What the hell…?
She caught her breath as Oliver slipped into the seat opposite him. Oliver was a lanky guy, tall and a bit stooped, with long curling hair that was sprinkled and shot through with gray. Not very threatening, Oliver, until you saw the fangs and the real personality lurking underneath what he put on for the public. Oliver was terrifying, and she had no desire at all to get into any position where she’d have to deal with him again.
Claire turned to go, and ran into a broad chest clad in a soft gray T-shirt. She looked up, and saw a guy she didn’t recognize—a little older than Shane, maybe, but not much. He had soft, short red hair, and he was fair-skinned and freckled. Big blue eyes, the kind of blue that made her think of clear skies or deep oceans. He was just…pretty. And kind of peaceful.
Big and solid, and wearing—of all things, in this Texas late-summer heat wave—an old, worn brown leather jacket. No backpack, but he looked like a student.
He smiled down at her. She expected him to step out of the way, but he didn’t; instead, he reached down, took her hand, and said, “Hello, Claire. I’m Sam. Let’s talk.’”
His fingers felt cool, like clay. And he was, under the freckles, a little too pale. And there was something fey and sad in his eyes, too.
Oh, crap. Vampire.
Claire tried to pull free. He held on effortlessly. He could break bones if he wanted to—she sensed it—but he used just enough strength to keep her from getting loose. “Don’t,’” Sam said. “I need to talk to you. Please, I promise not to hurt you. Let’s sit down, okay?’”
“But—’” Claire looked around, alarmed. The two jocks were moving away, heading for the bar to get drinks. The place was busy, and there were students everywhere—chatting, laughing, playing games, tapping away on laptops, talking on cell phones. And, of course, nobody was paying attention to her. She could make a scene and probably get away, but that would draw the attention of Oliver, not to mention Shane’s dad, and she didn’t want that. Low-pro was the order of the day.
Claire swallowed and let the vampire pull her to a secluded table near the window. He sat far from the hard white line of sunshine that had crept in across the wooden floor. The canopy outside screened most of it, but there was a tiny little area of risk left, she supposed.
Sam kept hold of her hand. She sat down, tried to make her voice strong and steady, and said, “Would you mind letting go now? Since I’m sitting?’”
“What? Oh. Sure.’” He released her, and gave her a smile that even her biased, suspicious (verging on paranoid) mind interpreted as…sweet. “Sorry. You’re just so warm. It feels good.’”
He sounded wistful. She couldn’t afford to feel sorry for him, no way in hell. Couldn’t. “How do you know my name?’” she asked.
His blue eyes narrowed when he smiled. “You’re kidding. Everybody knows your name. You, Shane, Eve, Michael. The Founder put out a Directive. First time in, oh, I guess about thirty years, maybe forty. Pretty dramatic stuff. We’re all on our best behavior around you, don’t worry.’” His gaze flicked around, touched on Oliver, and came back to her. “Well, except for people who don’t really have a best behavior.’”
“People,’” Claire said, and crossed her arms. She hoped it made her look tough and strong, but she really did it because she was feeling cold. “You’re not people.’”
Sam looked a bit hurt. “Harsh, Claire. Of course we’re people. We’re just…different.’”
“No, you kill people. You’re—parasites!’” And she had no idea why she was getting into a debate about it with a total stranger. A vampire, at that. At least he hadn’t done that thing to her like Brandon had done, that mesmerizing thing. Oh, and she wasn’t supposed to be looking him in the eye. Crap. She’d forgotten. Sam seemed kind of, well, normal. And he did have lovely eyes.
Sam was thinking over what she’d said, as if it was a serious argument. “Food chain,’” he offered.
“What?’”
“Well, humans are parasites and mass murderers, from the point of view of vegetables.’”
That…almost made some kind of weird sense. Almost. “I’m not a carrot. What do you want from me? Besides the obvious, I mean.’” She mimed fangs in the neck.
He looked a little ashamed. “I need to ask you a favor. Can you give something to Eve for me?’”
She couldn’t imagine anything Eve would want less than a gift from a vampire. “No,’” she said. “Is that it? Can I go?’”
“Wait! It’s nothing bad, I swear. It’s just that I always thought she was a lot of fun. I’m going to miss her coming in here. She always brightened up the place.’” He reached in his pocket and took out a small black box, which he handed over. Claire frowned and fidgeted with it for a second, then snapped the cover open. Not that it was any of her business, but…
It was a necklace. A pretty one, silver, with a shiny coffin-shaped locket. Claire raised her eyes to Sam’s, reminded herself again not to do that, and focused somewhere in the middle of his chest. (He had a nice chest. Kind of built, actually.) “What’s in it?’”
“Open it,’” he said, and shrugged. “I’m not trying to hide anything. I told you, it’s nothing dangerous.’”
She snapped the lid of the coffin open. Inside, there was a tiny silver statue of a girl with her arms crossed over her chest. Creepy, but kind of cool, too. Claire had to admit, Eve would probably be delighted.
“Look, I’m not stalking her,’” Sam said. “We’re just…friends. She’s not the biggest fan of the not quite breathing, thanks to that asshole Brandon—I get that. I’m not trying to be her boyfriend. I just thought she might like it.’”
Sam was not fitting into Claire’s recently built pigeonholes, so new they still smelled of mental sawdust. VAMPIRES—BAD, one said. The one next to it said VAMPIRES—DOWNRIGHT EVIL. Those were pretty much the only two vampire slots available.
She didn’t know where to put him. Sam just looked like a guy with sad eyes and a sweet smile, who could use some sun. A normal guy, one she’d probably get her heart rate up over talking to in class.
But that was probably how he got his victims, she reminded herself. She snapped the cover shut on the locket, closed the case, and slid it back across the table to him. “Sorry,’” she said. “I’m not taking anything. If you want her to have it, give it to her yourself. Not that I think she’ll ever come in here again.’”
Sam looked taken aback, but he took the case and put it in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Okay,’” he said. “Thanks for listening. Can I ask you something else? Not a favor, just information.’”
She wasn’t sure, but she nodded.
“It’s about Amelie.’” Sam had lowered his voice, and his eyes were suddenly fierce and intense. Not so normal-guy. This was what he’d really wanted, not just the gift to Eve. This was personal. “You talked to her, I heard. How is she? How did she seem?’”
“Why?’”
He didn’t break the stare. “She doesn’t talk to me anymore. None of them do. I don’t care about the others, but…I worry about her.’”
Claire couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A vampire wanted her to talk about his vampire queen? Weirdy McWeird. “Um…she seems…fine…. She doesn’t talk to you anymore? Why not?’”
“I don’t know,’” he said, and sat back. “She hasn’t spoken to me for fifty years, give or take a few months. And no matter how many times I ask, I can’t see her. They won’t accept messages.’” Something dark and wounded flickered in those innocent-looking eyes. “She made me, and she abandoned me. Nobody’s seen her in public in a long time. Now suddenly she’s talking to you. Why?’”
Fifty years. She was talking to an at-least-seventy-year-old man, with skin finer than hers. With a gorgeous, unlined face, and eyes that had seen…well…more than she ever would, most likely. Fifty years? “How old are you?’” she blurted, because it was seriously freaking her out.
“Seventy-two. I’m the youngest,’” he said.