Blood To Blood (28 page)

After he’d signed about
eleven autographs, a big, burly vampire bouncer came to the rescue. He turned
the rest away while Markus feigned disappointment. Leery of another potential
wave of fans, he suggested we go to the immortal part of The Nest, and I
agreed. Moments later, after getting re-situated, I turned to him. “Markus, I
really enjoyed our time tonight. But, I don't want to mislead you—”

“Angel, I'm going to stop you
right there. I'm gay.”

I nearly dropped my bottled
blood.

“I’m not ashamed, but I keep
it on the DL since that type of press would probably kill my rap career,
knowwhatimsaying?”

“Markus,” I recovered my
composure, “I’ll never tell. Your secret’s safe.”

“Cool. But even if you were
my type, I could never get in the way of you and your boy over there.” His gaze
went over my shoulder. “I could tell earlier you’re really into each other.”

Expecting to see Justin
again, I rolled my eyes before turning around. But it wasn't Justin. It was
Sawyer. He was leaning on the bar talking to a girl. I recognized her profile;
it was Risa, the seamstress. Her laugh revealed fangs, and she caressed his
neck suggestively as if she wanted to use those fangs on him.

Red clouded my vision as my
shimshana shivered violently in the pit of my stomach. Instantly, I was at her
back, standing before him. His eyes grew wide when he saw me. “He’s mine,” I
seethed before Risa swung around, ready for a fight.

“Angel!” Her usually
expressionless face looked shocked as she backed down from my Shimshana heat.
The lounge had become deathly quiet. All the eyes of the patrons were on me,
and their stares were accompanied by whispers of Risa’s impending demise at my
hands. Then a waiter hurried over, offered her a donor menu, and that was that.

I took Sawyer by the hand and
led him to my family’s booth. “What do you think you’re doing here?” I
demanded.

“Me?” he retorted. “What are
you
doing here?”

“What’s going on here?” a
third voice asked. It was Justin coming toward us. Fast. I could hear Markus
across the room say, “Oh, snap!”

“You’re so upset,” Justin
said to me, “I could feel you.”

The two guys in my life eyed
each other. “Who the hell is this?” they asked simultaneously.

“Justin, Sawyer. Sawyer,
Justin,” I said in nervous introduction. When Justin looked at my hand still in
Sawyer’s, I could feel his despair.

“Excuse us, Sawyer,” I said,
taking Justin’s hand and leading him away to another part of the space. He
glanced back at Sawyer, still standing where we’d left him.

“I’d thought something
happened with the rapper,” he explained. His eyes searched the room until they
came to rest on Markus talking to a rough-looking dude with a tattooed face.

“Is that what all this is
about?” I shook my head in disbelief. Guys… “Trust me, you don’t have to worry
about Markus.”

Justin pointed a defiant chin
at Sawyer. “So you do have a boyfriend.”

“It's still none of your
business,” I said gently not wanting to hurt him further.

“Does he know you, Angel? The
way you deserve to be known?” He searched my eyes. After a few seconds, a
confident smile spread across his lips.  “You’re the forever type, Angel.
And I’ll always be here for you. Forever.” He walked away, but his allusion to
Sawyer’s mortality stayed with me like a troublesome fog as I made my way back
to the booth.

But once I returned to
Sawyer, the fog and the thought of everything else evaporated as I stood before
him, fascinated by his presence. Of all the things Justin said, I chose just
one word and let it roll around my head a little.

Boyfriend.

I'd never had one before. Had
never felt butterflies flutter alongside quick little fish swimming in my
insides. I simultaneously wanted to devour him and protect him. I felt insane.
And I loved it. His eyes locked with mine and our fingers intertwined. I
marveled at his gorgeous face towering above me, as my fingers itched to pull
the elastic from his low ponytail and watch his hair cascade around his square
jaw.

“To answer your question,” he
said referring to our interrupted conversation, “my Nana’s immortal. She
suggested I come here so I wouldn't feel so alone.” Mortals with immortal DNA. That
was what Mom had been hinting at. “I came here to find a place to call home.
And I found you.”

He ran a finger across my
cheekbone, and that entire side of my face felt warm and tingly. I had to
remind myself there were other people in the room.

But I also told myself that
since I knew all about him, it was time he knew all about me. My eyes, half
shut from the pleasure of his touch, opened completely as I took his hand in
mine and summoned a waiter. “AB,” I ordered, “with a splash of O. No ice. Ten,
please. And a mineral water.” Sawyer’s head cocked at a questioning angle and
his eyes narrowed as they searched my face. “I'm sorry for walking out of your
place like that,” I said, stroking the inside of his wrist. “I knew that if I
stayed I would end up spilling the beans. Or spilling your blood.”

“What...?” The word came out
of him as if he suspected there was more, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know
what it was.

The waiter returned with the
glasses of blood. “I wanted to show you who I really am,” I picked up one
glass. “But I had to protect my family. And I wanted to protect you from me.”
With that, I downed the glasses at immortal speed. He studied me, then the
empty glasses, before turning an astounded stare back to me.

“You’re drinking blood,” he
finally said in a quiet voice. I nodded. He then held my gaze so calmly and
completely, I knew there was nothing more I would ever hide from him.

“Eventually, I would have
found a way to come back to you,” I revealed. “I can't stay away for too long.”

 “I wanted to get you
outta my head and pretend it didn't matter,” he said. “But I couldn't. And it
does. I can't stay away at all.” He smiled as I hovered over the couch. “By the
way,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “I was never glamoured. Glamour protection
was one of the first things Nana taught me. When you turned away and said ‘No,
Daddy’ it gave me enough time to put the shield up.”

I swatted his arm in
disbelief. “You knew!”

“I knew your Dad practiced
magic, so I figured you did, too and you’d tell me when you were ready. I never
thought there was all this.” He waved at the empty glasses.

Suddenly, I remembered I was
supposed to be on a date with Markus, and that it’d been over a half hour since
I’d left him sitting there. Feeling like an awful friend, I excused myself and
searched the Nest for him. Nada. Maybe he got lucky with Tattoo Guy.  I
turned to see Sawyer in front of me, holding up the new bomber jacket as if
he’d already done it for me a million times. “I’ll take you home,” he said with
finality, as if there could never be another option. I offered him my shoulders
where he placed the jacket before wrapping me in his arms.

S
oon Sawyer was bundling me into his
sleek, bronze Audi. I commented on the new-car smell.

“Just got it a few days ago.
Figured if I was going to be taken seriously, I needed to have a car.” His
glance suggested he meant being taken seriously by me. I nestled myself into
the deep leather seats. Being so close to him in the confines of the car drove
me crazy. It took major effort to not grab him and drain him dry. I could do
it, faster than anyone who might happen to look through the window could see.
He wouldn't even know. But I would know. For eternity.

Sawyer was unaware of the
dark thoughts crowding my mind. “Does the heat bother you?” he inquired
politely as he pulled into the downtown traffic,

“No. Neither does the cold.
My body just adjusts regardless of the temperature.”

The dark thoughts continued.
One taste of his blood wouldn’t satisfy me; I would want more. Much more. I
studied his profile. The rise of his nose, the plane of his cheeks. The way the
streetlights brought out silvery highlights in his hair. I could never feed
from Sawyer. To turn him into a donor would be unfair to him. Unfair to us. And
I could never take the chance of losing control with him. I needed him just the
way he was. For as long as he was.

His long, pale hands capably
handled the steering wheel as he made a curb-hugging turn. Silently, I thanked
the heavens that he liked to drive fast. “Angel. What exactly are you?” He
threw a knitted-brow glance at me. “Aren't you supposed to have fangs?”

 “I don't sleep in a
coffin. Or turn into a bat.” He chuckled and waited for an answer while I
fumbled with the right words. I'd never had to explain what I was before. “I’m
immortal. Just like your Nana. There are many types of immortals… I am what’s
known as Shimshana.” I furtively checked his reaction to this. He met my eyes briefly
before returning his attention to the road.

“We are the original blood
drinkers. We look like everybody else. We don’t need fangs. We’re warm-blooded
and we love the sun. Like everyone else, we feel pain; we get sick, injured,
etc. At the Nest, there’s lots of blood drinkers, but we all have something in
common. We want to, need to, connect fully with our humanity.”

“Do all Shimshana sing?”

“Not like me. All immortals
have unique abilities of varying degrees.”

I sighed and looked out of
the window. How much could I tell him without scaring him off? Too much
information too soon might push him away and I couldn't bear that now. “My
voice can fix things, and hurt people.”
Kill people would be more accurate
,
I thought. “I can also move really fast, go through solid objects, and freeze
time.”

I had to give him credit for
keeping a steady hand on the wheel. He blinked a few times before composing his
face. The alternative rock emitting from the radio was the only sound for an
eighth of a mile.

We parked outside of my
house. He switched off the ignition and turned to me. His eyes looked wild and
they studied me for a long moment. “I know it's a lot,” I blurted. “I'll
understand if you keep driving away, back to your studio, and refuse to have
anything more to do with me outside of music.”

He answered by cupping the
right side of my face with his hand. He leaned toward me and I felt my lips
involuntarily part. His eyes searched mine. “Angel,” he breathed seductively,
“can I please come inside?” For a few seconds, I forgot where I was. Literally.
I actually had to shake my head as if that would help me get back to a normal
un-Sawyer-fied state. I then nodded, speechless, before directing him to our
parking behind the house.

Dad met us at the door.
“Angel,” he said sternly, “if you are going to be getting home at this time of
night, you should call. Your mom was worried.”

“Um, sorry Dad.” I prayed he
wouldn’t ask about Markus.

“I told you both she was
okay,” Cici said as she and Mom walked down the stairs in slippered feet.

“That’s what the lock is for,
Abraham,” Mom said gently. She looked exhausted, and I felt a pang of guilt for
the worry she’d experienced. “Thank you for bringing Angel home, Sawyer,” she
continued.

“Guess one of them had to,”
Cici said with a sly grin. I felt my face burn.

“Make yourself at home,” Dad
said with a grudging tone. “But don’t get too comfortable.”

Embarrassed beyond reason, I
dragged Sawyer away.

“What’s the lock?” he asked
as we made our way down the hall.

“Cici and Dad are telepaths
of a sort. They lock onto my mind in order to monitor and damage control me
twenty-four-seven. As a newborn, I’m dangerous, unstable, and can easily kill.
I’ve killed already.”

Humiliated, I couldn't even
look at his face to see his reaction to my latest bombshell. But he gently
lifted my chin and forced me to look into his eyes. They were calm, and
fearless. “I know you won't hurt me, Angel.”

Did he not hear what I just
said? Maybe he had a death wish. “How do you know that, Sawyer?”

“You could’ve killed me that
first day in the studio. I thought you were kissing my neck. You were close,
weren’t you? But…here I am.”

His faith in me released the
difficult words that came out in a rush of emotion. “It wasn't you, it was me!
I killed Heist. With my voice. He died because he heard me sing!” I lost it
then. He took me in his arms as I sobbed with guilt I didn’t even know I was
still carrying. He stroked my back, methodically, as if he were pulling the
stress out of me with his gentle touch. Eventually, I calmed down.

“Your face’s a mess,” he said
gently.

I looked at his once-white
shirt. “Your shirt's red, pink, and white.”

He wiped away my tears with
the ball of his thumb and regarded the red on his finger. “Whoa.”

“You still want to stay?”

“Angel, I'm not scared. I've
seen some pretty frightening things. Right now I want to hear all about you.”