Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

9. Daniel

CHAPTER 9

Daniel

K arma, God, the universe—whoever. Some cosmic deity much greater than myself and with a flair for irony smacked me across the face today, over and over. Even my body is doing things that I thought it was incapable of.

Something strange is happening.

Driving back to the cottage was a physical challenge. Climbing the steps to my bedroom and showering was even worse because I absolutely overdid it today.

When I’m clean and cozy in soft sweats and a t-shirt, I collapse in a heap onto the couch in the front room. The rays of the setting sun cover me in an orange blanket of warm light. I close my eyes and relax every aching muscle, feeling the plush fabric against my skin as I sink deeper—like a heavy stone into an ocean of soft linen.

“Hard day?”

Bleary, I open my eyes from a soft touch on my nose. The room is cast in lamp light and it’s dark beyond the front windows. Leoni is bent at the waist, blinking her hazel eyes. The wavy bob of her hair swishes forward .

“?Cómo te va?”

“I’m alright.” Slowly, I flip onto my back against the sofa. There’s no way I’m moving. Impossible. “How was your day?” I ask. “Is everything ready for Seze this weekend?”

“Yes, just about. I had a new banner printed and bought a better-quality tablecloth for the display. We’re getting professional about this—gotta have good marketing tools, you know? Brand image matters. Maybe I’ll pick up some roses, too?”

“Sounds elegant. I’m sure it’ll go well.”

Despite myself, a question swells in my mind, then trickles its way down to the cavern of my mouth. I’m reluctant to let it pass through my lips, but the unknowable force that’s been plaguing me all day triumphs yet again. “Is Alexander going with you?”

Leoni had left my field of vision and moved into the kitchen. Suddenly, she’s back, leaning over the couch so that she’s hovering above me, grinning. “He is. Did you see him today?”

I turn my head to stare at the empty hearth. “I did.”

“How did it go? It’s been, what—two weeks since you last saw him? Did you fight again?”

“A little.”

“Aww.”

“No blood was drawn and… I apologized. He said he accepted.”

Leoni nods. “That’s good.”

“He can sense me.”

“What?”

“He senses my nature, Leoni. He said that standing beside me is like being next to a high-voltage fence.”

Leoni narrows her eyes, registering the gravity of my statement. Quietly, she walks over to the armchair closest to my head and takes a seat. “I have mixed feelings. Is that a compliment or not?”

“Right, he doesn’t like me,” I acknowledge. “But he can sense me. Nobody can sense me anymore. Not since I’ve been like this.”

When I put my righteous indignation toward purebreds aside, watching Alexander is… interesting. Like reading a book with its pages splayed open and printed in large font.

The first time we crossed paths at Roland and Kathryn’s safe house, he was polite and soft. I sensed a vulnerability in him. I’ve seen it in him before, when he’d come to the cottage to visit with Oliver.

It fucking annoys me. I don’t know why, but it does. Maybe it’s that mirror thing again? Me being angry at him for something that I once saw in myself?

Today, Alexander was guarded. Cynical. He thinks I’m a “callous jackass,” and he’s not wrong, but… I don’t know. Being able to read him this way is strange.

“He senses you, but he dislikes you,” Leoni repeats, sitting back in the chair and folding her arms. “I’m not sure what to make of that, to be honest. Feels like an oxymoron.”

“Right. And he asks me direct questions like you do. Thoughtfully.”

It’s the first inclination, or perhaps, the most natural question to ask when someone is in distress. But when someone says, “Are you alright?” it depletes me. No, I’m not fucking alright. I’m walking around half-drained of my life-force and I look like a ghost from a Japanese horror film. All that’s missing is the white gown and a television set for me to jerkily crawl out of.

I’m not Japanese, but the point remains.

“This isn’t me trying to push any agenda,” Leoni says, “but Alexander was a sweet kid. I think, as we’ve gotten older, he’s been chewed up and spit out by Eden politics.”

I scoff. “Who here hasn’t been?”

She chuckles. “Agreed. Despite all that, I still sense the same little muchacho.”

The day he dropped Oliver off at the cottage, Alexander asked if I remembered him.

I lied and said that I didn’t.

Of course I knew who he was. Everyone in Eden knows who he is. Even if you didn’t, based on his appearance alone you’d assume he was someone . He showed up here, gorgeous and exuding bright energy in his designer trench coat, trendy sneakers and that thick golden mane perfectly styled and swept back from his face. Tall, confident and carefree.

He was much younger when he attended one of my final public performances. I remember it because after the recital, his burly father, Lord Ansv?d Kendrick, asked me to interview with his board at the Royal Eden Opera House for a concerto position. No one had ever offered me something so grandiose. Up until that point I had only played in a few respectable houses for private events.

It sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime. Something that would have made my mothers proud. An elite and respectable position for a first-gen vampire in this restrictive and suffocating society.

I was twenty-two at the time, but I can easily recall the posh blonde vampire—all adolescent arms and legs—standing just beside Lord Kendrick. Alexander was staring at me with bright golden-brown eyes, hopeful, as if I was some kind of celebrity.

Little did I know, that offer and my not taking it would initiate an inevitable downward spiral. It was, without question, my first poor choice as a young, na?ve adult.

How peculiar to have a vampire connected to that significant crossroad in my life reappear, now. And he senses me…

This isn’t a coincidence, because I don’t believe in coincidences. The circumstances around me are changing. As much as I want to, it’s difficult to ignore.

“Are you sure you won’t come to Seze this weekend?” Leoni asks, smiling. “Rest tomorrow and don’t do any work in the vineyard or your garden, then come help me and Puercoespín?”

Staring up at the ceiling, I consider her question. My natural inclination is to double-down and say no—to stay home this weekend, protected in my sterile bubble like I’ve done for the past two years. It’s safe and comfortable and what I’m accustomed to.

Despite this, something about the palpable shift in my environment pulls at me and makes me curious. If I decide to go to Seze, surely, Alexander will not be pleased to see me because he isn’t expecting it. He’ll be irritated and caught off guard, which… my darker, more cynical heart finds amusing.

“Text Alexander ahead of time and tell him that I’m coming,” I say, straining my neck to look over at her. “If he cancels because of me, I can’t carry the crates and cover for him, so it’s a gamble. If he backs out, I’ll stay home.”

Leoni purses her lips, doubtful. “He won’t cancel because of you.”

“He dropped what he was doing and left Kathryn and Roland’s house because of me. They had to beg him to come back.” Within mere seconds of my insult he was out the front door. It surprised the hell out of me. I’ve never seen a purebred vampire run away from someone so fast. Like I had garlic and a cross.

That’s not actually a thing, but again, the point remains.

“Hmm,” Leoni bites her lip in a sneaky smile. “I’ll text and tell him the morning of.”

We’re up, dressed and out of the cottage just as the sun rises on Saturday. Thankfully, Leoni had help from volunteers the previous week with loading the van. Everything that we need for today—the wine crates and taste glasses, tables and marketing materials—is ready to go.

Generally, I accept my circumstances. Especially because beating myself up for being incapacitated helps nothing—least of all my mental and emotional health.

Acceptance doesn’t prevent me from being frustrated at times, though. Like with loading the van. And with unloading the furniture at Kathryn and Roland’s house.

Since I frequent the same intimate circles, my community of vampires are well acquainted with my limitations. They don’t expect me to contribute when it comes to lifting heavier objects, or exerting too much energy with manual labor. It wears me out and I’ll experience agonizing muscle spasms the next day as my body attempts to regenerate (but inevitably fails because of my condition).

When Alexander asked me to carry the mattress, he didn’t fully comprehend my restrictions. Now that he’s seen me collapse onto the ground in a flustered heap, though, he undoubtedly understands.

Still, if I’m honest, it felt good to try. Plus, he was surprisingly patient. He took on the bulk of the weight and was agreeable toward my requests. They were small acquiesces, but it made the task less grueling and we worked together seamlessly. It’s like I was trying to scale a wall for the first time in a long while and I felt well-equipped with the proper support.

I do a lot of weeding and watering at the cottage. Pruning, barrel testing and bottle turning—activities that are significant to the success of the winery, but also calming. Discreet and detail oriented. These are the tasks that my body can handle.

Carrying a mattress up a flight of stairs and activating rarely used muscles felt like another pointed change in my established routine.

After years of dormancy, I feel myself being challenged. Not just physically. Mentally and emotionally as well.

It’s jarring, but I don’t hate it.

When we arrive in Seze, the morning sun is still low in the sky. A hazy and cold mist floats around the cobblestones at our feet. I look around at the squat buildings on either side of us, admiring the colorful tiles peeking out from beneath the heavy carpet of ivy leaves draping the red brick.

The celebrated tiled artwork of Seze casually lines multiple window ledges on some structures, but then on others, the tiles are craftily arranged in intricate murals in the shapes of faces, flowers or even landscapes. A fiery sunset in red, orange, pink and gold. The moon in a dark sky and hovering over a blue-ombre tiled sea.

A famous purebred artist named Antonio Luis Vázquez is responsible for these tiles. He was one of the early immigrants from Spain to Eden and his work is a signature feature of Seze. His vision graces every single structure in the small town, like glassy flecks of candy.

“Buenos dias!” Out of the van, Leoni stalks off, already schmoozing with other merchants as everyone sets up their stalls. When she speaks Spanish, I can understand every word she says, but I can’t produce it at all. I don’t know why. It’s how my brain is wired. Or not wired? I speak Cantonese fluently because of my mothers, but that and English are all I’ve got.

My plan today is to hang out in the background and keep the booth stocked while she and Alexander use their language prowess and purebred savoir faire to interact with the customers…

Two upper-crust purebred vampires running a wine booth in Seze—way out in the Eden countryside, mind you—and serving the locals. Talking to them.

Wow.

What strange, inverted universe have I fallen into? I wonder if Prince Alexander’s parents know that he does these things. Renovation projects at safe houses for ranked vampires and weekend farmers’ markets in the countryside. Do they approve of these activities?

I’m standing at the van with the back door open when my attention is naturally pulled in the direction of a little black sports car parking on the gravel of the lot that’s just a short walk from our stall.

Alexander pops out of the car like an efficient vampire on a mission. Within seconds, he spots me from across the distance. He freezes, hesitating in his brown bomber jacket the color of rich mahogany. It makes the pristine white of his cable-knit sweater and the golden blonde of his hair radiate in juxtaposition. Light jeans don his long legs and his sneakers are cute, too. Some black, white and tan combination with brown laces.

The vampire can dress, I’ll give him that.

He sees me, but he’s looking for Leoni—the “safe” vampire in this scenario. The one who invited him and the one he trusts. But she’s off chatting with another vendor.

Attempting to be “nice,” I lift a hand in what I hope is a friendly gesture. “Come over here, pretty boy,” I say under my breath. “I won’t bite.” Seriously? Have I shaken him this much? I apologized already— me , apologizing to a fucking purebred. What more does he want?

He runs a hand through the floppy, healthy swoop of his hair, breaking eye contact with me before reluctantly walking over. When he’s finally within earshot, I offer a polite smile. “Good morning.”

“Hey—Good morning. Where is Leoni?”

I turn, pointing. “She’s over there, running her mouth, but we need to get these tables set up. Will you help, please?”

“Sure,” he says, stepping up beside me and taking in the neatly packed contents of the van. The tables, crates and other knickknacks are arranged like large pieces of a puzzle.

He leans, wrapping his fingers along the edge of one of the folded tables and testing it. Every time he moves, the lightest whiff of his essence fans outward and over me. It was the same way when we worked in the bathroom together. I can’t pin-point the nature and composition of it, but it smells citrusy. For the second time, I also notice the pair of golden bands wrapped around the ring finger of his right hand.

“I can carry the tables over,” he says, still examining the inside of the van. “Are you comfortable with pulling the legs out and setting them upright?”

“Yes,” I say. “I can certainly handle that.”

He nods, then goes to work.

And that’s it.

Huh .

Maybe I was expecting a big fuss about me not carrying this or that. Some awkward questions—something to show his acknowledgement of my limitations after the mattress ordeal.

But there’s nothing as we work together effortlessly against the background clatter of the market. He carries the long tables two at a time and sets them down in the gravel, waiting as I pop the legs out so that they don’t fall over before he goes to get the last set. When those are done, I tell him about the table cloths and banners in the left-side corner. He nods and retrieves those as well.

“Lo siento, Puercoespín. Hola!” Leoni comes jogging up, her olive-brown skin flushed and there’s a bright smile on her pretty face.

“What the hell are you doing?” Alexander asks in his bouncy and high-class Central Eden diction, ignoring her lovely greeting. “You asked me to come help, then you’re not even around.”

Leoni waves him off and moves toward the side door of the van. She pops and slides it open. “It’s fiiiine. Daniel’s here and he knows what I like. Look at how great everything already looks!”

“I’m not a mind reader,” I admit, setting the bouquet of roses on a nearby crate. “But I think I know you well enough by now.”

“Exactly, and I don’t see any visible scars,” she says, carefully looking us both over. “No cat fights?”

I scrunch my nose and hiss.

“ No .” Alexander walks toward her at the van, leaving me to lay out the tablecloth. I almost laugh because it’s painfully evident how relieved he is to not be alone with me anymore. As if he’d been left with an awful babysitter and now, thank God, mommy is home.

The market day runs smoothly and I realize that Leoni was right. I am genuinely having fun. While she and Alexander talk to the customers, I hand them what they need from the crates, then occasionally grab extra bottles from the van to keep our booth inventory stocked and looking full. At one point, Alexander assures us that he can handle everything alone while Leoni and me walk around together to take in the different stalls.

Some are overflowing with pots of early spring flowers and bouquets for sale. Others offer handmade jewelry and trinkets. Fresh fruit and vegetables. Meat, fish and cheese. We spot another wine vendor at the opposite end of the market and strike up a friendly conversation.

When we return, we’re both shocked to see that an insanely long queue has formed at our booth. Alexander is there alone, talking and smiling with the aura and charm of a beloved celebrity signing autographs.

By lunchtime, we’re almost completely out of stock, much to Leoni’s delight.

“This is what happens when I’ve got two of the most handsome vampires in Eden at my booth,” she declares, grinning at me.

I roll my eyes as I place the display wines back in the crate underneath the table. Who is she kidding? It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the blonde-bombshell standing beside her. As a matter of fact, there should be a sign on the front table that reads, “Please ignore the hunched monster in the background?—

“Disculpe, joven. ?Aún es posible comprar una botella o ya se marchan?”

Blinking, I look up. My eyes meet those of an older woman vampire, whispering. She’s second-gen, small in stature and her silver curls are sprightly, like a halo around her face. Excuse me, young sir. Is it still possible to buy a bottle? Are you leaving?

“Ah, sí—wait, no. I mean, sí you can buy a bottle.”

“?Sí que puedo? Disculpe, no le entiendo.”

Dammit, she can’t understand.

She smiles, sheepish. “Esos dos vampiros son un poco intimidantes. Prefería preguntarle a usted.”

Those two vampires are a little intimidating. I wanted to ask you. Yeah, I get that. But I’m not the one with the language?—

“Hola, ?puedo ayudarle con algo? ”

I look over my shoulder and Alexander is there, addressing the older vampire. His tone is soft and compassionate—the epitome of a polite, well-bred vampire. Admittedly, not arrogant nor supercilious at all.

The older vampire smiles at him shyly, avoiding his eyes as if she can barely withstand the bright power of his golden aura. “S-Sí, ?aún se puede comprar una botella de vino?”

Alexander nods and offers a handsome smile. “Por supuesto, ?cuál le gustaría llevarse? Aún tenemos muchas opciones. Por favor, acompá?eme.”

Of course, which one would you like? We have many options left. Please, come this way.

The woman grins sweetly at me before stepping toward the front table. “Gracias, joven.”

I wave, ignoring the weird tickle suddenly warming my gut and spine. Pausing, I stretch my back to assess the abnormal sensation. What the fuck is happening right now?

“Oi, cari?o.” Leoni crouches beside me and I jump. I was so in my head and distracted that I didn’t notice her.

“Yeah?” I say, inhaling deep and blowing it out.

“I wanna go schmooze with the other wine seller we talked to. Pick their brain a little. We’re going to have dinner together. Is it okay if Alexander drops you off at home so I can take the van?”

“Ah, well, you should probably ask him first.”

“Ask me what?” Alexander returns, eying us both like we’re conspiring in a devious plot against him. It’s a complete change from the enchanting vampire I witnessed only moments ago.

“What was with that lady?” he goes on. “Why didn’t she come to the front of the table? There’s not even a line anymore.”

Needing to regain control of my senses, I set my shoulders back. “Because she was too scared to talk to the arrogant purebred.” I smirk, not really feeling the snark behind it like usual.

Alexander cuts his eyes at me, not missing a beat. “Funny. I’d rather talk to an arrogant purebred than a mean, first-gen jackass.”

“Ouch, well then.” I blink, snickering because he’s successfully knocked the wind out of me.

Leoni reaches and pinches Alexander in the bend of his waist and he folds, cursing and wincing away. “No cat fights!” she scolds.

“Are you gonna let him talk to me like that?” I ask with false incredulity.

She looks me over, considering. “You can be pretty mean.”

“Wow.” Unbelievable.

She ignores me and looks up at Alexander, who’s standing straight again, but at a safe distance where she can’t easily reach him. He’s at least a foot taller than her. “Can you take him back to the cottage?” Leoni asks.

Alexander rubs his waist, grimacing. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I want to have dinner with another vineyard owner and pick their brain.”

“Your cottage is a forty-minute drive in the opposite direction from my house.”

“That’s perfect,” she chirps. “You two can get to know each other better—but no cat fighting!” She hisses dramatically and makes cat claws at us with her hands before flipping and walking away.

Alexander’s face looks like he’s just been told that he needs to personally wrangle a bag full of poisonous snakes. His feelings about this circumstance are so obvious that I almost laugh out loud. Almost.

Instead, I flutter my eyelashes, grinning. “Thanks in advance for the ride.”