Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

8. Alexander

CHAPTER 8

Alexander

W ithin the past two weeks, I’ve come to Kathryn and Roland’s house five times and it’s been exactly what I had originally envisioned—a peaceful and much needed departure from my routine.

This visit, though? Not so much.

Today feels like a storm is coming.

“I checked the tracking site and the boxes should be here within the next half hour,” Kathryn says, poking her head into the small bathroom where I’ve taken up residence for my last several visits. “And… Daniel texted, too. He’s almost here. I promise he’ll behave himself.”

“Sounds good,” I say indifferently, focused on measuring and aligning the tiles with the wooden gauge. When she’s gone, I sit upright and sigh.

It’s annoying that this needs to be a thing. I’m not some high-maintenance purebred. Yes, technically, I’m a prince and allegedly the next “King of Eden.” But those are empty titles and I don’t want or need vampires tip-toeing around me and making exceptions. Especially not here.

There’s a shipment of furniture arriving today for the bedrooms—new desks, bed frames, mattresses, bedside tables and such. Kathryn specifically requested that I come today to help carry and unload boxes, but she also asked, quote, “Is it okay if Daniel comes, too?”

I don’t fucking care if Daniel comes or not. He can be here, just… not in the same tiny space with me, ideally.

Why couldn’t he be normal? Most vampires like me. I mean, I’m not great by any means. Oliver didn’t like me. But I’m not the worst, either. There are definitely worse purebreds than me. I know some of them. I’m probably getting engaged to one of them.

Brushing off the agitation of Kathryn’s announcement, I continue with my measuring. It’s important that I get this right because the tiles will look sloppy if they aren’t distributed correctly—especially in the corners, according to Roland.

Within fifteen minutes of Kathryn’s announcement, I hear commotion coming from the direction of the front door. Welcoming voices and aging floorboards creaking beneath footsteps. I know it isn’t the delivery people because a distinct shrill of electric current prickles up my arms and to my neck and shoulders.

“Great,” I groan and straighten my back as I sit in the middle of the floor, still planning out the tiles.

I’m tucked away in the second smaller bathroom just off the kitchen. This has been my workspace for the past two weeks. Just as I’m hoping that I’ll be left alone until the delivery truck arrives, I sense Daniel’s presence moving in my direction.

Fuck. Why is he coming this way? Maybe he’ll go past the door and out to the back patio. Relax, Alexander. Breathe for God’s sake.

My attention on the tiles is totally broken. All I can focus on is the sensation of something like tiny electric spiders crawling up my body. The feeling intensifies as he draws nearer, as if the spiders are either getting larger or more potent in their voltage.

The flooring outside the bathroom creaks from the steps approaching the door. Suddenly, the sound stops. I realize I’m holding my breath as I sit with my back to the door, so I exhale silently, then shift my head to the side.

Daniel stands in the doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his tapered sweatpants. The knot of his hair atop his head is shiny and clean today—no sanding dust. He stares at me with vacant and pale eyes.

Before, I came into this situation na?ve and with my guard down. When I offered to help out, I didn’t expect to be raked across the face by Daniel’s sharp talons.

This time, though, I’m prepared.

“What?” I ask, tersely.

He inhales, glancing around the space and over my head. “The bathroom is coming along nicely.”

“Are you the site supervisor?” I ask. Was that a compliment? Am I supposed to thank him? Give me a break.

“No,” he says, shifting his weight. “But I did the sealing around the tub for you after your last visit. Did you notice?”

“Yes,” I say, still watching him from over my shoulder. “Your point?”

He grins, roguish. “You could say, ‘thank you.’”

“Why would I?”

“Because I did something nice for you. Is it so difficult to show gratitude? Does your purebred pride keep you from expressing such sentiments to a lowly first-gen?”

I scoff, looking away from him. “‘Purebred pride’ sounds like a euphemism for arrogance.”

“If it walks like a duck.”

“Right. You’re standing over me with your nose in the air and your prickly fucking energy making condescending remarks—goading me for a ‘thank you’ like you did me a personal favor and not something for the betterment of this project. But I’m the arrogant one. Sure.”

Fuck this vampire. What a silly twat. I’m angry at myself for letting him upset me before. Why should I care what he thinks? He’s just as twisted in the head as Ashwin and the rest of them .

There’s a pause in our bickering and he stands there, unmoving. Curious, I look over my shoulder again. He blinks, staring at me with a confused look on his angular face. “Problem?” I ask.

“You can sense my energy?”

“How could I not?” I ask, annoyed as I look away again. “It’s like standing beside a high-voltage fence.” He’s probably forcing it outward on purpose, which is an arrogant dick move. Pompous jerk.

Another pause swells between us but I don’t say anything. Instead, I try hard to focus on my tiles, even though it’s impossible. Just when his standing there and staring at my back is getting extremely awkward, Roland’s voice cuts into the silence.

“The delivery truck is here,” he says. His excitement is palpable. “Are you both ready to do some lifting?”

“Sure.” I push myself up from the ground. When I turn, Daniel is still there, scrutinizing me like I’m a cat with two tails. He’s blocking the doorway, so I gesture with my hand. “Can I pass, please?”

Without speaking, he straightens and walks away. Reluctantly, I follow.

What a weirdo. I can’t believe I ever felt something for this vampire. My madre was right. I was being a pervert.

The weirdness continues as we unload the delivery truck. Along with the larger furniture pieces, there are smaller boxes. Kathryn explained that she also ordered some lamps, pillows and decorative items since no major renovation needs to be done in the bedrooms. Daniel makes it a point to grab every last one of these lighter boxes and items, while the rest of us wrangle the heavier and more difficult pieces.

Once all the smaller things are inside, Daniel just stands beside the truck bed, watching as Kathryn and Roland take both ends of a double mattress and wrestle it into the house .

“Do you want me to grab the middle?” I ask, walking alongside them toward the porch.

“Nope, we got this one,” Kathryn says confidently. “Could you get the other one ready though?”

“Sure.” I bound back down the steps, sweeping past Daniel and then up the ramp and into the truck bed. Samuel—the vamp who delivered these items—is inside and putting the bed frames together. All this stuff came from his shop in Bruck.

After I position the plastic-wrapped mattress on its side and push it to the top of the ramp, I see Daniel standing at the bottom, staring up at me with his opaque gaze. I’ve avoided talking to him since we left the bathroom, but it feels uncomfortable to ignore him now. “Can you help me carry this, please?” If it wasn’t for the awkward shape, I could do it myself. And he’s not doing a damn thing, so...

He freezes. Hesitating. Did he hear me? I roll my eyes. “Never mind?—”

“A-alright, but… can you push it down the ramp, first? I’ll get the other end once it’s down here.”

Nodding, I do just that. Once the mattress is flat on the ground, Daniel walks over to the opposite side. “Do you mind if I go backward up the steps?”

“No,” I say. “That’s fine.”

He crouches down, carefully positioning his long fingers underneath the plastic and gripping the edge of the bed. “On three?” he asks.

I mimic his squat on the opposite side. “Yup.”

He takes a visible breath and nods. “One-two-three?—”

Smoothly, we both stand. My end is solid, but the mattress falters on his end. “Do you have it?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, breathy and obviously strained. “Come on.” I feel a slight tug, then carefully step forward so that I don’t shift the weight of the mattress and push him down. He doesn’t seem stable at all, but we make progress toward the porch steps.

When he ascends, the weight of the mattress shifts mostly to me, which is fine because it isn’t heavy at all. This arrangement works because at the front, Daniel keeps the mass from tipping. I carry the load, but he steers us in the desired direction.

Once we’re in the foyer, the weight evens out again and the mattress dips on Daniel’s end. “Should we take a break?”

“No, let’s keep going,” he says, moving backward up the first step and alternating the heft to my side once more. Footsteps approach, telling me that Kathryn and Roland are making their way down. The stairway is wide enough for them to pass, so I’m not too worried about it. But there’s a sense of panic in Kathryn’s voice as she meets us.

“Danny—we said you should just get the small stuff,” she explains, slowing beside him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine Kathryn,” he says, still climbing. “I’ve got it.” There’s an exasperated bite in his response. Whether it’s because he’s tired from our efforts or he’s annoyed about something, I’m not sure.

“I can take over,” Roland says.

“I’ve got it,” Daniel assures him, resolute. After exchanging a curious look, the couple heads past us and down the steps.

Weird.

When we reach the landing for the second floor, I make an executive decision. “We can put it down. I’ll slide it the rest of the way.”

“It could still tip over,” he says, straining. “I’ll help guide you. Let’s put it down on three. One-two-three.” We both crouch again, gently letting it drop to the floor. Daniel stands and his pale skin is dewy with sweat. He lifts his arms to take hold of the mattress edge and his hands visibly tremble.

I don’t say anything because he pulls, so I push. Eventually, we make it to the room and set the mattress off to the side and just behind the door. The moment we do, Daniel crumbles onto the floor beside it with his back against the wall. I try not to stare as he seemingly gasps for breath and unzips and removes his ugly parka.

“Do you want water?” I ask, not knowing what else to offer. “Or a towel?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ranked vampire sweat like this.

“No, thank you,” he says in-between deep breaths. “I’ll meet you all downstairs in a minute.” He’s wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, but he sits up from the wall and pulls it off and over his head. Soon, he only has on a white graphic t-shirt. A sketched dinosaur is printed in the center and holding a tea cup and saucer while wearing a monocle and top hat. Beneath the image are the words, “Tea-Rex.”

Under normal circumstances, I would laugh and compliment this shirt. But as I take in his too skinny arms, flushed skin and obvious exhaustion, I simply nod and turn toward the door.

Clearly, something has happened to this vampire. There’s no way in hell a first-gen should be this winded after carrying a mattress up a single flight of steps.

It’s none of my business, though, so I’ll leave him to his own devices.

“Alexander.”

In the threshold between the bedroom and the hallway, I stop, surprised to hear my name coming out of his mouth. That weird electric spidery feeling bristles my shoulders. “Yes?”

Exhaling a breath, he lifts his head. “I… I apologize. For what I said to you.”

I frown. “Which time?” Berating me for working too slowly? Calling me arrogant and pathetic? The rude comments about Oliver? There’s a laundry list at this point.

He grins, mischievous. “Every time?”

Maybe I am an arrogant purebred, because I feel disinclined to happily accept his apology. I don’t know what his story is, but he’s mean and I don’t trust him. If you’re capable of lashing out and clawing me like that, unprompted, it’s bound to happen again.

That’s the absolute last thing I need in my life right now.

“Sure,” is all I offer.

I leave the room .

After the truck is unloaded, Roland treats us to lunch—a hearty, comforting soup with green veg, tomatoes, beans and a zesty lemony finish. For once, there’s no meat for me to discreetly pick around, which is a nice change. There’s a bowl of strawberries, too. I try hard not to selfishly devour them.

Kathryn announces that we’re at the end of our budget for this round of renovations. I won’t have any more money to support them until next month’s allowance is released from my family’s primary account.

“We made it work, though—we stretched those funds a long way,” she says, gathering up her and Roland’s soup bowl and spoons. I stand to join her, picking up my own. I glance down at Daniel, who’s seated beside me and has been quiet through lunch. He’s not gasping and sweating anymore, but he definitely isn’t brimming with his earlier, snarky bravado.

His soup bowl isn’t empty, so I hesitate. “Are you finished?” I ask.

He looks up at me with an odd expression. Like I’ve said something funny. “Yes, thank you.”

I take his bowl and spoon, then join Kathryn at the counter. She’s running water and tackling the dishes. “Do you want me to help?” I ask.

“Nah,” she says. “You should finish your tiling. I know you’re excited about that part.”

She’s right, I am. Setting the dishes beside the sink, I turn to Roland. “Thanks for the amazing soup—and the strawberries. Everything was delicious.”

“You’re very welcome,” Roland says, grinning. As I leave the kitchen, I’m smiling, too. I don’t know what it is about this place, but even with the renovations and dust, it already feels cozy. Without question, it stems from Kathryn and Roland and the warmth they have for each other.

They’re lucky to have that .

Some of us never will.

But I’ve come to terms with this fact. There’s nothing I can do.

In the bathroom, I finish my measurements and estimation with my gauge and the tiles, then start marking the bottom of the largest wall. Roland told me that the corners need to be greater than half a tile to keep it from looking untidy, so I want to make sure I’m careful with my planning.

Next, I use the bubble level to elongate my vertical lines. Part of me wishes that we were doing something more exciting with the tiling than a basic grid. Asymmetric lines with a contrasting tile design or some interesting shapes, for example. This is my first time doing this, though, so simple is definitely best.

I’m switching over to my horizontal measurements and spacing when that prickling sensation rushes across my skin and makes me pause. Dropping my arms, I close my eyes because ignoring it is useless. After a minute, I look over my shoulder at the door.

Daniel is there, but he’s walked up quietly as if he was trying to be sneaky. “Yes?” I ask, not hiding my exasperation. What the hell does he want, now?

He steps inside the bathroom with his hands in his pockets. His navy-blue sweatshirt is back on, but not the ugly orange parka. “You’re measuring out the tiles, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll help. The bathroom in the front hall is finished, so I can work on this one with you.”

I shake my head, trying to be polite even though he obviously gives zero shits about being polite to me. “I don’t need help. Roland told me what to do. Thanks, though.”

Please go away. The last thing I want is to be stuck in this small bathroom with him.

“It’ll go faster if we do it together—you work slowly.”

I exhale through my nose, biting the inside of my cheek and preparing my defense when Daniel lifts his palms from his pockets.

“I’m not saying it as an insult, you just do! It’s fine, alright? But we need to get this bathroom done so we can do the floors, then start on the big one upstairs. Do you have the pipe detector?”

This catches me off guard and I glance around the room. “No… what is that?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in an amused smile. “You run it along the lines you’ve made to make sure there are no pipes or wires hidden behind the walls before you start drilling your batons. I’ll go find it.”

The moment Daniel leaves I roll my shoulders and bristle. Jesus Christ his energy is weird—like a staticky and invasive frisson. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.

He apologized. The mature thing to do is accept his sentiment and move on. But I’m not letting my guard down again.

When he comes back a few minutes later, Roland is with him and carrying a large bucket and two wooden batons. Daniel has a couple trowels, a drill and what I’m assuming is the pipe detector gathered in his arms.

“Let me know if you two need anything else,” Roland says, setting the bucket down. “This adhesive needs to be mixed, so I’ll grab the paddle for the drill—I think it’s upstairs.”

“Thanks Roland,” Daniel says, stepping toward the wall and examining my lines.

“No problem. Everyone be niiiice, pleeeease.” Roland wiggles his eyebrows and grins before leaving us alone.

Quietly, I’m dreading this, but I’m prepared. If Daniel lashes out again, at least I know it’s coming. This is how you survive in Eden’s aristocracy.

“Your lines and measurements look good,” he says, turning from the wall and stepping over to grab the measuring tape. “It’s similar to what I did for the bathroom in the main hall. We’re using the same tiles, so that’s a good sign. Let’s finish the lines, check for the pipes, get the adhesive mixed and wrap all of this up today? I think we can do it.”

Nodding, I grab the level, take the pencil I’ve stashed behind my ear and meet him at the wall. “Okay.”

To my great surprise, we work efficiently and, most important, politely. Daniel doesn’t say anything rude, but instead, expertly guides me in mixing and applying the adhesive. How to use the trowel and notch spreader to make sure the adhesive is smooth and even, so that the tile surface is flat and consistent.

Finally, the tiles go on and we coordinate our efforts by putting in tiny separators to make sure the spacing between each tile is properly aligned. Occasionally, and when he tells me to, I use the level to make sure our work is even and straight.

After a couple hours—and a lot of bending and squatting toward the end on my part—I stand back and marvel at the finished product. The tiles gleam under the light and it gives the bathroom a bright, modernized feel.

It’s amazing how much I enjoyed this—allowing my full attention to be focused on something new and interesting. Cutting the tile with a scribe and snapping it was cool, too. I didn’t break a single tile, (Daniel predicted that I would, because he’s an asshole). Even the tedious task of clearing out excessive adhesive on the tiles and between the grout lines was oddly satisfying.

While we were working together on spacing out and laying the tiles, a memory flashed in my mind. Me as a young vampire, watching Daniel play the piano for a small audience in that candlelit drawing room at the álvarez Estate near the eastern moors.

I remember it was a warm autumn night. The dramatically tall doors to the outer garden were opened wide as the backdrop for his performance. The gauzy curtains were drawn, billowing in the soft breeze and glowing in ethereal moonlight. He sat at that stunning grand piano and played into the night—into the drying whisper of autumnal leaves and brush. Into the soul of every vampire seated in that room.

Fourteen-year-old me sat there wide-eyed and deeply moved. Entranced by Daniel and the night. The magic, beauty and melody. I was thinking that this vampire is the most talented creature I’ve ever seen. I asked my father if he could convince him to become my piano teacher, but Father was much more interested in featuring him at the Royal Eden Opera House—his top tier theater at the heart of Central Eden.

Neither of those things happened.

Back then, I was awestruck.

Now, I think I was a na?ve and silly kid. What the hell did I know?

“I told you we could finish faster if we worked together,” Daniel says, bending and clearing up the bits of hardened adhesive from the floor.

“You did,” I say blandly as I stand at the sink, squeezing out the sponge I used to wipe the tiles down.

“Do you mind carrying the adhesive bucket to the upstairs bathroom? That’s where we’ll use it next.”

“Sure.” I turn off the water, give the sponge a final squeeze and quickly wipe off the counter.

“You’re still angry about what I said.”

The comment materializes from nowhere. Slowly, I look over my shoulder. His pale eyes blaze into me and I shrug. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he says. “Don’t lie. You’ve barely said anything this whole time. I apologized, but you only said, ‘Sure,’ like, ‘Sure, but you’re still a jackass.’”

“You are,” I say reflexively. “A callous jackass.” I turn back around, suddenly embarrassed. Wow. Fourteen-year-old me has entered the chat.

Daniel chuckles. “Alright, I’ll take that assessment. Do you know why? Because I appreciate your honesty.”

“Is this honesty?” I ask, frowning. “You saying hurtful shit to me and me calling you a jackass? ”

“Mm.” Daniel nods, folding his arms. “It’s refreshing. Transparent.”

“If you say so.” Such a strange vampire. “I’m going to take the adhesive upstairs. Does anything else need to go? The drill and mixing paddle?” Those things are a bit heavier, so I figure I’d offer.

“Yes, please.” Daniel bends and starts gathering the tools. “I’ll take the trowel and spreader. They need to be cleaned first.”

I nod and we organize everything in silence. Once I snap the lid back onto the adhesive bucket, I lift it from the floor and Daniel meets me to hand over the drill and attachments.

“Do you accept my apology?” he asks, dead serious as he stands in front of me. “Yes or no?” He stares, not blinking his opaque eyes.

That weird staticky feeling had ebbed, but it returns with a vengeance and crawls down my spine. The question is awkwardly direct, as if he refuses to let me brush it off this time.

Swallowing, I accept the tools with my free hand, then shift toward the door. “Yeah… Yes.”

He smiles, but only kind of. It’s not that smug grin from before. It’s something else. Something more cautious. “Good,” he says, turning away from me. “Great.”