Bleeding Hearts
Page 64
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Just because I was a vampire now didn’t mean I wasn’t still me. And I didn’t sit around thinking dreamy thoughts about cute boys.
I made myself get dressed in the clothes and some of my stuff Uncle Stuart must have brought me. The jeans were torn and soft, the tight T-shirt had a faded Ramones album cover. I put on my combat boots, like armor, even though I was in a friendly house. Connor’s mom was scary. I remembered her from evening barbecues at the lake when I was little.
I clutched my new poetry book as if it were a shield.
Chapter 24
Connor
When I checked on Christabel, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the book of poetry I’d given her. She dropped it when she saw me, looking embarrassed.
I hoped that was a good sign.
“Hey,” I said quietly, leaning on the doorframe. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I guess so.” She held out her arm, traced with blue veins. “It’s just weird. Really, really weird.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I added. The knowledge of it burned.
She frowned. “But you did save me. You got me out of there. You ran all the way home carrying me.”
“I didn’t save you from the stake.”
She made a face, her fangs poking out slightly. It was cute as hell. “This isn’t a comic book, Connor. You can’t be everywhere at once.” She still looked befuddled and probably would for a while. “It doesn’t feel real.” She winced when the wind slammed one of her bedroom shutters against the outside wall. “Even if my ears are wicked sensitive.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I promised. “We all did.”
“My mom is going to freak right out.”
“Have you called her?” I asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me. She raised an eyebrow. “Six nosy brothers who eavesdrop,” I explained, sitting next to her.
“Oh.” She flicked on her MP3 player. Music flooded over us.
“So?” I pressed. “Your mom?”
She shook her head. “No way. How do you even begin to explain something like this over the phone? Plus, she’s in rehab for at least three months. I’ll tell her when she’s been out for a while and I can actually see her.” She swallowed. “What do I do now?”
“Whatever you want.”
She leaned in closer to me. She felt different now. Her skin was cooler, her eyes were lighter, and she was less fragile.
“You’re still Christabel,” I whispered, lifting a long reddish blond curl off her shoulder. “You’re still you.”
“I wonder.”
“Quick—first three lines of “The Highwayman”?” I asked.
She answered like it was a pop quiz. “ ‘The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.’ ”
“See?” I grinned. “Still you.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “You’re pretty smart, Connor,” she said. “And you’re nice, too.”
I was nice.
Otherwise known as the Kiss of Death.
If she called me “cute,” my humiliation would be complete.
I eased back, sighing. I could actually feel the rusty bite of disappointment in my chest. I wasn’t surprised, though. Lucy had already told me the kind of guy Christabel went for. It was just my luck that I was falling for her—and falling hard.
“And you like bad boys,” I said evenly. I wasn’t going to beg or weep or gnash my teeth.
At least, not in front of her.
I got up to leave before I made an ass of myself.
“I like you,” she corrected me softly, catching my hand in hers before I could move away. She tugged once and I sat back down, staring at her.
I must have heard that wrong.
“What?”
Apparently Quinn got all the suave in the genetic lottery and the bastard didn’t leave any for me.
“I like you,” she repeated.
Maybe I didn’t need the suave after all.
Which was good because I knew my grin was decidedly goofy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right, then.” I hauled her over to sit in my lap, curving my hand around her waist. Her hair draped over my arm. The heel of her combat boot bumped my shin. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I’ve always gone for bad boys before,” she said. “We had heat. Lots of heat.”
“Not loving this,” I pointed out drily.
She grinned. “Just listen. We had nothing but heat. They didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about them. I liked it that way. There was no risk that one of them would drop by and find my mother passed out at the kitchen table.” She ran a hand through my hair. It was really hard to concentrate on what she was saying. She smelled like cinnamon and she was running her fingers through my hair. “I thought it had to be one or the other—hot or nice. But maybe it doesn’t. Maybe there are other options worth exploring.”
I closed the small space between us with every intention of kissing her until she forgot she’d ever liked bad boys in the first place.
“But am I under the influence of the infamous Drake pheromones?” she asked just before my lips touched hers. “I mean, is this just biology or chemistry?”
I made myself get dressed in the clothes and some of my stuff Uncle Stuart must have brought me. The jeans were torn and soft, the tight T-shirt had a faded Ramones album cover. I put on my combat boots, like armor, even though I was in a friendly house. Connor’s mom was scary. I remembered her from evening barbecues at the lake when I was little.
I clutched my new poetry book as if it were a shield.
Chapter 24
Connor
When I checked on Christabel, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the book of poetry I’d given her. She dropped it when she saw me, looking embarrassed.
I hoped that was a good sign.
“Hey,” I said quietly, leaning on the doorframe. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I guess so.” She held out her arm, traced with blue veins. “It’s just weird. Really, really weird.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I added. The knowledge of it burned.
She frowned. “But you did save me. You got me out of there. You ran all the way home carrying me.”
“I didn’t save you from the stake.”
She made a face, her fangs poking out slightly. It was cute as hell. “This isn’t a comic book, Connor. You can’t be everywhere at once.” She still looked befuddled and probably would for a while. “It doesn’t feel real.” She winced when the wind slammed one of her bedroom shutters against the outside wall. “Even if my ears are wicked sensitive.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I promised. “We all did.”
“My mom is going to freak right out.”
“Have you called her?” I asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me. She raised an eyebrow. “Six nosy brothers who eavesdrop,” I explained, sitting next to her.
“Oh.” She flicked on her MP3 player. Music flooded over us.
“So?” I pressed. “Your mom?”
She shook her head. “No way. How do you even begin to explain something like this over the phone? Plus, she’s in rehab for at least three months. I’ll tell her when she’s been out for a while and I can actually see her.” She swallowed. “What do I do now?”
“Whatever you want.”
She leaned in closer to me. She felt different now. Her skin was cooler, her eyes were lighter, and she was less fragile.
“You’re still Christabel,” I whispered, lifting a long reddish blond curl off her shoulder. “You’re still you.”
“I wonder.”
“Quick—first three lines of “The Highwayman”?” I asked.
She answered like it was a pop quiz. “ ‘The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.’ ”
“See?” I grinned. “Still you.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “You’re pretty smart, Connor,” she said. “And you’re nice, too.”
I was nice.
Otherwise known as the Kiss of Death.
If she called me “cute,” my humiliation would be complete.
I eased back, sighing. I could actually feel the rusty bite of disappointment in my chest. I wasn’t surprised, though. Lucy had already told me the kind of guy Christabel went for. It was just my luck that I was falling for her—and falling hard.
“And you like bad boys,” I said evenly. I wasn’t going to beg or weep or gnash my teeth.
At least, not in front of her.
I got up to leave before I made an ass of myself.
“I like you,” she corrected me softly, catching my hand in hers before I could move away. She tugged once and I sat back down, staring at her.
I must have heard that wrong.
“What?”
Apparently Quinn got all the suave in the genetic lottery and the bastard didn’t leave any for me.
“I like you,” she repeated.
Maybe I didn’t need the suave after all.
Which was good because I knew my grin was decidedly goofy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right, then.” I hauled her over to sit in my lap, curving my hand around her waist. Her hair draped over my arm. The heel of her combat boot bumped my shin. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I’ve always gone for bad boys before,” she said. “We had heat. Lots of heat.”
“Not loving this,” I pointed out drily.
She grinned. “Just listen. We had nothing but heat. They didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about them. I liked it that way. There was no risk that one of them would drop by and find my mother passed out at the kitchen table.” She ran a hand through my hair. It was really hard to concentrate on what she was saying. She smelled like cinnamon and she was running her fingers through my hair. “I thought it had to be one or the other—hot or nice. But maybe it doesn’t. Maybe there are other options worth exploring.”
I closed the small space between us with every intention of kissing her until she forgot she’d ever liked bad boys in the first place.
“But am I under the influence of the infamous Drake pheromones?” she asked just before my lips touched hers. “I mean, is this just biology or chemistry?”
