Page 47 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“How?”
Whyam I digging for compliments from someone I don’t like or respect?
He laughs—an actual laugh, warm like a fireplace, loud enough to carry over the hum of the room. His eyes crinkle, head shaking as he peers down at me.
“What do you mean? You’re witty, intelligent, studious… and you’re oh-so-challenging. Anyone would be impressed by you.”
“Is that why you like me? Am I a challenge to you?”
I don’t care; I need to remind myself of that, but there will always be a weak part of me. I’m no better than anyone else. An attractive person isgiving me attention, and I’m not allowed to want it. I have greater things to worry about.
“I don’t know what you are to me.” The honesty behind his words is jarring. “That’s what tonight is about, isn’t it?”
I nod weakly, eyes locked onto him as I take a delicate sip.
He follows suit, tilting his head back to drink generously.
“Well?” he asks. “Do you like it, or should I order something else?”
“It’s fine,” I say. “This isn’t my first old fashioned. Don’t be so full of yourself.”
“My apologies,” he murmurs, ducking his head as if to hide a smile.
I take another drink, more to prove myself than because I want to. The whiskey burns, and I can already feel a slight tingle in my body.
“What do you usually do here?” My eyes sweep over the large room.
“The same thing as everyone else,” he says. “Drink. Dance. Mingle.”
“You don’t seem like the type to enjoy those things.” My fingers move to dance along his skin, grazing at his bicep. “Can I expect to see a new version of you tonight?”
“No,” he says. “But I hope to help you realize there is more to me than you thought. Did you think of me as a friendless stick in the mud?”
My lips twitch into a smile. “Sort of.”
“Finish up, then.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and sets the glass down. “I’ll show you.”
I don’t know what he means until he’s pulling me through the crowded room again. I feel safe, even though I don’t want to, with my fingers tight in his and my chestpressed to his back. His larger body blocks me from the others.
The music grows louder as we move, and I realize where he’s taking me.
“Oh!” I gasp.
The lighting is dim and red, but there’s enough that I can see the bodies pressed together.
It’s an intimate scene, with lips on necks, and I don’t think they’re exchanging kisses.
Caldwell watches me rather than giving attention to the others. “Would you like to dance?” His eyes skim my face for an answer.
I want torun. I have never felt a greater urge to escape from him. Dancing in a crowd of vampires is my idea of hell. With the way he watches me, soft and uncertain, I think he’ll back off if I tell him to. I could end this all. I could go home.
But I won’t.
“I would love to.” I take the initiative to pull him into the crowd myself.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve danced with people before—many people—but never someone like Caldwell. Unless Margaux counts; she’s the only other vampire I’ve knowingly mingled with.
The hunger in his eyes is terrifying, and it has been since we met—but, god, tonight, it’s exhilarating. My pulse jumps as the crowd pushes us closer.
