Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #3) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,16

of the smoothness of his skin. At a glance, a human would see a genetic royal flush. Now I knew him better, the surety in his eyes and the serious set of his mouth were two signs of his immortality. When he spoke or moved, it was the same. Old people didn’t give a shit what people thought because they’d learned there was no point to it. Kyros had lived one-and-a-half-human lives so far. That quality, in contrast to his youthful appearance, told me he was other more than his fangs did.

The closer I dared to look, the more of Kyros I was forced to acknowledge.

His uncertainty about who his father was.

His guilt over a game he never asked for.

The burden of his siblings’ lives on his shoulders.

The playfulness that may be a much larger part of him if he hadn’t been drawn into Ingenium from birth.

His constant battle to remain in control. He could never relax entirely, and that would only get worse as his alpha power matured.

Kyros had lived through one hundred and fifty years of that already. Wanting to fight that battle took a dedication so deep, I couldn’t fathom it.

Ambition, cunning, confidence.

There had to be an end to this man, but I hadn’t found it.

“A million dollars for your thoughts,” Kyros rumbled.

I blinked and met his green gaze. “Isn’t it meant to be a penny?”

“I wasn’t sure you knew what a penny was.”

Pssh. “I was thinking that you have more than one level. That maybe I assumed a few things about you at first appearance.”

“A few things?”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

He captured my bottom lip with his teeth, eyes dancing. My eyes widened and my chest rose in surprise.

Releasing me, Kyros murmured smugly, “I’m the penthouse.”

The penthouse? Yep, couldn’t deny that.

I was far more worried he was all sixty-six levels.

Gah. A shudder overtook me.

This freakin’ current was about to leave me in a quivering mess.

I rolled over to tug the bell.

He snorted. “You have bell pushes? Rich people used those in my childhood years. Or people who wanted to appear rich.”

“A lot of the house and furniture are original, including the… bell pushes? I had no idea that’s what they were called.” I shot him a look. “You must have interesting stories. I can’t imagine living one hundred and fifty years ago. No televisions. No rocket ships. Weird.”

“I’m relieved it’s only occurring to you that I could recount the invention of telephones and the women’s rights movement,” he said drily.

I grimaced. “Right. I didn’t mean it that way. I forget how old you are because you don’t look old. It’s your hair.”

He chuckled sleepily. “No, I really am relieved. Remaining current is easy for the first thirty years, then you develop paranoia about becoming outdated. We do our best to listen and observe and adapt, but it can feel like an act. We always wish to do things from our own era.”

Huh. “That’s eye-opening. What old things do you like to do?”

“My mother always instilled in us an interest in changing times. Those who don’t change become isolated. But I’ve always worn suits. I wear other clothes if necessary—when sleeping or going to the beach. Otherwise, suits are most comfortable for me.”

“Good. Because they’re comfortable for my eyes.”

He arched a brow.

“And?” I pressed, clearing my throat.

“Things weren’t as noisy when electricity wasn’t widely used. My childhood and most of my teens were blissfully free of the buzz. I prefer quiet spaces still. I don’t understand why people feel unsettled in silence or like they constantly need to fill it.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that. “I find that time hard to imagine if I’m honest. I’m imagining dirt roads and Mr Darcy.”

“Maybe we can look through pictures one day.”

My stomach gurgled.

Hopefully it covered my discomfort. I didn’t know whether uncertainty or guilt was more rampant inside. When he spoke long term like this, I couldn’t make head or tail of it. In fact, it was gravely important that I didn’t think long term when it came to the blood bond. I had a job to do.

A knock sounded.

I straddled the vampire, grinning wickedly. “Come in!”

Rosie opened the door, and I screeched.

“I apologise, Miss Le Spyre,” she said calmly. “Shall I return at a more convenient time?”

Damn, nothing could shake her.

I huffed. “Do you play poker, Rosie?”

She flicked a glance at Kyros, cheeks pinkening. “I dabble, miss.”

Mmm-hmm. Sure she just dabbled.

“We’d like breakfast. Better make a lot,” I said, studying the half-naked male between my thighs. His eyes