Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

2. Alexander

CHAPTER 2

Alexander

T he butler swings the door open. In the hallway, Raphael starts and stands at attention, blinking and perplexed as his eyes dart between me and my mother.

When the door to the study shuts and we’re shrouded in the muffled silence of the corridor, I steel myself and take a deep breath.

“Mother, I?—”

“?Por qué te quieres ir? ?Que te pasa?” She whisper shouts as she unlinks our arms and sets her hands on her hips, scrutinizing. Waiting.

Why are you trying to leave? What’s the problem? When she drops the snobbish Eden dialect and switches to her native tongue, it’s never a good sign. I take a breath and respond in earnest. “No me siento bien, quiero irme a casa.”

“What do you mean you don’t feel well?” she asks, incredulous. “You’re a purebred vampire, Alejandro. Where could you possibly be sick?” Exasperated, she scans my body in a melodramatic fashion.

Raphael chimes in. “Es una expresión común que se utilizan los humanos en las películas. It’s a generalized expression.” He didn’t speak Spanish when he first joined our household, but he’s studied his ass off over the years. “You know Alexander watches a lot of movies and?—”

“Raphael.” My mother frowns. “Cállate.”

“Perdón.”

Where am I sick… in my chest, maybe? In my heart and head? Her question is rhetorical, so I keep my mouth shut.

“What has gotten into you lately? You think you’re too busy for Lord Cherrington?” She shakes her head. “Ay, que vergüenza. This is how you treat a prominent member of our society who’s taken interest in you?”

“Madre,” I plead. “Lord Cherrington is more than a hundred-and-fifty-years older than me.”

She shrugs. “So what? He’s a long-standing member of the Royal Order and he’s an appropriate choice given your pedigree. He has excellent connections and is willing to make a very generous offer to recoup the loss of your dowry. If he decides to pursue you seriously, I would strongly advise you to accept his advances. You’re not in a position to have strict preferences anymore. Not after this… this disaster with the Blakeley arrangement. You’ve done this to yourself.”

Rubbing my forehead, it feels like my soul is oozing out of my body. Like my chest is collapsing in on itself from this suffocating environment. The weight of antagonistic and insensitive sneers from alleged friends. Now, I’m expected to sit and play nice with a vampire that’s old enough to be my father?

“Llévalo a casa.”

I lift my head, blinking in surprise. The words were directed at Raphael behind me. I glance over my shoulder.

Take him home.

“Sí, mi se?ora,” Raphael confirms, smiling.

Mother addresses me with a stony expression. “I’ll tell Lord Cherrington that you want to meet him next week, somewhere private. Choose a place in town and communicate the details with his primary manservant. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother,” I say, sighing .

“Don’t forget, you also have a lunch date at the house tomorrow with Lady Batista. Despite everything, vampires are falling over themselves to arrange marriage meetings with you, so your reputation is still intact, thank God. It’s a wonderful thing, Alejandro. Don’t ruin this.”

They want me because securing a prince from a Royal House of Eden as a mate elevates their status and gives them indirect access to the Governing Board. Like a parrot on my shoulder or a fly buzzing near my ear.

Is that wonderful?

It doesn’t feel like it.

She turns, then pauses at the door as she glances over her shoulder. “Stop saying you don’t feel well. It’s unacceptable. Move on. With Oliver gone and the arrangement annulled, Lord Cherrington is right. You have lots of free time. Let’s use it wisely.” Annoyed, she yanks the door open and glides back into the room, much to the butler’s visible dismay at not having held the door for her.

“Let’s go home.” Raphael pats me on the back. He guides me forward and out of this wretched estate.

After I’ve showered and changed into my pajamas, the sight of my four-poster bed sends a rush of relief through my entire being. I plop down on my stomach along the bottom like a man that’s been stranded at sea for an eternity and has finally reached dry land. My body sinks into the plush comforter with every deep breath as I lie with my head to the side. I close my eyes, welcoming the silence. Wishing I could drown in it.

My reprieve is short-lived, though, when there’s a soft knock at my bedroom door.

“Yes?”

The door cracks open and Raphael peeks his gingery head through the gap. “You’re already in bed? It’s eight thirty.”

“Your point?” I say, my voice muffled by the material.

He steps inside and my fluffy calico feline is tucked underneath his right arm. “Look who I found.”

The sight of her brightens my spirit. “Buff Buff.”

Raphael sets her down and she pads in a happy trot toward the bed, then hops up. I stroke the top of her head. Buffy’s purr resonates like a tiny motorbike as she nudges her face into my palm. She opens her mouth, indulging in the affection and it sounds like she’s snoring. I love it so much.

“You young vamps these days. I’d be out partying half the night when I was your age.” Raphael sits along the edge of the bed, leaning casually with his palms resting behind him.

I scowl. “One, you didn’t have an entire, painfully conservative aristocracy breathing down your neck and watching your every move. Two, you’re only eight years older than me. Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“The world looks different once you turn thirty, my friend. Like Old Man Wisdom opens up his trench coat and flashes you with all that he has.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Speaking of old men, Lord Cherrington? Is your madre serious?”

Exhaling, I flip over onto my back and plunge my fingers into the damp length of my hair. “My one complaint my whole life is how we always fix up younger vamps with the eldest, crustiest creatures in our society. Why the fuck do we do that? I do not want to be Lord Cherrington’s nimble and virile plaything.”

“Well,” Raphael considers, “the eldest and crustiest among us have usually acquired the most wealth, so they have the power to choose who they want, which, unfortunately, is never someone their own age. They desire a young and… pliable vampire that they can mold.”

I scoff. “Am I pliable?” Buffy climbs onto my chest and meows, demanding more affection as she sits down. I oblige and rub my palm along the ridge of her back.

“He sees you as a challenge—an exciting reward?” Raphael muses. “A wild stately horse that he wants to break and claim as his trophy. Having the future King of Eden on his arm would be the ultimate status symbol.”

“Again, disgusting. And I won’t be ‘king.’ Father has been lobbying to do away with that title for decades now. The responsibilities of the Royal Order are split. There’s no reigning sovereign.”

Raphael folds his arms. “Well, your father is a much more discreet vampire than you are. He downplays his influence on the board and spends almost all of his time and energy at the opera house and abroad. That’s left your madre and, even more so, you to be the prominent faces of Eden’s political scene. Whether you like it or not, people see you as the next king.”

Staring up at the ceiling, I exhale a heavy sigh. Everything he’s saying is true. I know this much, but… I don’t mind it. Eden needs to change, drastically, and I’m comfortable with helping to usher it into the modern era. I’m excited about it.

What I’m not comfortable with is doing it alone—or with a much older vampire that’s an arrogant pervert.

For so long, I’ve imagined that Oliver and I would do this together. Yes, we had real hurdles to overcome in our relationship, but I really believed that we could do it. That, given some time, we’d eventually meet in the middle and help change Eden for the better, hand-in-hand.

“You know that I’ve never liked Oliver for you,” Raphael declares, as if he’s capable of reading my thoughts. His ordinarily warm, cedar-wood eyes ice over the way they always do whenever he voices his opinion on this topic. “This mess is his fault.”

“It’s not,” I dispute, calmly scratching Buffy’s neck. Contented, she lifts her chin to give me better access. “We’ve been through this already.”

“We have, and I think you’re wrong. Oliver has always been self-centered. Even when you were kids, he was in his own little make-believe world and keeping to himself. He never paid attention to or meaningfully interacted with you during your arranged meetings. And I’ll never forgive him for the way he responded when your eyes first alighted when you were teenagers.”

Raphael casts a sharp glance down at me with his mouth pursed, waiting for me to argue. I stay silent because I don’t want to acknowledge that particularly awkward memory. It’s been a rough day as it is.

“He’s never once tried to understand you,” Raphael goes on, “and now where are we? He’s run off to explore the world without a single consequence, and you’re left alone to deal with the fallout.”

Raphael shakes his head, grimacing as if some true personal offense has been committed.

“Breathe,” I say. He rolls his shoulders. I go on. “Ollie’s situation at home was bad—worse than I could have imagined. I should have paid closer attention to what was going on, then I would have understood the animosity he harbored toward our arrangement. It’s on me.”

I am a fool. Ashwin is right about this point.

The way I behaved toward Oliver leading up to our wedding… thinking about it now makes me recoil. How thoughtless I was. Arrogant. I figured if I was just myself—the way I am with Raphael when I’m comfortable at home—Oliver would relax and we’d have fun. I assumed he’d get used to me. Everything would be alright, eventually.

Somehow, though, my every action served to push him further away and our relationship deteriorated.

By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. The sensation was like a switch being flicked in my head. Click . I understood Oliver’s feelings. His blatant fixation on the designer wasn’t an unrequited and harmless crush. It was very real. And very not unrequited.

Humiliation flooded my heart in a way that I’ve never experienced. Shame and painful regret. These heavy emotions squat like a slimy toad inside my chest. At times, the cringe overtakes every inch of my being. Crippling me .

“Welp, Lexie, we’ll just always disagree on this topic. I hear what you’re saying, but I still think Oliver is a selfish prat and that you can do much, much better.”

“Lord Cherrington is better?” I say, staring up at him. “And not ‘Lexie.’ That was fine when we were little, but it doesn’t fit anymore. How about ‘Zander,’ like in Buffy. ” My cat tilts her head and flickers her ears in attention. “Not you,” I tell her.

Raphael’s face falls flat. “No and no. Zander is the worst, you’re nothing like?—”

My phone buzzes loudly against the nightstand. Like two well-trained animals, Raphael and me both pause, glance toward it, then look at each other.

“Leave it,” I say.

“Speak of the narcissistic little devil. I’ll bet that’s him.”

“That’s enough.” Trying to play it cool, I adjust my spine against the comforter.

Raphael scowls. “You want to check it, so go ahead. He’s leaving for Thailand tomorrow night, right? I’m surprised you haven’t chartered a private jet to take him there.”

“ Enough .” My chest tightens and the rush of emotion colors my face. Frustration and shame. Disappointment churning silently but densely in my heart. I’ve been stifling and wrestling with these feelings for weeks, but today? I can’t deal.

“Go,” I say, gently lifting and easing Buffy from my chest. I crawl toward the top of my bed and collapse onto my stomach. Buffy follows, but curls up near the pillow behind me.

The bed shifts as Raphael stands. The carpet muffles his steps as he moves. When he speaks, his voice calls out from the door. “Do not offer to take him to the airport. You’re really busy tomorrow anyway with the quarterly Governing Board meeting and lunch with?—”

“Leave.”

The door clicks open. Raphael sighs. “Listen, I know… Please don’t be heartbroken over this. Yes, it was a long engagement, and I do understand how you felt about him. You don’t like hearing it, but Oliver was never right for you, Lexie. We’ll find someone who sees you, alright? Who pays attention. And not Lord Cherrington, for God’s sake. Goodnight...”

When the door closes, I curl into myself and close my eyes. There is no “someone.” Because what is there to see? I’m an idiot that’s fucked everything up.

Everything.

I’ve promised my entire dowry to Lord Blakeley in exchange for Oliver’s freedom.

In this aristocracy, that alone was my bargaining tool. Aside from my royal title and our family’s legacy as being one of the original clans to sign the Eden Peace Treaty to end the war, having an impressive dowry is what granted me autonomy in this antiquated system. It allowed me to have some agency in choosing a mate.

When I turned eighteen, the money was signed over for me to manage. The sum was exceptionally large compared with most Eden dowries, because both of my parents come from vampire clans that have hoarded generational wealth and managed prosperous business investments for centuries.

All of this makes me attractive among Eden’s elite purebred families. But for all these years, I’ve only ever focused on one vampire. He alone held my heart in the palm of his hand… whether he wanted it or not.

In my parents’ eyes—particularly my mother’s—I’ve recklessly thrown away my share of our wealth. Now, I’m cut off. I’m an irresponsible vampire because I’ve swiftly failed in helping our ridiculously wealthy empire prosper.

My phone buzzes again. A new message? Or a reminder of the last one, impatiently waiting to be seen. Still huddled in the fetal position, I stretch my arm out and haphazardly grab the device from the nightstand. When I drag and flip it up toward my face, it glows to life with three messages.

All from Ollie .

[Hi, I just wanted to remind you that I leave tomorrow.]

[Can we please talk before I go?]

[Are you alright?]

Tomorrow, he’ll really be gone. I won’t be able to casually glance at his profile or lose myself in the pools of his gemstone-blue irises. The messy tussle of his cinnamon-brown hair and the quiet warmth of his awkward smile. I can’t be near him, feel the flowery radiance of his presence or inhale his sweet scent.

He doesn’t want me.

He never did and deep down, I knew as much. Still, I had hope.

It’s officially over now, though. There is no hope.

Dropping the phone, I flip and turn my back to it, wishing I could curl in even tighter and make myself as physically small as I feel. My throat constricts and I can barely breathe as the tears gather in my eyes.

I hate crying. It feels as if it’s not my conscious choice to do it. Like a heavy blanket of pain and sorrow overwhelms and suffocates me. Forcing the tears out.

When it takes over, I do it quietly, at least, because I don’t know if Raphael is outside my door. He’s always close by and I don’t want him or anyone to hear me sobbing in my room like a pathetic loser. That’s the last thing I need. To display yet another “un-princely behavior.”

I’m not alright. Whatever the opposite of “alright” is, that’s what I am.