Zeff starts to laugh.
My face is bright red. “It’s not funny,” I say, clearly hacked off.
“It kind of is.”
“Fuck off.” I pull a stern face at him.
“Lighten up, Bunny. It won’t hurt you to laugh every once in a while. It might actually make you feel better.”
“I’m just fine as I am.”
I stand up.
“Are you coming or not?” I huff, grabbing my pizza box and rucksack, I turn and stalk off toward the exit.
I’m sure Zeff’s current and sole purpose in life is to wind me up. He is beyond annoying at times.
“Sorry,” comes his deep voice in my ear, “I was just having some fun.”
“At my expense.”
“No.” He touches my arm stopping me.
His voice sounds really intense. I don’t like the feeling it gives me.
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter,” I reply, shaking him off. I continue toward the door. “And I do laugh,” I add, glancing up at him. “When there’s something worth laughing about.”
“Guess I’m just going to have to find out what exactly it is that makes you laugh then.” He stares down at me with dark eyes.
I shift uncomfortably and clasp the pizza box to my chest like a shield.
When we get in his car I reach into my bag for money. “I need to pay you for my half of dinner.”
He waves me away. “Dinner’s on me. You need your money for the passport.”
“No really, I want to pay my way.”
“Bunny,” he gives me a stern look. “Just let me pay for dinner, okay? You’re not breaking any feminist rule by doing so.”
I screw my face up. “I’m not a feminist.” I drop my bag back down in the foot well. “I just like to pay my way is all. I’m not a leech.”
“I got that for sure,” he chuckles.
He turns the engine on and I glance sideways at him.
“You’re a funny guy, you know,” the words are out before I can stop them.
“Was that you paying me a compliment, Bunny?” he puts his hand to his heart, feigning cardiac arrest.
I purse my lips. “Um, no not really. But you can take it that way if like, as I need to ask a favour … or two.”
“Shoot.”
I glance down at my work clothes. “Would it be okay if you take me home first before going to your lodge? I need to change out of my work clothes. I want to keep the spare set in my bag clean.”
“Sure … and favour number two?” he asks, putting his hand behind my seat, so he can turn to see clear as he reverses out of the parking spot.
“I need to go to the supermarket.”
“For?”
“Water bottles.”
Swinging the car around, he shifts into first, giving me a curious look with his eyes on their way back to the windscreen.
“To empty out and fill up with blood,” I explain.
“Ah, sure, right. No probs,” he smiles. “To the supermarket it is.”
I settle back into my seat, resisting the urge to finish this pizza off, my appetite returning. I need to save my hunger for hunting.
Chapter 7: New Horizon
Walking up the porch steps to the lodge I knock on the door, putting my now full backpack down on the wooden floor.
Zeff was right, these woods are brilliant for hunting. I got everything I needed, enough blood bottled up to keep me going for a good while.
He swings the door open.
He changed his clothes while I was out hunting. He’s wearing sweats and a running vest, and looks really different. I’ve only ever seen him in his smarts; shirts and trousers.
The casual relaxed look suits him. And I was right; he is as toned and muscular as I thought he would be under his shirts. His skin really is a lovely colour; the shade of caramel.
“You should have just let yourself in,” he says with a warm smile.
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
“So you’re all done?” he says.
“Yeah. I just thought I’d stop by and let you know I was going.”
He leans his shoulder against the door frame. Giving me a funny expression, his eyes set on my face, he tilts his head to the side as if contemplating me.
It’s making me feel a little uncomfortable to be honest. I shift on my feet. I’m just about to ask him ‘what?’, when he takes a step through the doorway, closer to me, and reaches his hand up to my face. He rubs his thumb across my cheek.
The instant his skin makes contact with mine a sensation jolts through me. Like a current zapping through me from touching an exposed wire. I feel shocked. Literally. Physically.
It’s the exact same feeling I had in the café when he shook my hand. I feel wired. Like there’s a magnetic charge pulsing through me. And in some ways it’s so familiar, like I’ve always experienced this sensation, like he’s always been touching me.
I take a huge step back, a whoosh of air leaving my lungs.
“Blood.” He holds his thumb up showing the evidence, obviously seeing my reaction.
But my reaction is not for the reason he thinks. It’s not because I’m cautious of being touched by a man.
It’s because the guy is able to physically shock me every time he touches me.
It’s weird. And kind of worrying.
It certainly wasn’t just a static shock like I tried to make myself believe the first time it happened. But I do get the distinct impression he doesn’t get the same reaction when we make contact. I can tell from the way his heart rate stays steady. There’s no fluctuation in it at all.
And it certainly isn’t an emotional reaction like I would get every time Nathan would touch me. This is physical. Like he has high voltage electricity running through him.
I just don’t understand why. And it’s not something I can exactly come out and ask him either.
‘Um, Zeff, do you run at a high charge by any chance … you know like do you have electricity flowing through your veins? Well, basically are you sort of some superhuman freak?’
Yeah, I can’t ask him that. I know how it feels to be a freak; I don’t want to make anyone else feel like I do.
The only thing I can do is to just keep my distance, to avoid contact, equalling no more weird shocks. I’ll be gone soon enough so it’ll be irrelevant anyway.
Letting my mind click back into play with my mouth, I say, “Oh, right.” But it comes out sounding a little shrill.
I lift my hand to my cheek rubbing roughly at it, trying to erase the sensation that he’s left spinning under my skin.
“The guest bathroom is first door on the right if you want to clean up?” He tilts his head in the direction of the hallway, just off the dining room.
Moving back he allows me space to pass. Giving him a wide berth, I scurry off to find the bathroom so I can clean up my bloodstained face.
When I’ve finished using his fancy bathroom, I come back out into the living area.
No Zeff.
I scan around for him but can’t seem to get a read on him. I’m sure he won’t have just left. I head toward the still open front door.
When I step through the doorway onto the porch, I see Zeff is sitting on the swing chair, to my right. It was weird that I couldn’t pick up on his whereabouts. Maybe I’m just a little off my game at the moment. Probably all those shocks he keeps giving me.
He glances up, smiling that crooked dimply smile of his. The sun is dipping behind the horizon and it’s casting a clandestine shadow behind him. It’s really kind of beautiful. The view I mean, not him. Obviously. Not that he’s ugly, but – oh God, you know what I mean.
I really want to get back to my apartment and get the blood I’ve just acquired into the fridge, but I feel like I should go and sit with him for a while; it would be rude not to. Especially also since I can smell freshly brewed coffee, and he might have made one for me. Or is that me just hoping?
Twisting my hands together in front of me, I
wander over and take a seat on the swing chair next to him, but leaving an audible gap between us. As I sit down, the chair moves backwards. Zeff steadies it, pressing his bare foot down to the floor.
“I made you a cup of coffee,” he says, reaching over and lifting a steaming cup off the table beside the swing chair. “I put cream in, no sugar – that okay?”
Exactly how I take it. Lucky guess?
“Yeah, that’s great, thanks.” I take it from him but make sure not to touch his hand.
You’d think because I serve coffee all day long, I’d be sick of it, but I’m not. More of an addict than I ever used to be, and I can never say no to a cup nowadays. Especially not one that smells as awesome as this does.
“It’s probably not as good as the Joe you make at the café, but I did my best,” he gives me a cheeky wink.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I take a sip.
Wow, this tastes as good as it smells. Definitely better than the stuff I serve at the café. Quite possibly the nicest coffee I’ve ever tasted.
“This is really good,” I mumble, as the heat of it runs through me, the hit of caffeine doing its job to the fullest. “Way better than the stuff at the café,”
“Ah, now I know you’re just taking the mick, Bunny,” he murmurs, in that drawling way of his.
I stare at him wide eyed and annoyed. He smiles, a naughty glint in his dark eyes. It annoys me even further but I refuse to rise to the bait. I’ve already bit once today at one of his apparent ‘jokes’, so I’m not being pulled in again. But I really do wish he’d stop calling me Bunny. Maybe if I just ignore it, he’ll eventually get bored and stop.
Zeff takes a sip of his own coffee and looks ahead, straight out over the horizon. I follow his gaze.
The view is amazing from up here. It’s the first time I’ve stopped to appreciate it. It’s uphill all the way to Zeff’s lodge, so it gives a fantastic panoramic view of the town below. And even though on a hilltop, the lodge somehow still manages to stay completely secluded.
I could sit here all day and just stare at this view. It’s incredibly relaxing, so serene, so peaceful. I close my eyes for a moment and just soak it up.
I can see why Zeff likes living here. This is a place I would be more than happy to spend the rest of my days in, if I had the luxury of being able to stay in one place at a time that is. Maybe one day, but for now, moving is what keeps me safe.
Exhaling out a light breath, I open my eyes, back to reality.
Zeff rests his foot up on his other knee and sits his coffee cup against his solid thigh. He has nice feet for a man. Actually, scrap that thought. That was a really weird thing to think.
“So … can I ask who or what it is you’re running from?” His tone is low.
I turn to look at him. He’s not looking at me, but when he feels my stare he twists and meets my eyes.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he asked. I’m just surprised he hasn’t already, or at the very least figured out, who it is I’m running from. Being what I am, I’d just assumed he’d know all about the Originals, him being a hunter, but obviously not.
I look away, back to the view, and take a deep breath. “Have you heard of the Originals?”
“Yes.” His tone is a little clipped. It surprises me.
“Well … I’m kind of what could be called a precious commodity to them … because I’m the only female of my kind in existence.”
There’s a slight pause. Not a really long one, just long enough to make it noticeable.
“Hmm. Right.” He brings his cup to his lips and takes a drink. Swallowing, he asks, “So are they the ones who turned you?”
“No.”
“Who then?”
A chill rolls over my skin. I wrap my hands around my cup, bringing it to rest against my chest. I really don’t want to talk about this.
Keep it to the bare minimum, you can’t let him know too many details – you still barely know him... to trust him.
A deep breath. “I don’t know. I was out with my friend and we were walking home after a night out and well … we were attacked.” There’s absolutely no tone to my voice. I had to numb myself just to get those few sentences out.
I feel a wave of anger pulse from out of him. It’s a really weird sensation and it practically coats itself onto my skin like a slick of hot black oil. It’s the oddest thing.
“Sorry,” he says. He sounds like he genuinely means it.
But I’m just trying to wrap my head around the sensation of anger I just felt come from out of him and why I currently feel like I’m still wearing his anger like a steaming hot all-in-one suit.
What is it with him? Physically shocking me, and now projecting his emotions onto me. How is he doing it?
I slide my gaze toward him. I can see his eyes are fixed and focused ahead. His face appears impassive, but I can tell his mind is working furiously behind those dark unfathomable eyes.
Maybe he’s just one of those intuitive sensitive people, and I’m somehow tuning into his reactions to things. At least I hope that’s what it is.
And maybe that’s something I can do, you know, feel certain people’s feelings and energies. Sounds very ‘new age’ but who knows what I can do. I barely have a clue as to what I’m capable of. I’ve never bothered to learn. Maybe it’s time I change that.
I wonder if he felt angry, because what happened to me reminded him of what happened to his parents. It would make sense as to the level of anger I can still feel emanating out of him like heat licking off a bonfire.
I move my hot coffee away from my body, resting the cup on my leg.
And now I just feel bad for him, even though I feel like I’m currently sitting on top of a bonfire, because I know how hard it is to lose your parents period; mine a car accident, but to lose them to a murdering vampire must be horrendous.
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago,” I finally utter, trying to put a close on the conversation.
But that’s a lie because it doesn’t feel like a long time ago. It still feels like it only happened yesterday. It’s raw and painful, but I shrug it off because I don’t want to talk about it with him. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone.
But, as it seems, he’s not giving up. “What happened to your friend?” His voice sounds a lot calmer than his body is saying.
I suck my cheek in, biting down on it. “She died.” Blank and dull is all my voice can manage right now.
“And how did you survive?”
He’s not getting it. I don’t want to … can’t talk about this. But I can’t just ignore him either, so I utter, “Someone –” Nathan. I pause, collecting myself. “Someone saved me. But was too late to save my friend.”
This catches his attention. He turns his head to look at me, curiosity peeking through his eyes. “A hunter?”
“No. Just a guy.” My guy. The only guy.
“Did the Vârcolac get away?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Good,” he murmurs, low. “And you survived the change.” It’s not question.
I nod.
“And you don’t know how you survived?”
I shake my head, no. Putting my cup to my lips, I take a sip, then cradling it in both my hands, I rest it against my chest again, feeling cooler now his anger had seemingly subsided.
“What happens if the Original’s find you?”
I’m starting to get fidgety. I really don’t like this line of questioning. “Then my life is over.”
“They’d kill you?”
“No,” I say in a clipped voice. “The Original’s believe I can create newborns for them. Immortal newborn Vârcolac’s just like them. They want to build an army to help them eradicate the vampires.”
He lets out a small laugh. It annoys me, but I say nothing, instead just slide him a look, which he doesn’t see anyway.
He drums his fingers loudly against the arm rest. “And you could bear them an army big enough to kill all vampires??
??
“No. But I could give them a good head start.”
“Hmm.” He puts his thumb and forefinger to his lips, pressing down on them, thoughtfully. “Guess I can see why you’re running then,” he exhales out, nodding, moving his hand up to his hair and pushing his fingers though it.
“Yep.” I take another sip of my coffee, hoping, praying, that’s the end of his line of questioning.
“So you’re just going to spend the rest of your life on the run?”
I guess he’s curiosity isn’t quenched, just yet.
I let out a light sigh. “It’s the only way I get to keep my life.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a life.”
He says it almost as though he was thinking it but didn’t mean to say it. It’s confirmed when I see the realisation flicker in his dark eyes, spreading like wildfire throughout his perfect features. “Sorry, that sounded – ”
“It’s fine.” I cut him off with a wave of my hand. Anything to stop this conversation. My head is buzzing. The pain throbbing downwards, careening straight for my heart.
He’s stays silent for a moment then …