Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(83)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

‘No.’ He walked around me, leaning on the stone banister. ‘He was not too pleased. He finds Romania quite beautiful, but there happens to be something far more beautiful here, if a little annoying and very outspoken.’

I flushed deep red and my stomach fluttered at the compliment. ‘Nice to see you too, Kaspar.’ I leaned against the banister beside him, careful to keep far enough away to not run the risk of accidentally touching him.

‘Did I ever say it was nice to see you, even as stunning as you look in white?’ He asked, quite sincerely, but his eyes twinkled mischievously and I mocked insult.

‘So rude! And white washes me out, it’s hardly stunning.’

‘Precisely. It makes you look like a vampire.’ He turned away as he spoke, but not before I caught the pink tinge in his eyes. Again, I knew the correct emotion to feel would be upset, but I couldn’t help but feel flattered. ‘But seriously, it is nice to see you. Turns out you’re what makes life fun,’ he said, chuckling quietly.

‘Thanks. I guess I missed you too,’ I mumbled, hoping that the lanterns were dim enough for him not to see my blush, becoming permanent.

‘What?’

My heart dropped. ‘I missed you,’ I repeated.

He laughed. ‘I heard you, Girly, I just wondered if I could have that in writing?’

I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I never thought I would live to see the day when you would say that.’ He twisted so that he fully faced me and I smiled half-heartedly at his comment as I felt my eyes wander without permission down his torso to linger below the tails of his waistcoat.

God, I’ve seen you naked.

‘Violet?’

I shook my head and felt an embarrassed smile spread across my face. I shifted my gaze to the grounds. ‘How was Romania?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his smirk fading away as his face became serious again. ‘Beautiful, as I said. I wish I could take you there; show you home. It would have been nice to have someone there who shares my passion for alcohol too.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘You drank a lot?’

He sighed and his eyes dulled to a mint green. ‘It’s hard to know how much you’ve had when you’re drinking alone.’

My heart and hopes lifted a little. So he didn’t go off with other girls?

‘Alone?’

He returned to watching the grounds, glancing at me every few seconds, as though torn between what he should be looking at. ‘You seem surprised.’

‘I just thought …’

He did not pressure me to finish my sentence and we lapsed into silence, yet the absence of talk was not an awkward barrier between us. Instead, it seemed comforting, knowing that we were at ease with the quiet. I closed my eyes for a while, listening to the odd chirp of a bird and the continuous pattering of water on water in the fountain. Even behind closed eyelids I could see a suspension of red and gold – the tiny flies floating above the pond and the tongues of flames in the lantern.

‘You’re cold,’ he whispered.

I opened my eyes, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eyes. ‘Only a little.’

He raised an eyebrow, brushing his own hair from his brow. ‘I can see the goose bumps on your arms.’ He removed his sash and unbuttoned his jacket, which he handed to me. I took it gratefully, careful not to touch his hand. Slipping it on I felt the immediate warmth around my shoulders, which had been frozen for most of the evening.

I stretched my arms out. ‘It’s a little big.’ The sleeves were inches past my fingertips and the hem fell almost to my knees. ‘Thanks.’

He nodded. ‘Walk with me?’

He stepped around me and led the way down the steps, the few passers-by gawping. I could read the same thought in every face; wearing his jacket didn’t help to ease their shock either.

‘Damn, I have a stone in my shoe,’ I said as we stepped from the gravel onto the grass. Stopping, I reached down and pulled on the ribbons wrapped around my calf, undoing them. Slipping the shoe off, I hopped on one foot, emptying the flimsy thing of a pebble. Kaspar cocked his head, watching me with amused bewilderment.

‘Girly, you really are the very definition of elegance.’

I faked a laugh before almost falling flat on my back whilst attempting to tie the ribbons back around my leg.

‘I would help you,’ he continued. ‘But I can’t touch you and besides, I’m rather enjoying the spectacle.’

I had the feeling he was not looking at my foot, but rather my cle**age, exposed and not exactly supported by the thin material of the dress as I bent forward. Eventually I managed to slip the shoe back on, giving up on making the ribbons look tidy. Standing back up I marched off in front of him, heading towards the pond at the bottom of the grounds.

In fairness, you were staring at his crotch a minute ago, my voice reminded me.

Yeah, well noticed, voice.

He quickly caught up, matching my pace but letting me silently brood, the half-smirk, half-smile on his lips. I reached the pond, entranced by the flies flitting about, coating the surface of the pond in a glittering cloud of dust that hummed softly.

‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ Kaspar said, nodding towards the flies. ‘They only come once a year, for Ad Infinitum. It’s silly, but people say they feed on the joy.’

‘Wow,’ I murmured, not truly watching the flies.

‘Mother loved them.’

The silence fell again and after a few moments I followed the edge of the pond to where yet more chains of roses fell from the trees, linked like paper-chains. They were identical to those inside, the petals darkest black, the leaves utterly white. I stretched out a hand, wanting to touch the petals – they looked to be made from velvet.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

I snatched my hand back as Kaspar appeared right in front of me.

‘Why?’

His face became incredibly sincere. ‘These roses are called Death’s Touch; they’re lethal to any human or dhampir who touches the petals.’

I scrabbled back. ‘You’re kidding me?!’

He shook his head. ‘Deadly serious. If you had touched one just now, you would be on the floor, snuffed by now.’

My eyes widened and I took a few cautionary steps back. He chuckled, turning around and plucking one from the stem, admiring it in his hand, straitening the outer petals so they conformed to the perfect circle the rest of the flower created. ‘Here, smell one.’