Page 96 of Ophelia's Vampire

And does he still harbor any belief that I see him as some means or some end?

All those tangled thoughts are interrupted by a tingle at my throat, a wave of awareness washing over me as Cas looks my way across the crowded room.

It might just be me and him alone in the moment.

Suspended in our own little world, a slow warmth washes over me as he makes his way to the bar. It flows from my throat, down over my chest, my belly, lower, until he reaches me with a knowing smile.

Cas plants his hands on either side of me, making a cage of his body as he leans in close and brushes his lips over his mark.

“Where are your manners, sweet Ophelia? Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?”

I try—and fail—to mask the hitch in my breath. “Nope. Must have missed that lesson.”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s even more rude to sit all the way over here, looking at me like that, rather than coming over and claiming what’s yours.”

There’s still a light, provoking edge to his voice, and I know I shouldn’t read anything into it. I shouldn’t think of him asmine, and I shouldn’t take a bit of teasing to be anything it’s not.

Cas pulls back slightly and checks his watch, a small frown turning down the corners of his lips.

“I have to leave you for a few minutes,” he says, sounding like he really wishes he didn’t. “Our host is about to make his customary, fashionably late entrance, and I’d like to get the chance to speak with him before he’s had too many glasses of champagne.”

“Go,” I say, shooing him away lightly. “I’m fine. I’m sure I can make some more new friends.”

“I won’t be long,” he says softly, brushing a kiss against my lips.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I murmur, then nod toward the side of the room where an utterly unique looking man has just walked in. Slight in stature, with pointed ears and arresting, impossibly blue eyes. Despite that stature, he fills the space with his presence in a flamboyant mauve suit and a larger-than-life laugh as he greets his guests. “Guessing that’s Martin?”

Cas follows my gaze and nods.

“Go,” I urge him again.

He does, shooting me one last apologetic smile.

It leaves me alone on my barstool for a few more moments, watching him with a strange hollow ache in my chest, before I shake myself out of it and get back to the party.

30

Casimir

“She’s lovely, Casimir,” Martin says, downing the last of the bubbles in his glass. “Will you be keeping her?”

“She’s not a piece of art or some ancient relic,” I point out. “It’s not as if I can just—”

“Psh.” He cuts me off with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Semantics.”

Even after nearly a century of acquaintance, I’m not entirely certain what manner of creature Martin is. Or ifMartinis truly his name, rather than just the moniker he’s chosen to go by this century.

Because despite his exuberant, youthful nature, there’s something ancient in his eyes. A deep cerulean, they sparkle in a nearly unlined face made up of delicate, almost elven features. His short, slender frame barely reaches the height of my shoulder, and the points of his ears seem to suggest he does indeed have some kind of fae or elven lineage, though Martin himself is singular. Unlike any other being I’ve met.

He seems to be well-aware of that singularity, and revels in it, possessing an undeniable magnetism that’s won him a wide circle of friends. His appreciation of beauty in the form of artand sculpture and antiquities also means our paths have crossed frequently over the years.

“Ophelia and I have a business arrangement,” I say, hoping it will be enough to put the topic to rest.

Even if that same topic is never far from my mind. It’s been lingering there for days, growing louder and more insistent with each time I feed from her, each time I lose myself in the heat and the pleasure of her, each night we pass curled up together in my bed.

“Oh?” Martin asks. “What kind of business arrangement might that be? And would it have anything to do with that exquisite painting you stole right out from under my nose the other night?”

“How did you—” I start, but don’t bother finishing the question. The market for a piece like that is unimaginably small, and of course he would have been in the fray somewhere.

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