Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

4. Alexander

CHAPTER 4

Alexander

B efore I reach the front door to the house, it creaks open. Roland is there, smiling in a bright red sweater that pops against his golden-brown skin. “Hello, Prince Alexander. Thanks so much for coming.” He steps aside and gestures for me to enter.

“Hey, I apologize for being late. I was here on time but got sidetracked with a phone call.”

“No worries, no worries. Kathryn is in the kitchen. Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea, please,” I say, following him down the chilly hallway. Here, too, the floorboards are worn with age and scuff marks. Groaning beneath our weight as we walk. The old wallpaper is yellowed and torn in some places, uncomfortably stained in others. This house has seen better days.

We step into the kitchen, which is a large open space glowing with indirect, winter-white light because of the north-facing arch windows. Beyond the glass, there’s a direct view of the skeletal forest. With a brief glance, I catch sight of two bluebirds flittering from branch to branch. I imagine this space is gorgeous and filled with golden-green light in the summer.

“Hello Alexander,” Kathryn stands from the table and walks over to shake my hand. I notice a professional-looking spread of papers and a notebook situated at her seat. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well,” I say, shaking her hand firmly. I know what these two want from me. They didn’t say it outright the last time we met, but the implication was there. Oliver hinted at it, too.

Unfortunately, my situation has changed drastically since then. The last time we talked, I asked them to do an inventory of everything the house needs and to present it to me today. It seems like they’ve held up their end of the arrangement. Whether or not I can hold up mine, I’m not sure.

I’m not confident about anything anymore.

“We have black tea—Earl Grey, Masala chai, Darjeeling and English breakfast,” Roland says, preparing a tray for the table. “Or green tea with jasmine?”

“Darjeeling, please?” Awkwardly, I take the seat at the head of the table since Kathryn gestures to that place.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Neither. Straight is perfect.”

“Can I take your coat, your grace?” Kathryn asks.

“No, thank you—and like I said before, we really don’t need to do that here. I promise, I’m not offended if you just call me Alexander. No honorifics are necessary.”

Kathryn smiles and there’s a friendly twinkle in her gaze. “You and Oliver are cut from the same cloth. He said something similar when he first came here.”

I grin, ignoring the sadness coloring my heart. Like a dull blueish gray. “Did he really?”

She takes the seat beside me. “He did. I’m sad that he’s leaving—hopefully he’ll be able to return, soon?”

“Maybe…” The melancholy wafts and spreads across my chest. How can I let go of Oliver and move on when everyone keeps throwing him in my face ?

“We went through the house and conducted an inventory of repairs,” Kathryn goes on, getting down to business. “I’ve also gone a step further and collected some labor quotes from contractors and estimates for materials we’ll need. Hopefully this gives you the full financial scope of the project?”

I bite the inside of my cheek as Roland joins us at the table with a tray of tea cups, a kettle and a small dish of sugar cubes. I’m not sure how this is going to land, but… “Thank you for taking care of that. I… Before we get into the details, I need to be honest with you both about some things. Some recent developments.”

Having set a teacup down in front of me, Roland pauses with the kettle in midair. “Is everything alright?”

“Well,” I consider, scratching the back of my head. “No. Not really.” He and Kathryn exchange a look, but he pours my tea, sets the kettle down, then goes and sits beside his mate. Calmly, they watch, waiting.

I focus on the steam rising from my freshly poured tea. “Frankly, I’m broke. The larger sum of money I had is gone now, for various unforeseen reasons. So, I won’t be able to privately fund the entirety of this project, which I’m guessing is the expectation?” Nervous, I glance up. They blink, seemingly processing my announcement, so I go on.

“I have some capital, but it’s like… I’m living on a fixed income. I believe in what you’re doing here and I’m still willing to help, but maybe… not as much financially as I originally thought. We’ll have to be discerning about which projects take priority.”

I feel like an asshole and a fraud. I rushed into this because, well, Oliver said I should do it. I respect his opinion and I’m an idiot that wants to make him happy, so I contacted Roland and told him that I could help. But I didn’t know that Lord Blakeley would rob me for all I had in exchange for Oliver’s passport and birth certificate.

Naively, I thought he’d ask for a percentage. Not the entire fucking sum .

Kathryn eyes me in the silence. When she speaks, her tone is serious. “Why do you want to help us, Alexander? What’s your intention here?”

The question catches me off guard. Thinking, I absently turn my tea cup in its saucer. “Truthfully, Oliver told me that I should help and I respect his opinion. Now that I’ve met and talked to you both, I find that I do like it here. The house needs a lot of renovation, but I can see this being a place of refuge for vampires who need it.”

Vampires like me.

Something about this house is good. The atmosphere of it and the surrounding woods are calming in a way that I desperately need. I’d like to be part of this, somehow.

Wary, I glance up at Kathryn and Roland. They look at each other and it’s as if a wordless conversation is taking place before my eyes. I notice they’re holding hands below the table.

“We weren’t necessarily looking for a handout, Alexander,” Kathryn assures me. “Yes, we wanted you to financially invest in our project, but more than that, we need to know that there’s someone on the inside who will stick up for us and support this endeavor.”

“On the inside?”

“Inside the diamond flecked rooms exclusively occupied by Eden’s upper-crust,” Roland says, smirking. “You have to know that you and Oliver are rare birds for deigning to fraternize with vamps like us—not noble, not rich, nor servants. Members of the ambiguous ‘outside’ population.”

Scratching my head, I sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

“It’s unusual, to say the least.” Roland grabs the kettle, then pours a cup for Kathryn. “The ‘Golden Prince of Eden’ showing up here and telling us to drop the honorifics. Feels like some kind of set up. Like you’re a spy.”

“I’m not.” I lift my palms in acquiescence. “There’s nothing like that going on, I promise. ”

Kathryn folds her arms as the steam from her cup dances and swirls. “Are you running from something, Alexander?”

Her question hits hard and stuns me yet again.

Am I running from something?

No, not something.

I am running from everything .

“Possibly…” I take hold of my teacup, then carefully lift it to my mouth. If I say more, the dark flood waters will rise and overtake me and I refuse to have an emotional breakdown in front of these two. They do not need that from me.

“We’re a safe house, you know?” Kathryn says in my silence. “I would never have guessed that our first and third occupants would be purebreds, but hey, it’s gotta be fate, right?” She looks over to Roland and he shrugs.

“It’s very weird,” he says, chuckling. “But it must mean something. Something good, I hope.”

Confused, I consider her statement. “If Oliver is the first and I’m the third, then who’s the second?”

“Daniel,” Kathryn says, nodding toward the window and the woods beyond. “He went out just before you came in. Have you met him before?”

“Yes,” I confirm, lifting my teacup once more. “I’ve met him.”

“Let’s discuss the projects in order of priority,” Kathryn says, pushing her notebook toward me. It’s filled with her elegant handwriting—line-by-line details and costs that stretch to the bottom of the page. “Once we get the projects started, you can come here whenever you want to check and see how things are going?”

“I’d actually love to help,” I admit. “You may not believe it, but I like to get my hands dirty, and I’m not too bad at building things. I’ve built a bunch of custom cat trees and scratching posts for my cat. I also help our gardener in the spring with clearing the plots and planting new bulbs.”

“ Cat trees?” Roland exclaims, laughing. “You’re right, I don’t believe it! ”

Kathryn slaps his thigh underneath the table. “You’re more than welcome to help with the renovation, Alexander. The more the merrier.”

“And things could change soon,” I add casually. “If my parents decide to sell me off to some loaded vampire, I’ll have a new pool of resources. As long as my new mate isn’t a total narcissistic control freak, I’ll be able to contribute more, financially.”

My intention was to reassure them, but the horrified expressions on both Kathryn and Roland’s faces suggests that I’ve failed. Miserably.

Damn. Maybe I should have kept that part to myself?

The Wanderer is an upscale tearoom and café in the oldest, most charming district of Central Eden. Here, even in late winter, lush greenery enhances the landscape.

Every brick shop is flanked by manicured blue-spruce trees and holly shrubs. Winter honeysuckle bushes cascade over ancient stone walls like heavy curtains. Store window panes gleam—clear and buffed so that not a single fingerprint obstructs the glowing view of the treasures inside.

That’s the thing about Eden. Our cities are beautiful and clean, because appearances mean more than anything. Appearances and capital.

Inside The Wanderer , teardrop light bulbs are fixed inside of metal birdcages that hang from the ceiling in bronze, gold and copper. The lights bounce and shine through the metal bars, creating whimsical patterns of shadows against the high ceiling and elegant walls. Tables and chairs are fashioned in the darkest wood. Plush booths upholstered in a dark green fabric line the perimeter of the space in inviting half-circles.

Hanging against the eclectic black-and-white paisley wallpaper are large, grayscale photos of famous sites from around the world. The Taj Mahal beneath a steely sky. Stonehenge, Sydney Opera House, Mount Fuji and the Eiffel Tower.

How many times have I fantasized about bringing Oliver here? After the ceremony and once we were finally emancipated from the strict rules governing our engagement. I had all these plans for us. For him. He loves photography and travel, so I thought he’d appreciate this cafe. That it would make him happy.

That I could make him happy.

I pictured us here, having drinks in a booth and easing into our arrangement. He’d finally smile at me, sincerely, beneath the shadowy lights and with those gorgeous blue eyes. We’d laugh and talk in whispered confidence. Maybe hold hands under the table, like how Roland and Kathryn did when I went to visit them. An easy, comfortable affection.

None of that will ever happen for me. But occasionally, these images are resurrected in my mind. The alluring, romantic echo of scenes that never existed.

Pathetic.

In all my fantasies about this café, never once did I envision myself trapped in a private room with Lord Cherrington and his creepy youngish manservant whose name I can never remember—I call him Smeed in my head. But here I am with Lord Cherrington sitting uncomfortably close. His hand not-so-subtly inching toward my thigh.

God, this creature makes me so fucking uncomfortable. Like I’d crawl out of my own skin to get away from him.

“You bested me at the meeting last week, your highness—shot my proposal down with a blazing flourish.” Lord Cherrington sits on the velvet green love seat beside me with his leg folded toward my body. One palm rests on the tufted material between us while the other casually cradles his golden flecked wine tumbler.

Bested him? “We’re not in competition with each other as board members. We work together for the greater prosperity of Eden. And the proposal that you submitted was… flawed.”

It was terrible. Disgusting and short- sighted.

“Mm, I find it interesting that you’re not at all hesitant to speak your mind, given the circumstance you find yourself in. You’re quite bold, Prince Alexander.”

“Am I?”

“You are. We’ve attended countless events and meetings together through the years, but we haven’t talked much until now, have we? You’ve always been so unapproachable. Preoccupied.”

I say nothing, but feel his eyes boring into the side of my face like hot lasers as I stare forward, holding my wine glass in the gap of my thighs with both hands. Not drinking at all.

Given his financial status and my current “circumstance”, the rules of Eden dictate that I should be flirtatious and encouraging of his advances. Publicly, it would look great if I were quickly swept up by a wealthy and established mate. I know the rules, but I can’t play along right now. The recently hardened space inside of my being strictly prevents it.

This is why I chose someone who was my age for my mating arrangement, because I desperately wanted to avoid these weird power dynamics. They exist everywhere in Eden—between clans over money and status, between the young and the old, between genders, between purebreds and ranked vampires.

It's draining. I get sick of dealing with it day in and day out. All my life, I’ve dreamt of a nest where none of that matters. A kind of refuge from the rigid customs and fake manners that are required while navigating our aristocracy. I can manage it, but I need balance .

I chose Oliver because on paper, everything made perfect sense. We’re both purebred, male, the same age and from families that are at least partially native to Eden. I thought it’d be easy for us to establish a well-adjusted nest where we could be ourselves. Where we wouldn’t have to play these stupid games all day, every day, for the rest of our lives.

Anyway, that dream is dead now.

The private room we’re occupying features a roaring fire, more trendy bird cages sparkling with light and a large picture window with a view to the back patio and garden. It’s dusk and snowing. Wet, heavy flakes gather like a determined mob on the bushes, empty benches and tree branches.

I do not want to be here.

Not with him.

“I wonder…” His hand slides closer and I can feel the tip of his pointer finger against my thigh, stroking in a playful up and down motion. “If I offer a generous dowry to your family, will you finally give me your full attention, your highness? Will you be truly focused on me?”

I sigh, glancing at him from the corners of my eyes. “You mean, if you pay the right price?”

This amuses him, because Lord Cherrington lifts his chin in a boisterous laugh. “That’s a very crude way to put it, my darling.”

“Do not call me darling . And it’s the truth.”

“Is it?” he counters. “Or is it simply the way we conduct our affairs? The natural law of Eden, so to speak. Forgive me for alluding to the potential hypocrisy, but did you not try to purchase your ex-fiancé? Young Oliver Blakeley?”

I squirm in my seat because this turning of the tables makes me uncomfortable.

“That was different,” I say.

“How so, exactly?”

Shifting against the sofa, I twist the wine tumbler in my fingertips—crawling my digits across the surface in a spidery motion. I thought it was different because I was in love with Oliver. I loved him with everything that I had and in the best way that I knew how. But he was still repelled by me. Despite everything, he wanted nothing to do with our arrangement.

Is this how he felt around me? Was I just as vulgar, entitled and arrogant as Lord Cherrington? God. I don’t even know anymore. It hurts to think about it.

Lord Cherrington takes hold of my chin with his fingertips. His grip is strong as he turns my head so that my wide eyes meet his intense ones. “Will you give me your full attention, young master? Could you willingly submit to me?”

“My apologies, your grace, but touching his highness is not permitted at this time.” With his shoulders back and his head high, Raphael makes this proclamation without even looking at us. He stands beside the door leading to the outer café with his posture perfectly erect, like the most honorable of soldiers.

Smeed, Lord Cherrington’s manservant, stands on the opposite side of the door. He looks like a soldier, too—but the kind that would secretly make a traitorous and self-serving deal with the enemy. His limbs are long and his hair is jet black. He almost… reminds me of a spider. But that feels like an insult to spiders because spiders are really cool and smart.

Lord Cherrington drops his hand and scoffs. Grateful for the distraction, I take the opportunity to casually scoot away from him.

“Is this truly necessary?” he barks at Raphael, incredulous. “At my age? A chaperone for chastity ?”

His gaze still forward, Raphael’s voice is precise enough to cut through a block of ice. “It is the natural law of Eden, your grace.” With Raphael throwing Lord Cherrington’s words back at him, I have an urge to laugh. I take the smallest sip of my wine instead to cover my smile.

The older vampire points, rudely. “This one—this insolent second -generation vampire will not be permitted to reside within my estate should I claim you. My house only accepts first-generation vampires as servants. I’ll see to it that you are disgraced and dumped into a dosshouse without recourse, do you hear me?”

The hell? Who says the word ‘dosshouse’? “Raphael has been my manservant since I was a child. Where I go, he goes. Full stop.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Lord Cherrington lifts an eyebrow, smirking. Without warning, he leans toward me. His movement is so fast that I’m left totally open. There’s absolutely nothing I can do when he grabs the opposite side of my head with his free hand, then dips his face into my neck .

My entire body turns to ice as he licks me in a long, wet stroke, then let’s me go. It all happens within the blink of an eye and I’m left quaking in shock as I lean away from him with my eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “ What the fuck? ” I shriek, because I have no space for decorum right now. Fucking hell.

He sits back against the sofa, grinning and lifting his wine to me in a celebratory motion. “Despite what your smug and inferior manservant says, I’ll have my princely sample if I please. You taste as lovely as I’ve always imagined, Alexander. I’m looking forward to sinking my fangs into you.” He sips from his glass, winking.

I sneer, livid and disgusted. “You must be out of your goddamned?—”

“Your grace,” Raphael’s voice cuts across the silence of the room once more. “We should leave soon to ensure that you arrive at your next engagement on time.”

“What ‘next’ engagement?” Lord Cherrington says, obviously displeased. “Lady Kendrick assured me that we’d have ample time this evening to talk.”

“Something came up at the last minute,” I spit, scowling as I stand from the couch and set my glass on the low table in front of us. My hands are shaking, so I’m grateful when Raphael appears behind me with my coat open. Slipping my arms into the garment, I straighten my spine.

There are no additional appointments tonight, but when Raphael offers me a lifeline, I take it.

“It feels to me as if my lovely golden prince is running away?” he says, shamelessly looking me up and down. I repress another shudder. “We’ll have to arrange something again very soon—with my manservant as watchdog, only. Leave yours at home.”

Speechless, I shake my head. This might be the first time in my life that I’ve ever looked at another vampire and wanted to physically rip their throat out. Could I even do that? It would be messy as hell and would probably start another war, but I’d feel better.

Lord Cherrington grins. “Have a good evening, my dear prince.”

With all the self-control I can muster, I turn and walk away. My stride is long and purposeful. Raphael whisks the door to the outer café open and I don’t hesitate as I stalk past Smeed, who throws me an indiscernible look with his dark eyes but remains silent.

The deep, moody colors and lights of the room merge into a blur as I move toward the front doors. Someone calls out to me in greeting—probably the owner since I come here fairly often—but I don’t stop or look around because my flight response is in full control of my body.

I have to get out. Now.

When I pass through the double doors and head toward the car, the frosty evening air and snow steal my breath. Raphael is behind me, keeping with my stride. He has the keys and the doors click to unlock. The car automatically starts as I draw closer, then pull open the passenger-side door.

I plop down into the leather seat, physically and mentally frozen as I stare out the window at the glowing fa?ade of the café. A moment later, Raphael is in the driver seat and shuts his door, shrouding us in an oppressive, muffled silence.

That conceited old bastard licked me. With a jolt, I hunch my shoulder as the memory and sensation flashes through my mind like a waking nightmare.

“Are you okay?” Raphael’s voice is gentle in the enclosed space. But it jerks me into another spontaneous fit.

“I need a minute.” Without a glance, I push the passenger door open and am once more enfolded in the blustery and frigid air.

An urgent need to run pulses within my gut. I don’t have an objective as I walk toward one of the narrow alleyways separating two shops just opposite the small parking lot of the café. It’s dark there. Private.

Soggy flakes pelt the skin of my face and neck as I walk. They litter and dampen my hair and stick to the wool of my coat as it flutters in the icy wind, but it doesn’t matter. When I’m in the isolated space, I stop dead and inhale a breath—gulping the heavy, cold mist flooding the atmosphere.

Turning, I lean with my spine and head rested against the brick wall. I look up toward the overcast sky.

What am I going to do?

Is this my life now?

Is this all there is?

My insides churn and darken. The devastating wave of rejection, failure and distress swells and fills my chest, heart and lungs. It makes my knees weak and I crumble, running my fingers into my hair as I sit hunched in the alleyway.

I feel so… useless.

Stupid and wrong.

A failure.

I breathe and somehow, slowly, the cold becomes soothing. The winter night, the snow and frigid temperatures prove more powerful than these emotions, so I let it all wash over and distract me. Welcoming it.

Eventually, I wipe my face, stand and pull myself together enough to walk back to the car. When I’m inside, the heat is on and there are paper cups in the holders.

“Tea,” Raphael says, “from the bar. Drink.” He picks up the cup closest to me and pushes it into my hands. “You look like a vampire popsicle.”

“I feel like one,” I say quietly, holding the warm cup between my palms. Suddenly, I’m numb inside. All I want is a shower, my bed and my cat.

As I sip the hot liquid, I’m waiting for Raphael to put the car into reverse so that we can head back to the estate, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares out the windshield and we sit in comfortable silence for a long moment.

“We could leave, Lexie, if you want to? Properly run away.”

I scoff, staring at the side of his freckled face in the warm darkness. Raphael’s features are more boyishly cute than handsome. Soft over sharp. Playful, despite his age. He says it’s because his bloodline mix is too human and not enough vampire, but I disagree. His genetic makeup is perfect as is.

“Where the hell would we go?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But if you wanted to get out like Oliver did, I’d help you. I’d go with you. You know that.”

Sighing, I look out at the surrounding buildings. Tasteful brick fa?ades juxtaposed against shining glass radiating with soft, welcoming lighting. Sculpted holly bushes layered with fresh snow.

Beyond the shops, my gaze scans up toward the rolling hills. The houses dotting the night with their electric glow amidst the overcast moonlight.

“I’m not leaving Eden,” I say. “It’s my home and I belong here. I’m not keen on some big adventure to foreign lands. I just… don’t want to be tied to an asshole vampire five times my age.” That randomly licks people without their consent and calls it a “princely sample.” Ugh.

“See?” Raphael says brightly. “This is more evidence that you and Oliver were ill-matched. Oliver yearned for travel, but you aren’t nearly as interested. And, turns out, he wanted a vampire five-times his age! That was exactly his type. If you had been Lord Cherrington’s age, he would have been all over you?—”

“Just shut up, alright?” I roll my eyes because I don’t need this. He’s not helping. “Do I have anything particularly important on my schedule tomorrow?”

Raphael considers. “Not ‘particularly’ important. Brunch with the poker brats, then dinner and a cocktail party at the Wyndham Estate to celebrate their daughter’s engagement. Your parents are going, so your presence isn’t mandatory. ”

“Perfect. Cancel my attendance and block out my schedule when we get back, please?”

Finally, Raphael puts the car into reverse and glances around, backing out of the parking space. “Alright, but what are you going to do instead?”

“Nothing. Maybe I’ll go for a drive.”

“All afternoon?” he asks, smoothly pulling the car forward and out of the slick parking lot. “You said that last week and you were gone for hours! It’s hard on me when you disappear, because if your parents start asking questions—specifically, your madre—they dislike it when I don’t have satisfactory answers. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I’m sorry but, I need some time alone, if you don’t mind.”

At a stop light, he turns to me with his lips pursed. “What happened to ‘Where he goes, I go, full stop’? Was that only for show? Only when it’s convenient?” The light turns green and he pulls the car forward. When I don’t say anything for a long moment, he glances over. “Hello?”

“May I have some time to myself please? Please ?” I widen my eyes in an obvious gesture. Like, God, cut me some fucking slack here.

Raphael exhales heavily through his nostrils. “Yeah alright… you sneak. But I require an extra day off next week in exchange for the guaranteed headache that cancelling these appointments at the last minute will cause.”

“Done,” I say, lifting my cup. I watch as the clustered buildings of downtown fall away. Soon, we’re on a two-lane road that snakes through an impressive army of snow-laden trees. Heading uphill and home.

“I’ll find Buffy when we get to the estate,” Raphael says, breaking the silence. “I’ll bring her up after you shower, if she isn’t already hanging around your door. She does that a lot lately.”

“She does.” It’s like she knows I need her there, now more than ever. “Thank you,” I say, smiling into my cup .

“What about feeding?” Raphael asks. “You’re due and you haven’t answered me about finding you a neutral source to replace Oliver.”

“I’m alright. Thanks, though.”

Raphael’s chestnut eyes cut across the darkness, scrutinizing me. Knowing him and what he’s thinking, I stop him before he even starts.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

He exhales another heavy sigh of disapproval, but I don’t care.

We ride the rest of the way home in a prickly silence. Which suits me just fine.