Page 20 of Sleepless Beauties
Zavia. Pavel. Rival. Aston.
Zavia. Pavel. Rival. Aston.
Zavia—
The squeal of hinges slices through my anxious mantra and I sit up beneath my thick blanket to find Vuitton lingering within the partially open door.
“May I come in?” He waits tensely and I can’t help but see how different the polite shifter is in comparison to the asshole vampire who would have just stormed into my room, stolen my blanket and attacked me with my pillow on his way out.
That’s where the myths got it wrong: Vampires clearly don’t give a fanged fuck about any formal invitations.
I nod, and the room holds so much quietness as he comes in, closes the door and slowly makes his way toward me.
He’s carrying something small in his large hand, and he offers it to me when he’s just at the edge of the bed.
I take the little stack of polaroids from his hand, and not only do the pictures seem tiny, everything around me, including myself, suddenly looks minute in the shadow of his massive stature.
The confusion within me fades when I turn the pictures over to find faces and names scribbled across the bottoms of the white sections.
Rival Royale.
The handsome vampire who threatened me in the hall stares up with a brooding look of seriousness. His lips form a hard line across his hard features. The lighting of the flash seems to have smoothed his appearance into a vision of impossible perfection.
But there is one remarkable thing that strikes me.
“So, vampires do show up in photographs.” I smile to myself and wonder what else the legends and stories about these monsters got wrong. “Where did you get these?”
Vuitton shrugs his shoulders like it was no big deal. “I stole them from the Council’s filing cabinet.”
I smile even harder.
As does he.
“You got them for me?” I look up at him from beneath my lashes as he nods slowly. “Thank you.”
I slip Rival’s picture to the back and find a beautiful redhead featured in the next picture. Her green eyes are so piercing and knowing, I realize who she is before I even read her name at the bottom:
Zavia Laurent.
I slide her to the back as well and the most strikingly beautiful man appears in the next photo. The angles of his cheeks and the sharp lines of his jaw are as deadly beautiful as his pure white smile. Bright pink hair rises into a messy mohawk atop his head. Fangs come down to a point that brush against his full lower lip.
Aston Cardence.
My stomach twists hard.
He’s the cruelest man of them all. He’s the one my sister told me was a nightmare come to life. He’s the one who turned her, then raped her, and I’m certain he’s the one who killed her.
I close my eyes slowly, memorizing his face more than any of the others.
I shake away the thoughts and flip his picture to the back.
A woman with a big smile and long black hair as dark as her eyes is in the next one.
Acessa Milane.
My brow lowers as I look at the pretty young woman.
“I thought there were only six crofts.” I remark as I trace the edge of the thick film.
