Blue

Part#8

In his past, Declyn has seen it all. At least that is what he thought, until this exact

moment.

“That’s better,” he acknowledges but only to give himself time to recover from his

own shock.

Her eyes throw him off guard. He blinks, slowly, to process the image in front of

him.

Bright golden eyes, almost animal-yellow, with rustic orange flecks stares at him.

The picture he saw on her file does not compare; the small glimpses he saw in the car are

only marginally present.

He leans over in a stupor, tugs at the curl just off to the side until it is dead straight.

When he lets go, it springs right back and it leaves him with utter joy. The sensation of silk

lingers in the tips of his fingers. He rubs it together as if her hair is still there. Through his

chest, a series of beats run into one another, pushing headlong in a constant, steady roll. He

rubs over his shirt and concentrate on keeping his breath steady.

“I uhm, sorry,” she shuffles in the chair opposite him. The sound of her voice clears

the fog in his head, “For uhm, you know, attacking you.”

“I’m not. If I needed confirmation of my choice, that little outburst – futile as it was –

did it. I don’t understand why you’d do it, though. Care to explain?” He coaxes and pushes

the wine glass closer. She waves at the glass, gently shakes her head and to his delight, the

curls bounce again. Everything about her seems to have a mind of its own, and yet it creates

a perfect package.

“Sorry, my Lord, but uhm, I am a lightweight. Two glasses may knock me out like an

elephant dart,” she excuses herself and looks as apologetic as she sounds.

“I can tell by the rouge on your cheeks. This, however, is sparkling fruit juice, Blue.

Berries and apple. You’ll be fine,” he assures her.

She narrows her eyes at him and he finds himself struggling to get a grip on his

sadistic gratification of her suspicion.

Slowly, she brings the glass to her lips, smells it and takes the smallest of sips. Then

her eyes stretch and Declyn’s hand fists his shirt over his chest. His heart runs away again at

the astonishment she beams at him before she takes bigger sips closing her eyes and making

little happy noises as if every sip is a new surprise to her.

A impromptu flight of fantasy imagines her eyes open, looking at him and making

those exact little noises as he draws desire from her body.

What is the damn matter with me! The kind of thoughts I have is illegal in oh! So! Many worlds, no

matter who you are. Yet, she’s … Hrmmm, she had better stop with those noises!

“I still wait for your answer?” he distracts himself with a crooked smile at the corner

of his mouth. She has no idea what she’s doing to him, and truth be told, nor does he.

“Oh, yes. Why did I – attack – you?” the glee on her face turns to apprehension and

for a moment she’s silent. He nods.

***

I don’t want to talk, especially not about why I threw myself at him – and not in the

way I want to do now. I just want to sit here, drink magic from a glass and look at him. The

man is handsome in a way which makes me scared of him.

Mouse, meet trap, the cheese is worth it.

We are used to handsome and drop-dead pretty, but there is more about him. More

than just the play-boy-bad-boy looks I’m used to. My fingers itch to touch his jaw and find

out if the stubble is as prickly as it looks.

I wonder if his lips are as soft as - Woah now! I’m the food, not him! And he is a monster – he’s just a

striking one.

“Well, I don’t know. They’re – the babies – are defenseless.”

“And you are not?” A deep frown cuts a straight line between his brows.

“I am, but I’m food ain't I? – uh Aren’t I,” I correct myself Anja style “I figured you’d

be sated for a little longer and maybe ... Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I probably

wasn’t. I’m sorry,” I give up trying to figure it out myself. It is true. Something just

strummed in my head and the rest was a blur without direction or thought.

“Fair enough. What I struggle to understand most, is why an entire room full of

people tried to convince me not to bring you with me. Yet here you are, already putting

yourself in harm’s way without reason. Why is that?” He asks. His finger taps on the table

again. The sound distracts me and I stare at it.

Are those chips of wood flaking off? It is! He makes it look effortless – which reminds me of just how

much danger I am in!

Bewildered, I jerk my head back up to look at him. The sound stops the moment I

look at his face again.

“I – uhm – I have a shady reputation for being – spontaneous. That is the polite version.

They were right, my Lord, for trying to convince you of a better choice. Not that I want my

neck snapped or anything for questioning your decision, but – there are more seasoned

donors. Any one of the others would have served you wa-hay better. They’d not attack you,

for starters,” I ramble full of nerves “I don’t want my neck snapped, I’m just being honest - ”

He puts his hand up and my mouth snaps shut.

A light spark flashes through his eyes. His body shakes, his face does not contort

with mental agony – which is my initial expectation – but with laughter! The longer I look at

him, the more he laughs. The man ends up in an unabashed rumble. Confused, I stare until

he stops. I think he stopped because he’s out of breath and coughing to gather himself back

together.

What did I say?

“I won’t snap your neck, you’d have to earn that right as it would leave me without a

baby-sitter. You may or may not have noticed, I have no idea what to do with the little

people,” he informs me.

This may all be funny to him, but it isn’t to me. That said, his words bring a tiny

margin of comfort.

“They need names.” I introduce him to the exact measure of spontaneity my brain

functions on. It gains his full attention right away.

“Why?” His face scrunches. My temper sparks.

“Because they’re people. They need names. You have a name. Have you never been

around people?” My eyes close and roll behind the lids. By now Madame Levine would be

in a full-blown lecture about appropriateness of conversation.

“Honestly? Not much. I was born at a time when humans barely walked upright;

family wasn’t a priority and people died before there was an opportunity to get to know

them. I also prefer to stay away from people, they get on my last nerve.” The tight pull at the

corner of his mouth tells me he is honest.

“That is horrible!” I empathize with the man.

How can you live so many years and not be in love, not want children, not live or experience

anything? What could be enough reason to deny yourself any of that?

“Horrible? Says the perishable meatloaf?” He teases and I blush from my toenails up.

Vampire Lord one, Blue zero.