They were technically dead. In which case, how did they…
Edwin chuckled, interrupting my mental dive into vampire bodily functions. “Er, yeah, see? I’ve had the same roll in the bathroom for forever, for show. You’d better add that to the list. This is going to be an experience.”
“Are you regretting it?” I had to know. Better to get out now before I started feeling like this could become a home.
His eyebrows shot up. “What? No, course I’m not.” He gave me a sly grin. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be a great team. Might take some time to get used to each other, but what’s not to like? You’re easy on the eye, your blood tastes great, and you don’t make much noise. And, of course, there are the fringe benefits we’ll both enjoy — if at some point you still want to.”
