Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
In the low lighting, he looked a bit more ominous than he had in my brightly lit, drab apartment.
“So, do you have a name? Or should I keep mentally thinking of you as ‘the vampire’?”
“My name is Nathaniel.”
“Seriously?” I asked, a laugh bubbling up, threatening to burst out.
“What is so funny?”
“I mean, aren’t vampires named cool things? You know… Dracula, Angelus, Lestat, Damon, Spike…”
“Fictional characters,” he said, biting off the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth.
“I mean, I guess there are other ones with boring names too. Edward and Bill come to mind,” I said, nodding.
“If you must know, Nathaniel was a popular name in the 1700s.”
1700s.
That meant this vampire was, roughly, three hundred years old.
No wonder he was so fast.
I always wondered if the rumors were true about these nightwalkers. About how the older they were, the more powerful they became.
Since the only other vampires I’d known were under one hundred years old and their floating thing was maybe only the speed of a middle-aged mom’s power walk, and this guy seemed to warp time when he did it, then, yeah, I guess those rumors were true.
“But you could have changed it,” I said, shrugging. “Everyone who once knew you is dead, so no one would know. Though, that sounds like a lot of work.”
“Yes, perish the thought of doing a little extra work,” he deadpanned, making my brows raise.
Vampires were capable of a sense of humor? Who’d have known?
“So, Nathanial-Your-Name-Is-Totally-Not-Lame, what do you want from me?” I asked. “To bite me? Because I wouldn’t advise that.”
“Why not?” he asked, head tilted to the side. And, did his gaze slide to my neck, or was that just my overactive imagination?
“Well,” I said, finally dropping down into one of the barrel chairs, watching as Nathaniel lowered into his seat as well. Old-fashioned good manners apparently held up even three hundred years later. “I once tried to donate my plasma to a vampire blood bank,” I told him.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you donate your blood?”
“For… easy money?” Why else would anyone donate?
“You were unsuccessful?”
“Apparently, my blood tastes like battery acid,” I told him, shrugging. I’d ended up going to a human blood bank. They paid significantly less and had all sorts of limits on how often you could donate. The vampires didn’t really care if you became anemic, obviously.
“Battery acid,” Nathaniel repeated, pressing his lips together. “You come from a long line of witches then?” he asked.
“My mom, aunts, and grandma were all witches. I don’t know beyond that.”
“If your blood has that strong of a taste, I suspect your lineage goes back longer than I do,” he said.
“Okay. And why are we talking about my ancestry? What does that have to do with why I’m here?”
To that, Nathaniel sat back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of his nose as he considered what he was going to say.
“I have… an arrangement for you.”
“An arrangement? You know, I actually can’t right now. My schedule is jam-packed.”
“Watching brainless television programs and eating fried potatoes?” he drawled, brow quirking up.
“I have work.”
“You create vending machine spells.”
“It’s still work.” I had a little burn on my thumb to prove that effort actually did go into the spells.
“Barely.”
“Anyway, I’m busy. So, thanks. But no thanks,” I said, getting to my feet and starting toward the doorway.
Before I could make it there, though, I felt the chill rush past me, along with a black blur in my peripheral vision. Then he was right there in front of me, arm out to block the rest of the doorway.
“I’m afraid this is not a negotiation.”
“Then why call it an arrangement?”
“In an attempt to make this more civil.”
“Right. A vampire with morals. Cute,” I said, irritation growing as my stomach started to rumble louder with each passing moment. “What do you want from me?”
“Your assistance.”
“My… assistance?” I asked, brows raising. “Doing what?”
“At first, stealing a key.”
“At first?” I asked. Because this was sure starting to sound like a lot of work. Which, you know, was simply not my thing.
“Yes, first you will steal the key. Then you will use the key.”
“What does it unlock?”
“A labyrinth.”
“A labyrinth,” I repeated. “Like… of hedges?”
“No.”
Mr. Talkative over here.
“Why can’t you steal the key and unlock the labyrinth?”
“Don’t you think I would have if it was possible? Both are protected by magic.”
“I see. Well, I think you need someone stronger than me for that kind of job. I can write you a list,” I said, turning back toward the desk to grab a pen and paper.
“You will be doing these tasks,” he said, appearing in front of me once again.
“Or what?”
“You will be doing them because you are not going to turn down the reward for accomplishing the tasks to my satisfaction.”
“And what kind of reward is that?” I asked, angling my head up to hold his gaze. I was going to go ahead and pretend the shiver that slid down my spine was fear, not interest.