Olivia sighed. If dreams could come true, her secret admirer wouldn't be Spiro, Giorgios, or Dimitrios. He'd be the mysterious man who jogged along the beach in the middle of the night. Could he have left the rose?
Her heartbeat raced at the thought. One way or another, she'd find out tonight.
That's not what you usually wear to go jogging," Carlos commented as Robby strode across the family room.
Robby grunted and headed into the kitchen. He'd already had one bottle of blood when he'd first wakened, so he wasn't really hungry. This was just a precaution in case he actually met the Greek goddess. Sometimes good old-fashioned lust managed to trigger his lust for blood, and he didn't want his fangs popping out and scaring her.
He poured half a glass and warmed it up in the microwave.
Carlos entered the kitchen. "Your hair's damp. You took a shower before jogging?"
He wasn't going to jog tonight. He didn't want to arrive at her house all sweaty, especially since a Vamp's sweat tended to be a wee bit pinkish in color, just like their tears. It came from a steady diet of blood, he supposed. "I'm taking a walk."
"Ah. A midnight stroll. Sounds wonderful." Carlos regarded him with a smirk. "I think I'll join you."
"Nay."
"I like to walk on the beach."
"Piss off."
Carlos laughed. "I know you're hoping to see her."
"I know ye know." Robby removed his half glass of blood from the microwave and downed it.
"I also know that a red rose is missing from the garden."
Robby arched a brow. "Ye're keeping inventory on all the flowers?"
Carlos chuckled. "I had my eye on that rose. I was planning to give it to someone, and you beat me to it."
Robby wondered briefly what Carlos was up to, but refrained from asking. Toni claimed he was gay, but Ian disagreed. When they were here on the island, Robby had heard them argue over the matter for ten minutes, then rush off to their bedroom to make up. He'd gone jogging for two hours, and when he returned, they were still making up.
He groaned inwardly. His Vamp friends, Ian, Jean-Luc, and Jack, were deliriously happy with their mortal women, but he doubted he could ever experience such happiness. First, there was the problem of finding a woman who could actually love a creature of the night.
Then there was the matter of trust. How would he know what she was doing during the day? He couldn't bear another betrayal from a woman he loved. What if she tired of him and decided to stake him while he was in his death-sleep?
And then there was the last problem, the one that bothered him the most. Loving a Vamp was a death sentence. He didn't know how his friends could even stomach the thought that one day they would have to literally kill their wives in order to transform them. What kind of love was that?
So what the hell was he doing? He set his empty glass in the sink. "This was a bad idea."
"Dude, don't chicken out now."
He shot Carlos an annoyed look. "'Tis no' fear that's giving me pause. She's an innocent mortal. She deserves better than me."
"Right, because you're a disgusting, slobbering beast who'll rip her throat out and toss her dead body out to sea."
Robby stiffened. "Are ye asking for a bloody nose? I wouldna harm her."
"Exactly. Go see her, muchacho."
Robby glanced down at his clothes. It had taken him fifteen minutes to decide what to wear. He'd finally chosen some worn jeans, a dark green T-shirt, and a navy hoodie lined with the green and blue MacKay tartan. His hair was tied back with a leather strip. "I doona look too casual?"
"You look fine. Go get her, tiger."
Robby snorted. Strange words from a were-panther. He strode from the house before he could change his mind. Rather than descend the stone steps, he simply jumped off the edge of the rocky bluff and landed neatly on the pebbly beach below. Even in the dim light of the three-quarter moon, he could spot the rock called Petra about half a mile to the north. He teleported there, then walked around it to the beach at Grikos.
What was he going to say? He doubted she'd want to hear about his favorite topic - which swords were best suited for different situations. Bugger. He was woefully out of practice when it came to talking to women.