Page 54 of Sleepless Beauties
“Did you just call me your prince?”
I stare back at him, and the simple connection of our eyes is something I feel right down to my soul.
“You said you were a prince. Are you not?”
“I am.” He studies me intently, making me shift on my feet and I wish I could see more.
But then the water effect ripples back in, and he washes away.
“Kyra Vega came to me on the last Sunday of October.”
“October? She died in September. Is it common not to see her often?”
His throat clears softly. “They come to me when they need something. Information on humans. Death. Life. And they only come on the final Sunday of each month. No one argues for more time with a demon, I promise you that.”
I attempt to make some sense of those rules, and try not to dwell on how sad that sounds for his existence.
Stop humanizing everything.
Focus!
“What did Kyra say that day? What information did she want?”
“She asked if vampires had an afterlife, the same way humans do.” He pauses with a breath of laughter. “They don’t, in case you were wondering.”
“They don’t,” I echo.
“You can’t live centuries upon centuries of being a heartless monster of the night and expect to get the same treatment as our dear, sweet Betty White.” He scoffs in ridicule.
Why is he so bizarre?
Is it the isolation of solitude, or just the manic demon in him? I linger on the information, more than his strange behavior.
Kyra asked about death. Was she afraid to die? Vampire or not, she was still young…
And she was afraid.
“Did she ask about anything else? Say anything else? Mention anyone else?”
A soft hum of thought seeps through from his side. “The others, some of them babble on about their problems like I’ve got a demonic PhD to really help with their afterlife crises. Kyra didn’t, though. She rarely saw me, and when she did, it was to ask very little.”
I nod.
“She looked… sad,” he adds.
“Sad?”
“She had walked in all poised with cookie cutter perfection, but by the end her lips always pulled so far down I swear she kissed the underworld a time or two.”
“She was a vampire. She wasn’t kissing hell, she was living it,” I snap.
A rumble of laughter cuts through the veil.
“You pity her because you share her blood. But most vampires do not live through hell. They create it.”
Tingles shiver up my arms.
The waves of the cylinder slow, and I find those firelight blue eyes staring at me once more.
