Page 15 of What Fools These Immortals Be
Someone ought to like the way I look.
The door swings open and I blink in surprise at the young man standing there. He appears even more surprised, dark eyes flaring wide. He can only be in his twenties, sun-kissed and vibrant and…
A vampire.
His expression clears before I can open my mouth and ask just who the fuck he is. “Oh.You’reMaurice?”
I bite back a growl. “You should not—”
He rolls his eyes and turns his head, looking back into the darkness of the house. “Vladdy!” His voice is singsong and ever so smug. “It’s for you.”
I choke on air.
Vladdy?
“He’ll just be a minute,” the young vampire says. Apparently, he knows enough about me to know my name but not enough to be wary. “You know how old age is, right? Everything starts slowing down.”
“Grant,” a familiar voice says. His tone makes me want to shiver. This young vampire, Grant, merely aims a winning smile over his shoulder, not flinching at all as Vladimir moves into his space. “You could have let him in.”
“Wondered if he was gonna lose it and try to snap my neck,” Grant says with a careless shrug. “You really oversold him.”
I do growl at that, and Grant lets out a delighted laugh before he shoves the door fully open. He moves further down the hall, but Vladimir remains where he is, face expressionless as he takes me in for the first time in decades.
He hasn’t changed much at all—at least visibly. Dark hair still falls in a tangle about his pale face, though his beard and moustache are neatly trimmed. Pale eyes move over me in turn, and I fight the urge to shift from foot to foot.
Of course Vlad knows just how intimidating he is. He exhales heavily after a moment and turns to go down the hall. “We should move to the sitting room.”
Grant scampers ahead of him. In contrast to Vlad’s muted tones—he’s wearing dark trousers and a loose grey shirt—Grant wears a coral-pink shirt, unbuttoned to his pecs, and a pair of long white shorts that might not be out of place on some kind of summer holiday. By the time I follow them into the sitting room, Grant is already curled up in one of the armchairs, chin resting on a bent knee as he watches me closely.
I want to ask about him, but I don’t particularly want whatever smart answer is likely to fall out of his mouth. I know a terror when I see one. Still, I take one of the other armchairs, and Vlad sits on the sofa, back straight, feet flat on the floor.
“No one else is here?” I ask. I can’t hear another heartbeat, and I can’t feel anyone who’s fae-blessed when I reach out with my magic.
“Asher is with his charge,” Vlad says with a shake of his head. “The rest are hunting. I have not seen the Huntsman for a month or more.”
“Oh.” My eyes flick to Grant, then away again. I don’t think he’s blinked since we came in here. “And you, you’re…”
“Grant,” Vlad says, and Grant sits up immediately, all his attention taken from me in an instant. “Would you fetch us all something to drink?”
Grant wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want—”
“Grant.”
“Oh, fine,” Grant says and gets to his feet. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just go bitch the pot.”
He waves a careless hand in our direction and leaves the room. I blink at Vlad. “Bitch the pot?”
Vlad sighs. “Grant has recently become enamoured with a book of slang he found,” he says. “It has been… trying.”
Okay, an opening. “And he’s your… lover?”
“No! No, I turned him.”
It’s my turn to gape.Turned him?If there’s any rule that has been consistent during my time in the Hunt—and Vlad has been a member about as long as I have—it’s that we vampiresdon’tturn people. Not anyone. Not ever.
“How are you—Why did you—” I don’t know the question I want to ask first, and they all jumble up in my mouth.
“The Huntsman was angry,” he says slowly, “but he has allowed Grant to survive. I apologise, Maurice. It is why I was not permitted to watch over the crai.”
