Velvet (14 page)

“So,” I said slowly, honestly wishing he’d brought a flannel graph, “you drink ‘donor’ blood so your body can function the way a normal human body should, except with a bagillion more steps thrown in for supernatural kicks and giggles.”

“Pretty much.”

I frowned. “That’s all way less mysterious than I was expecting.”

He shrugged. “We’ve been studying our own anatomy for centuries. We may not know exactly where we come from, but on a basic physiological level, we understand how our systems operate. Anyway, all that was a roundabout way of telling you why we need blood. I believe your original question was how do we not kill humans when we get it?”

“Right. That one was the one. Yes.”

“You don’t sound very convinced.”

“You just dumped a lot of information on me. How am I supposed to remember what my original question was?”

He blushed a little. “I can stop talking.”

“Gee,” I said, scratching my chin, “y’know, I think I’d really rather discuss foreign policy or the bacterial growth of yogurt—
of course I want to hear more.
”

He smiled. “Okay, well, this is all new to me, too—at least getting to talk about it with someone who isn’t old and pompous and incredibly boring.” He cleared his throat, blushing a little. I liked how easily he blushed. “Anyway,” he continued, “people kinda freak out when you’re trying to extract blood from one of their major arteries, so we kind of convince them not to, y’know—twitch around and stuff. In fact, I can persuade you to do almost anything I want, if the conditions are right.”

I peered closely at his face. “You talking about the freaky eye thing?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “But we call it compulsion.”

I leaned back. “So, basically, you’re telling me you can do Jedi mind tricks.”

He glanced at me. “Well—yeah.” He shrugged. “Closer to hypnosis, really. I have to be making direct eye contact, and the donor has to be physically weakened or otherwise susceptible to persuasion.” He held up my wrist and ran his thumb across it. “We hypnotize them into a short coma so they don’t make a mess.” He blinked, then set my wrist back down carefully. “It’s not just that we need it, though. We—
like
it. When it’s weeks old, transported between God knows how many blood banks and hospitals—even if you’re trying to be cultured and drink it from a juice glass, it’s bland. But when it’s fresh—”

He was still driving carefully, but his eyes had a slightly glazed look to them, like he was daydreaming. “You kind of just want to take more than you need.”

A small smile played across his lips, and I think that was the first moment I truly believed what he was. If he’d shown a matching pair of fangs, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Freaked out, but not surprised.

He blinked a few times, then turned to me, frowning. “You know it’s weird that you’re not more weirded out by all of this.”

I shrugged as he pulled into the school parking lot. “Besides your freaky eye thing and the freaky storm thing, this is all just a story—you’re telling me a very detailed, very bizarre story. It’s hard to be scared by that, especially when it’s sunny out,” I said, pointing a thumb at the window. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

He smiled at me, but we were late, so I ran off to class.

As soon as I sat down in what had become my customary desk in Mr. Warren’s room, Trish pounced.

“
What the hell
, Mystic? You hook up with Adrian and what? Forget to tell me? This is why we have
cell phones
, e-mail! You could’ve tied a note to a friggin’ pigeon and sent it to me!”

Was it really only yesterday that he’d sat by me at lunch and basically announced to the whole world that we were an item? It felt like a week ago.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to sound meek. “It all happened really fast.”
Really
fast.

She looked at me slyly. “What exactly
did
happen?”

“Nothing
happened
,” I said, knowing what she was implying. “He was just over at the ranch for dinner, and we talked, and voil
à
, we’re dating.”

She eyed me, obviously convinced I was withholding juicy details. “You’re a bad liar, Mystic, but congratulations, you snagged a boy.”

I mentally snorted. I hadn’t snagged a boy; I’d snagged a freaking vampire. Well, it was more like he’d snagged me, but whatever, some snagging had occurred.

When I headed to lunch with Trish, Adrian was standing outside my fourth-period class. As we walked out, he slipped his arm around my waist, which was beginning to feel less and less weird.

We sat down and a senior started talking to him immediately, diverting his attention. Trish looked at me meaningfully over her carton of milk.

I turned so no one could hear. “What do you want to know?”

She peeked over my shoulder to see that Adrian was firmly engaged in his conversation, then whispered, “Details—when, where,
how
.”

I gave her my driest look. “Two nights ago. At my aunt and uncle’s. Because we decided it was best.”

She shook her head. “You are the worst storyteller I have ever met.”

“Are you looking for a good one, then?”

It was Adrian. A hush went over the entire lunch area. Adrian never spoke up voluntarily, let alone to tell stories—let alone to tell
romantic
stories. They’d all been waiting years for this.

Adrian put his arm around my shoulders. My first instinct was to smack him, but I realized two could play this game. I plastered a love-drunk smile on my face and twined my fingers through his hand with as much sugar-coated grossness as I could muster. He arched an eyebrow as if to say
challenge accepted,
then looked up at the waiting crowd.

“As many of you know, I’m not the most social person.” There were a few scattered laughs, but no one could tell if he was actually trying to be funny or not. I only knew he was because of the half crinkle of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “For years,” he continued, every single person hanging on to his every word, “I’ve been so focused on academics and getting into a good college that I hardly ever saw the world around me. That is, until I rescued Caitlin during the storm.” He looked down at me like I was just
so
adorable. “After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.” He smiled happily. “And now we’re completely inseparable.”

There was a sort of letting out of breath as everyone sighed. Even Trish looked a little dreamy. I looked up at him and fluttered my eyelashes a few times as I whispered, “If you don’t let me go right now, I’m going to bite you.”

He grinned wickedly and murmured, “Go ahead.”

I didn’t even try to hide my glare.

“Although,” he said, nuzzling his face against my neck so no one could hear him, “perhaps
I
should be the one making threats about biting.” I felt the gentle scrape of his teeth on the side of my neck and—

“You all right, Mystic?”

I looked at Trish, startled, and squeaked, “I’m fine!” Adrian chuckled too low for anyone else to hear and let me go.

Fifteen minutes later the bell rang. I tried to run off to class again, and again, Adrian caught me by the back of my jacket, looking puzzled.

“You’re really giving people the wrong impression with all this running away.” He slung an arm over my shoulders casually.

“
We need some rules
,” I hissed.

He looked around at the milling students. “Really? I think the ad-libbing is going quite well.”

He stopped in front of my fifth-period class, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him a few feet down the hall to the tune of giggles and whispers behind us. As soon as we were out of earshot, I let go of his hand and stared sternly up at him.

“If I want grossly affectionate public encounters, I will let you know. Until then—rules.”

“All right,” he said brightly. He planted a quick kiss on the top of my head and headed off, but there was a grin on his face that I didn’t trust. Maybe he was just reveling in having an excuse to interact with people for the first time.

Maybe.

*   *   *

“Lucian’s the one that looks like my younger brother, because he is. Julian’s the one that looks like my older brother—although he’s in New York for the foreseeable future so he won’t be there tonight. Mariana’s the one that looks like my aunt but is actually my sister, and Dominic’s the one that looks like my uncle but is actually my brother-in-law.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly. “Very helpful.”

We were driving along the winding, forest-lined lane to Adrian’s house. In a few minutes, I would be meeting his family, which was legitimately freaking me out. Would they be like Adrian, or would they be all pale and creepy and mean? Would there be cameras and lights and a D-list celebrity host popping out with a mic? “Surprise! You’re on a dumb prank show where we convince normally intelligent people that mythical creatures exist!” I honestly didn’t know which would be worse—if it was a joke, or if it was real.

We finally came around the last curve in the driveway and he parked—while I stared. Technically, I’d been here once before, but it had been the dead of night, and I’d been drunk, and sitting here now I was completely unprepared to come face-to-face with the embodiment of just how different Adrian’s life was from mine.

A detached five-car garage stood to our right. Straight ahead of us, however, was a three-story—well, I think
mansion
would be the only adequate term. It looked like an architect’s fantasy of a luxury ski resort, with one- and two-story wings spreading gracefully from the main hall. French doors were scattered at picturesque intervals, leading to little decks and terraces with manicured potted trees and shrubbery. Honest-to-God
shrubbery
. Their front door gave me the impression that it had once belonged on a Gothic cathedral, and the wrought-iron fence surrounding the property lent the whole snow-laden house an air of elegant impenetrability.

“You live in a castle,” I told him, as if he was not aware of where he lived.

He glanced at it. “This was built ten years ago. It’s not a castle.”

“Fine then—mansion.”

“It doesn’t have enough rooms to be a mansion.”

I looked at him. “How many rooms does it have?”

He shrugged and said, “A dozen bedrooms,” as if that were the normal number of bedrooms that houses were supposed to have.

I choked. “And there’s
five
of you?”

He smiled way too cheerfully. “Ready?”

No
, I thought but slid down out of the truck and followed him through the snow to the house. Entering a code into the security keypad, he pushed the door open and led me inside.

The entryway was a good fifteen feet wide, made entirely of white marble. Straight ahead, a winding staircase branched off at the second story before continuing up to the third. Black-and-white marble busts of what I assumed were very important people were placed tastefully on white pedestals. It should have been kind of tacky and over the top, but it wasn’t—it was beautiful. And intimidating as hell. Adrian slipped my coat off and hung it in on a mahogany rack.

“If you don’t mind, Mariana doesn’t like shoes inside the house.”

I quickly tore my boots off. This place was rich enough to be holy ground.

“Come on,” he said, leading me to the left through an archway. We walked into a vast dining room with a marble fireplace on the opposite wall. The furniture was dark wood, intricately carved; the candleholders were solid silver; the chandelier dripped with Swarovski crystals. Adrian pulled lightly on my hand and we came into a kitchen the size of my aunt and uncle’s entire house. We passed through this, too, down a hallway, and to what I would have to call the most kick-ass library I have ever seen. The ceiling was at least two stories tall, maybe three. Huge overstuffed armchairs and couches were scattered around the room, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were grouped in spiral formations throughout the hardwood floor, which made it impossible to see from one end of the room to the other. As we walked, I realized there were rolling ladders lining the walls and I had the sudden, crazy urge to climb on one and have Adrian push me around. I was therefore understandably distracted when the attack came. From above, something flew straight at me. I shrieked, jumping back into Adrian’s chest.

“Boo,” the thing said, coming to a halt inches from my face.

Adrian clasped his hands over my mouth, then tilted my head up to look at him.

“It’s just Lucian.”

I looked again. An eleven-year-old boy was hanging upside down from a pulley attached to the ceiling. His light brown hair stood out in wavy strands from his upside-down face, and his eyes were covered in an overly large pair of aviator goggles.

“How do you do?” the boy asked me, sticking out his hand.

“I’m—fine,” I said, shaking it.

He looked at Adrian. “Her heart is fast.”

“That’s because you scared her. Normal people don’t hang from ceilings upside down.”

“They don’t?” Lucian asked seriously. Adrian shook his head. Lucian sighed, flipped over, and landed gracefully—and barefoot—on the hardwood before walking off.

I looked at Adrian. “What was that?”

“Lucian is fond of this room.” He pointed up. “The harness is attached to rolling magnets, which adhere to the steel ceiling. As long as you have the right weights up, you can roll around the whole library. Makes getting books down a lot easier.”

I stared at Adrian, a gleeful look stealing over my face. “When can I try this?”

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “And you call me a nerd.”

We came around the corner of a bookshelf into a sectioned-off area at the far end of the library. A massive fireplace was roaring merrily with a fire (as it should, being a fireplace). In front of this was a trio of white sofas with tall backs and plush pillows. A man and woman, looking to be in their early thirties, were perched elegantly on the right couch.

The woman, whom I assumed was Adrian’s sister, Mariana, had bright, bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair in a chin-length bob. She wore an ivory cashmere sweater and black leggings, feet tucked under her as she pored through a leather-bound book and sipped on a glass of white wine. Her husband, Dominic—Adrian’s brother-in-law, I think—had brown eyes and sandy hair that looked effortlessly tousled in a way that most people found impossible to achieve without the help of trained professionals. He, too, was reading a book and sipping on a glass of wine, although his was red.