for one who lives alone and doesn’t actually need to eat or drink anything—aside from blood, of course—to survive, but I’ve developed quite a taste for the stuff. I simply need to make sure it’s filled with coffee beans and water, and it does all the rest of the work for me.
As I’m waiting for the beep which tells me the water is hot enough, I lean back against the counter and spot Sabina’s bag lying on the island. Her phone is right beside it. I pick it up and realize the battery’s dead.
“Snooping again?” says a cold voice, and I turn to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.
Drat.
“Do you have a charger in that little purse of yours?” I ask her.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. There’s a Qi over there.” I point to the corner, where I always keep it plugged in. “You can just put your phone on it and it will charge, if it’s a new enough model.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Grudgingly, she plucks her cell from my hand and wanders over to lay it on the flat, round charging pad.
My machine beeps. “Coffee’s almost ready.” I place the first mug under the spout and hit the button. “Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Just cream, thanks.”
Under her wary, watchful eye, I prepare two large mugs of coffee and put some cream in hers. I prefer mine black. “I think we should sit down,” I tell her, once she’s taken a big sip.
“All right.”
The kitchen opens out to a large dining area with a table and six chairs. I’m suddenly aware of how ridiculous my home must seem to someone like her. To live alone in a place big enough for not one, but several families. Truth be told, it’s not the size of the place that drew me. I could do without most of the rooms—there are several I barely ever use. My housekeeper comes in weekly but other than that, when I am here, I’m alone. And as I spend most of my nights at Toxic, I spend the majority of my time at home in the basement. That’s why I picked this house. It has a basement perfectly suited to my needs, and its location is ideal. Fifty acres ensures a great deal of privacy.
Sabina pulls out one of the chairs and sits down, clutching her coffee with both hands. Once I’m seated opposite her, she settles her frank, blue gaze on me and lets out a little huff. “Go on then,” she says. “Explain.”
“What do you want me to explain?” I counter, unable to suppress the sudden urge to tease her just a tiny bit. She rewards me with an exasperated sigh.
“Everything! I don’t know anything about vampires except for what I’ve seen and read about in movies and books. Are you really dead? Do you really have to keep away from the sun?” Her voice catches and her fingers slide to her neck without any apparent conscious thought. “Did you really drink my blood? Is that why I passed out?”
A wave of sympathy washes over me but I take a sip of my coffee instead of reaching for her. “That’s not why you passed out,” I say slowly, “but yes, I did… drink from you. I couldn’t help it. You were just…” I trail off, not sure whether it would be appropriate at this juncture to tell her how delicious she is.
“If not from that, then why did I faint?”
“From pleasure,” I tell her coolly, and she scoffs. “It’s true. When we bite, our fangs release a kind of pleasure serum into the vict—into your bloodstream. You were already coming. It was too much pleasure for you to take, so you passed out.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head. If she caught me almost referring to her as a victim, she very sensibly decided not to address it. Good girl. Sabina narrows her eyes and stares me down. “So how old are you?”
I realize I’m rubbing the back of my head again and force myself to stop. “I was thirty-five when I was turned.”
“Turned. You mean when you died and became a vampire?”
I nod.
“And when was that, exactly?”
I sigh. “During a battle. We were fighting Visigoths. I was a centurion.”
Sabina blinks rapidly, and I can actually see her doing the calculations in her head. “You’re kidding,” she says quietly. “Your name is actually Maximus because you’re actually, literally Roman? But that would make you well over a thousand years old!”
“Just over