The cat twirls around, its tail straight up, then curls into a little bun beside the sink.
“I guess she wants a nap.” Everly still looks somewhat perplexed.
“We aren’t finished with this conversation,” I remind her.
“No, we aren’t,” she agrees. “You need to tell me what you’re doing here and what happened to the man who owned the house before you. Why was he found with his blood drained? And what do you know about the teenagers who were discovered dead near here? Their blood was drained too.” She leans back, her gaze narrowing. “Sounds like a vampire attack to me.”
“It does,” I agree. “But it wasn’t me, I can assure you.”
“I can’t just take you at your word.” She sighs.
“Why not?”
“You’re a vampire.”
“So? I was once a human. It’s not like I’m a completely foreign entity. I don’t make a habit of lying if I don’t have to.” I take her hand again, and she doesn’t pull away. “Look. I’ve killed people.”
She starts to pull.
“Wait.” I lean closer to her. She doesn’t flinch, and fuck that makes me ridiculously happy. “I’ve killed bad people, all right? People you wouldn’t miss. People who have done horrible things and gotten away with it.”
“You mean like killers or abusers or something?” She raises one skeptical brow.
“Yes. I’ve taken lives. And I’ve drained their blood and stored it for my meals. It’s sort of like prepping for the winter, or getting a harvest and canning most of it. I eat from my stores when I need to, and I never just kill on a whim. I have reasons.”
“Still doesn’t make it okay.” She shakes her head.
“I never said it was okay. I simply said I don’t go around murdering innocents. I’m bad, but I’m not trying to burn the world down. I’m just trying to survive.”
We stay in silence for a long while, Everly eyeing me as Buffy snores lightly from her spot on the counter.
“I’m not scared of you,” she says slowly.
“Good.”
“But I should be.”
“No.” I lean closer and nip her ear. “I should be scared of you, what with all the biting you’ve been doing.”
“Why do I do that? It’s not like I go around biting people.” She shakes her head in frustration.
“Maybe you like the way I taste.” I smirk and run my lips down her throat. “I know I’ll love the way you taste.”
“Hey, buddy,” she says, likely intending it as a warning, but it comes out breathy and sexy.
“Mmm?” I let my tongue trail along her skin, tasting the extravagance of her.
“Ian said—”
“Ian said not to fuck you or bite you—not that I care to do what he tells me to—but I’m doing neither, poppet.” Yet. I grip her hips and pull her to the edge of the counter. When my cock bumps against the heat between her thighs, I groan.
Her hands go to my shoulders, and she inhales sharply as I suck her skin between my teeth, careful not to bite.
“I want to know more about you, poppet,” I whisper in her ear.
“I should be running.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” I pull back and meet her gaze.
“My parents died. They had no idea about vampires or the danger around them. I should be smarter than that.” She pulls her hands back.
I stare at her, trying to figure her out, to figure us out. “I don’t think your parents were quite as unaware as you think.”
“What?”
“Your parents knew the vampires who killed them. After all, they had to have invited them in.”
“I realize that, but they probably thought they were human. Or maybe—”
“That’s not how it works. The person doing the inviting has to know it’s a vampire they’re asking in.”
“What?” Her eyes take on an inquisitive glint. “My books didn’t say anything about that.”
“That’s the point of the invitation. The human invites the danger in. They are agreeing to take their chances. It’s like a magical contract—at least that’s the way it’s been explained to me in the few times I’ve crossed paths with other vampires and actually discussed the topic. A vampire can’t enter a home unless the human is aware they’re inviting a vampire—a killer—into their midst.”
“Oh my God.” She pales. “So my parents weren’t just some random victims. They knew?”
“Afraid so, poppet. Your parents knew their killer. And they knew it was a vampire.”
8
Everly
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. How come I’d never thought of that before? I should’ve looked it up or asked Ian or done more than just take at face value what my foster families told me.
For some reason, it just clicks. It feels right. My parents knew about vampires.
“You okay, poppet?” Vincent pulls my bottom lip out from between my teeth.
“You know, we moved a lot. Do you think we were on the run? Could my parents have been vampire slayers?” Now I’m questioning everything I thought I knew, trying to sift back through my childhood. A lot of it is filled with holes, but I’d been so young when everything happened. Sometimes I’m not even sure if some of the memories I have are real ones or things I made up.