Page 39 of The Enemy to the Living
“Don’t dodge my question with another question.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I go into the kitchen. Grant makes an affronted sound and I hear the pad of his bare feet on the carpet as he follows.
I’m glad Vlad turned him, even if it was chaotic at the time. Even if Vlad’s never told anyonewhy—and I think that includes the Huntsman and Grant both.
Grant feels like pack in a way the rest of the Hunt don’t. Mostly because, for a human-turned-vampire, I think he wants to. He wants us all to rally together more than we do.
“Didn’t you read this stuff when it was, like, new?” Grant asks, slapping the book on the counter.
“That’s probably when Vlad bought it,” I concede, “but I’m not a big reader.”
“Not for this kind of thing?”
“Generally, I think. I don’t really try anymore.”
No point reading anything about magic. Our blessings don’t work that way, and mine is worse still. Fiction is fun when I have time to sit and read it, which is not often. Non-fiction? By the time I get to those books, they’re horribly out of date.
“So where’ve you been?” Grant asks. I take bacon from the fridge and check the date on the eggs. They’re fine, but I eye the bread sitting on the side with a healthy dose of scepticism. Vlad is organised in all things, but he’s terrible with food, being as he hasn’t had to eat it in half a millennium.
Maybe longer.
“At my flat.”
“Oh.” Grant hops onto one of the bar stools and swings his feet. He moves the book closer to him, away from the stovetop. “Alone?”
I give him an amused look. “Is there something you’re trying to ask, pup?”
Delight floods his expression, lips parting on a surprised gasp. I called Quinn that last night, didn’t I? I meant it differently. Even if Grant is technically older than Quinn, he feels younger, like a packmate I still have to guide and not—
I light the burner, focusing on that so I don’t have to follow my own meandering thoughts. Grant doesn’t talk again until the bacon is sizzling; he breathes in deeply and lets out a dreamy sigh.
“I was a vegetarian, you know,” he says.
“I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. Not my whole life. When I was… fourteen, I think. My dad hated it, not because he thought I shouldn’t do it, just he did most of the cooking and it was a pain. So I learnt to cook.”
“The smell?”
He shrugs. “Smells good. Not like I’m a vegetarian anymore either, is it?”
“Have you eaten any since…” I trail off. We don’t ask about each other. None of us. I only know Maurice was a witch before he was turned because he’s said it, because we know about his blessing. I don’t know how Vlad was turned, or Jeremiah. I don’t know how Rook and Saide were bitten at all. I don’t know why Paxton was chosen, but then again, neither does he.
“Nah,” Grant says. Dark hair flops into his eyes and he pushes it back from his face. “Seems like too much hassle.”
I snort. “Is sleeping the same?”
When Grant is still silent, I look away from the bacon, which is cooking nicely, and over at him. He taps his fingers on the counter, then glances over at the empty doorway before he speaks. “I don’t… sleep well.”
“Is that a recent development?”
Grant shakes his head and lowers his voice. “Vlad told me when he turned me that I’d sleep when the sun came up. He told me I wouldn’t be able to fight it, so not to bother—after awhile, I’d be able to stay up later. But I haven’t ever felt that, you know?”
I take the pan off the heat and face him fully. “You mean you don’t need to sleep at all?”
“No, I do. Here and there. A bit less than when I was human, six hours maybe, instead of eight? But I hardly even feel it when the sun comes up. Not like he says I should.”
“Have you talked to Vlad about it?”
