Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

21. Daniel

CHAPTER 21

Daniel

T he Kendrick Estate is surprisingly comfortable. Elegant, without question, but approachable. Pleasant in a way that’s unusual for these grandiose purebred homes.

Oftentimes, they’re an emblem of blatant luxury. Gaudy antiques worth a fortune collecting dust as they’re passed down through the generations. Chandeliers dripping in crystal and gold. Pretentious artwork hung in gilded frames for the sole purpose of impressing visitors.

Ostentation over function. Vanity over comfort.

Alexander’s home, however, is a lot like him. Undeniably refined but soft inside. Stylish and simultaneously cozy.

The books in the two-story library are readable and not totally comprised of vampire historian almanacs boasting of their long-standing family lineage. Scanning the shelves on the lower level, I find several familiar contemporary and classic novels. The Old Man and the Sea by Hemmingway and Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein . The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, Sula by Toni Morrison and everything in-between. The couches and armchairs here look well-loved and are littered with oversized throw pillows and knitted blankets. A beguiling invitation for a movie night .

“Does Alexander read often?” I ask, following Raphael from the library and down a quiet corridor.

My guide glances over his shoulder. “It’s not his favorite pastime. But we have this deal—if he reads one book a month with me, I’ll watch two episodes of a TV show of his choosing with him. This way he stays well-read, and I’m kept up to date on the latest trends I’d otherwise miss… and probably not care about, to be honest.”

“Sounds like a nice arrangement.” We approach a pair of handsome light-wood double doors. The design is modern here, too, as each side holds four rectangular and beautifully stained-glass panels arranged in parallel from top to bottom.

“I want to show you something in particular,” Raphael says, pulling one door open and waiting for me to pass.

I step into a sprawling courtyard surrounded by more towering trees. The pavement underneath my feet is undoubtedly stone, but different from the red brick in front of the house.

This path sparkles in the late afternoon sunlight. Winter grass and emergent brush line the path. Both of these are outshined by the river of white daffodils hugging either side of the walkway. Straight ahead, the sunlight gleams against an impressive structure comprised of cedar-wood and glass walls.

When we reach the doors, Raphael pulls one open and gestures for me to enter. Inside, the space is aglow with green because of the glass and our lush surroundings. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling like icicles and the floor’s hardwood has been buffed to perfection.

I scan the room and my breath catches. Far in the back corner and lifted on a small stage sits a grand piano. Radiant and majestic. A work of art.

“This is one of Lexie’s favorite hiding places,” Raphael says, bypassing me in my stunted state. He strides toward the piano. “When life gets too hard, he has two coping mechanisms— Buffy and the piano.”

Still in awe, I trail behind him as if I’m approaching a rare and skittish animal in the forest. My hands tremble. “Buffy as in the cat or the TV-show?”

Raphael laughs. “Mostly the latter but sometimes the former. Good catch. I like that you pay attention to the details.” He steps up onto the platform and casually lifts the fallboard. “Do you know why he started playing the piano?”

Actually… I don’t even think that I knew he played until this moment. “I do not.”

The manservant tilts his head. “Because of you.”

My eyes widen and I falter, genuinely surprised. “Me?”

The clack of the fallboard opening makes me jump. It echoes loudly in the silent hall. Raphael lightly runs his fingers along the keys and my heart is a tumultuous sea of emotions.

Longing and self-loathing.

Delight and fear.

Regret and sadness.

“He only saw you play once,” Raphael goes on. “But the experience left a profound impression on him. You played Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Number Eight , right? Sonata Pathétique ?”

With my feet rooted to the floor, I blink, swallowing hard. “I suppose? I played it often in those days as a performance piece so yes, probably.”

“Right. Lexie was obsessed with that piece. It took him about a year to learn it—a year and a half to play it well because he struggled with the tremolo . Now, he can play it by heart.”

Raphael sits on the edge of the bench, addressing me as if he were a professor regarding his pupil from a lectern. “After your performance, for weeks on end, he wouldn’t stop talking about you and how ‘cool’ you were. It was the first time I’d seen him genuinely excited about anyone or anything. He was mesmerized by you, Daniel.”

Along with the other jumbled mess of emotions stirring in my chest, somehow, insecurity sneaks in. Doubt and cynicism. I shouldn’t reveal myself and say what I’m thinking, but I do it anyway .

“Whatever impact I may or may not have had wasn’t momentous. He had Oliver, after all.” Embarrassing. I tried to say it nonchalantly but it still came out catty. I’m glad my cheeks can’t flush. In these situations, it’s nice that my body is incapable of expressing any visible or outward signs of emotion.

Raphael folds his arms. “Oliver was different. Their engagement was orchestrated by the elder vampires around them and the rules of society at large. The seed of a flawless fairytale was planted in Alexander’s head and intentionally cultivated over many years. Alexander was obsessed with Oliver because that was the primary objective. Lady Kendrick wanted this, Oliver’s fathers wanted it and the aristocracy as a whole reveled in it—even if Oliver himself never wanted anything to do with it. Alexander submitted to the propaganda because he’s always been an obedient little vampire prince.”

The manservant turns, taking in the majestic instrument beside him. “But you and this piano? His excitement was… organic. Real. There was no outside manipulation.”

Raphael shifts his gaze toward me again. His light eyes are intense. “Alexander didn’t have a choice with Oliver. Not really. He thinks he did, but he couldn’t see the pressure and influence all around him like I could. The way both their lives were being contorted as if they were puppets on strings. The next time Lexie falls in love, I think he should choose for himself. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Breaking his gaze, I stick my hands in my pockets to distract myself. Raphael is a straight-shooter. Bold for a second-gen vampire in a rigid, hierarchical-based aristocracy like ours.

This is a lot to take in, but I respect his being candid. I return the favor.

“I do,” I tell him. “You seem confident that he would want me.”

“I am. Even putting aside everything that I already know, he just bypassed Oliver’s blood for yours. You don’t find that significant? ”

A hard shiver runs down my spine and I bristle from the visceral memory of his tongue lapping my wrist. It’s too much to process in this moment so I shake my head to clear it.

Contrary by nature, I don’t want to show him how much that gesture has ruffled me. “What makes you so certain that I’d want him in return?” I ask.

“Because you’re here,” he says plainly. “Taking a risk by coming to this estate that would otherwise be off-limits to you. He’s unwell and you came to his aide. You’re standing in this ballroom, having this conversation with me. Why else would you be here and doing these things if you didn’t desire him, too?”

The warmth in my chest flushes up toward my neck. “Maybe we’re just friends?” The statement falls flat as I choke it out. I’ve been avoiding this—my feelings and this undeniable something that’s been slowly building between us over the past few weeks. But after his eyes alighting (twice) and even his reaction toward me earlier in his bedroom…

Are we “just” friends?

No.

Leoni is my friend. Her eyes have never once alighted for me. She’s never licked me and I’ve never casually wondered what it would be like to touch her in my delirium before falling asleep at night.

I feel these things for Alexander. These wayward inklings of longing. Spontaneous and strong urges to touch him. To be closer to him in some meaningful, physical way.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to press my lips to his. To open my mouth and taste him. Not only his scent, but to breathe his sweet citrus essence.

In the very dark of night, when the hour is obscene and I’m alone and painfully restless in bed, I wonder what it would be like to make him come. What would he look like in the throes of ecstasy? Willingly vulnerable and breathless to the intense pleasure that I know I could give him. What would it feel like to push into him? Or better yet, have him push into me—all heat and slip and flesh without any barriers between us as I revel in his vibrant essence dancing across my naked skin and rushing through my veins.

Raphael is right. Leoni is right.

I like Alexander.

I desire him, but I… I don’t allow myself to think too deeply about what it means. I don’t let my mind wander in the light of day like this because it terrifies me.

Whatever the case, we’re not “just friends.”

I never think about having sex with my friends.

“If you say so.” Raphael grins as if he knows I’m full of shit. He stands from the bench. “You can use the piano while you’re here, if you want. Lexie told me that you don’t have one at your disposal anymore. So, help yourself.”

As he moves from the platform, I feel incensed. Raphael is pushing me to think about and confess things that I’ve largely been avoiding and privately grappling with. Saying them aloud gives them a realness that I’m not sure I’m ready for. He’s encouraging this… whatever the hell this is between Alexander and me.

And yet, he’s ignoring the most obvious and impermeable obstacle.

“What about his parents?” I blurt as he approaches. “His peers, the Royal Order and the whole of Central Eden’s aristocracy? None of them would ever approve of someone like me. And I refuse to be his dirty little secret—or to be mistreated and looked down on. I won’t put myself through that.”

Not again. Not ever again.

Raphael looks at me as if he’s bored. “He told his parents about you.”

I start, almost climbing out of my skin from shock. “What?”

“A couple weeks ago. He told them he’s seen you and asked his dad if he remembered you. He hasn’t told them about his spending time at the safe house or the vineyard cottage—but that’s because… well, Lady Victoria Kendrick is a tough customer and we like to avoid conflict with her whenever possible.”

“My point is valid, then?”

Raphael shrugs. “It’s complicated. Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it? I’m going back upstairs to check on him and make sure he hasn’t spewed blood everywhere. Would you like to join me?”

I frown. “That’s a charming invitation.”

He snickers. “It was a nightmare, to put it mildly. You can stay here and use the piano, if you want?”

Glancing over at the instrument, it looms in the corner like something lovely but also heart-rendering. A beautiful sonnet that I want to read, but that will also make me cry. I turn my back to it.

Not right now. Not yet.

“I’ll come with you,” I tell him. Silently, we leave the hall together.

When we went to check on him, Alexander hadn’t rejected the blood, which was a huge relief. He was still asleep, though. I sat by his bedside well into the night, reading a chosen book from the library. He slept the entire time, deeply and peacefully like a fallen angel we’d found in the yard and were nursing back to health.

Very early the next morning and before anyone in the house is stirring, I sneak downstairs, out the back double doors and over to the glass ballroom that houses the piano.

Raphael said that I could help myself, but it’s bizarre to wander freely around this estate like a welcomed guest. I slink through the courtyard like a thief, despite the fact that Raphael’s even given me a luxurious pajama set and robe to wear while I’m here.

The sky is a warm purplish blue because the sun is waking but hasn’t risen over the horizon just yet. It’s dim as I step into the glass building once more. I don’t bother trying to find the lights because I probably won’t play, I just… I want to see her again.

I approach with caution, as if I don’t want to startle her. In truth, it’s me who’s afraid. Nervous but enamored. This piano is gorgeous. The finish is a warm and rich ebony. Cautiously, I run my fingers along the key slip, not daring to touch the actual keys.

My purebred mother taught me the violin first. I wasn’t bad by any means, but I asked her if we could try the piano. She obliged and the rest was history. I took to it naturally and I loved the feel of it underneath my hands, much more so than the violin. The piano gave me a sense of power and control—to produce any range of lustrous, commanding and intricate sounds from this stunning beast of an instrument. Learning and understanding its mechanisms excited me.

The early adolescent days of my life were good. I was largely sheltered from what I would later realize about Eden—its strict classism and that it doesn’t take kindly to ranked vampires. Especially first-gen vamps who have the audacity to be mated with a purebred—as is the case with my mothers. Delinquent creatures who have failed to realize their proper place in the ancient vampire hierarchy.

My mothers eventually left Eden because of this. The treatment that my first-gen mother received—despite the affluence of our family and prestige of my purebred mother’s career—was shameful.

They wanted me to leave with them, but at the time, I was operating under the guise of “love.” I thought they were wrong about Eden. That things were changing and I’d show them as much, hand-in-hand with Josefina.

Quietly, I slide onto the piano bench, then sit still with my hands in my lap. In the past when I sat at these keys, I felt confident. They were mine to manipulate and I was self-assured in my proficiency—in everything, truly. My choices, actions and the path that I was walking in my young life.

Sitting here now, I… I’m deflated. Lo st.

Lately, I don’t know what I’m doing at all.

A door clicks open across the ballroom and I turn my head toward the sound. His scent invades my senses before I see him. Cautiously, Alexander comes around the corner. He’s handsome in his pajamas and robe and his hair is neater. Much less unruly compared with yesterday. He’s made an effort, I think.

“Good morning,” he says. The slight echo of the hall carries his voice as he moves.

“Hey,” I say, unable to ignore the pleasant warmth flooding my torso and groin as he draws nearer. “Should you be out of bed? How are you feeling?”

“I think I’m alright? I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days. I needed to get up and move around.”

Lifting my wrist and drawing back the sleeve of my robe, I check my watch. “You were asleep for fifteen hours, but you’ve been sick since Saturday night.”

Standing on the steps of the small platform, he huffs. “What a fucking nightmare. Is it okay if…Do you mind if I join you?”

As a response, I slide over, making room for him on the bench. He sits beside me and I examine him more closely. The bags are still there but less intense. He looks tired, yet much improved from the zombie state he was in yesterday.

A moment of rest settles over us and we’re both quiet. His zesty scent is sweet and light again. I stare down at the keys and his presence soothes me. In the delicate silence, I shamelessly breathe him in, even though I know that I should not. I keep digging myself deeper into this hole that I’m almost certain will lead to my ruin.

“Thank you for coming to see me.” Alexander’s voice is soft. Not a whisper, but almost. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s exhausted, but it makes this moment and our interaction feel closer. Intimate despite this large fishbowl we’re occupying.

“You came to see me when I was sick,” I remind him, matching his low volume. “It’s only fair that I returned the favor. ”

“I appreciate it. You stopped Raph from murdering me.”

I laugh from my throat. “Raphael means well. He has your best interests at heart.” Feeling oddly shy, I glance over to check his face. Immediately, I’m met with his pretty golden-brown eyes and a smirk.

“It was an attempted homicide. He’s fired.”

We both snicker as a hush gradually falls over us once more. Birds are chirping all around in the magnificent trees beyond the glass. The sun climbs higher into the morning sky, brightening the hall and making it radiant with light and depth and shadows.

“I’ve… been thinking a lot about what you asked me that one time.” Alexander lifts his right hand and slides his fingers across the keys, but he doesn’t press them. “If I really loved Oliver, or if I was in love with the fantasy of him. Of us, in my head.”

Folding my hands in my lap, I nod. “Have you come to a conclusion?”

He exhales a heavy sigh while still brushing his fingertips along the keys. “You know, I… I chose Oliver because on paper, we had everything in common. Our age, family background, gender and upbringing. I thought that he and I could establish a kind of… equality? In our relationship. Where we could freely be ourselves—maybe a bit like how I am with Raph. Comfortable. I painted this picture of what we would be in my head, but none of it was real. Everything that I loved was based on some nonexistent situation that wasn’t there. A circumstance that would never happen.”

The very foundation of Eden is rooted in power dynamics. Rankings, wealth and materialism, age and geographical location—like the fact that his family and others like them live amongst these lush hills, while ranked vampires live in the valleys and countryside.

These oppressive rules and constructs weigh heavily on all of us, so I can understand his wanting to escape them somehow. It would be liberating to achieve this within the privacy of a romantic partnership. Maybe it’s impossible given our cultural surroundings, but it’s an admirable desire.

“How do you feel about all of this?” I ask. “This revelation.”

He bites his bottom lip as he stares blankly at the keys. “Delusional. Selfish and stupid.”

“You’re none of those things. The situation is complex, so you can’t simply blame and beat yourself up. You romanticized Oliver based on what you were told, right? By your parents and everyone around you.”

He nods, flickering his eyes over to me. “Yes. Definitely.”

“You projected your own expectations onto him based on that information, and that was wrong. But Oliver didn’t follow the script at all. Not yours, your parents’ or society’s. He couldn’t. The disappointment is hard to face, but there’s an important lesson in it.”

Alexander sits straighter and sets both palms in his lap. “Yeah. I… I should have paid attention to what he wanted, and who he was as a vampire. His mind, his needs and personality. I should have loved those things. Not…”

“The fictitious role that he could play in your life.” I finish the sentence, because I too have had this revelation. He isn’t alone in this at all and I want him to understand as much.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “God. I’m the worst.”

“You’re not. It’s just something you had to learn.”

“I am the worst, though.” A wrinkle creases his brow as he looks at me, hesitating. “I—I’m really sorry that I licked you.”

My entire lower half stiffens. I adjust in my seat to calm the jolt of arousal. “You remember that?”

“Mm.” His frown sinks deeper as he glances off. “That experience… It was like lying flat on my back against the ocean floor. Everything was muffled and pressurized, but you stood out perfectly. I’m so sorry. It was vulgar, to say the least.”

Flustered, I roll my shoulders. “You weren’t in your right mind. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s not okay. I’m sor?— ”

“No more apologizing.” I narrow my eyes, making a serious face and he grins and runs his fingers through his hair. Even fatigued, embarrassed and with his cheeks flushed, he feels so alive and bright. His aura is suppressed like a tiny ember of light and he smells wonderful. Invigorating.

He’s sweet and alluring and I want him.

Very much.

Stifling every fluttery and electric sensation brimming inside of me, I take a breath. “Will you play something for me?”

He blinks, surprised. “I can. Of course. I’m not nearly as good as you, though.”

“It’s not a competition,” I say tenderly. “Anything is fine.”

“Okay… Alright.” He scratches his head, considering and focused on the instrument. After a moment of deliberation, he lifts his hands and places them atop the keys.

Softly, gorgeously, the introduction to Debussy’s Claire de Lune swells and colors the space of the hall. A genuine smile caresses my lips. Something in my chest relaxes from the familiar melody and the exquisite quality of his touch. The progressive gradations and dynamics. His intuitive understanding of this emotional and delicate piece of music.

I close my eyes and the notes are like an elegant paintbrush dotting a vivid scene in my mind. The moon in the sky, full and bright but obscured by a forest of verdant trees as I walk through a warm summer’s night. Everything around me is still. Tranquil. The wind blows and a leaf—maybe two—dance and float down from the dark canopy above. I watch as they twist and flip in the breeze. Dramatic, tumultuous and unearthly.

I reach the end of a trail and the landscape opens up to a black lake—rippling and dreamily reflecting the silver-white sphere of the moon. The night wind caresses my face and the two leaves flutter here, too. Continuing in their heavenly dance.

They land softly upon the water together, like two swans mated for life. They drift toward the silver sphere. Into the blinding incandescent light of the moon .

Into paradise.

Alexander plays the final notes and as I open my eyes, he carefully and lovingly lifts his hands from the keys. The artist has completed his masterpiece. I am awestruck.

“ With the calm moonlight, sad and lovely, ” I quote. “ Which makes the birds dream in the trees, and the plumes of the fountains weep in ecstasy. ”

Alexander smiles. “That’s from the original poem, isn’t it? Verlaine?”

“It is. May I ask why you chose that piece?”

“It’s the first song that I learned to play well as far as understanding the dynamics. Depressing the petals just right so the overtones vibrate—restraining the crescendo and rubato. I put a lot of love into learning it. It’s probably my favorite piece.”

“You played it exquisitely,” I tell him, leaning and bumping his shoulder. “Fluid and dignified. Perfection.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me coming from you. Honestly, it reminds me of you, in some ways.” Alexander says this quietly, staring at the keys.

“In what way?” I ask, curious.

His eyes flicker over to meet mine. “Sad.”

This is not what I was expecting, so a laugh bursts from my chest and throat.

“I’m just kidding,” he says, grinning. Alexander chuckles and I set my palm against my forehead, breathing and laughing with him as the glittery rush of contentment tingles through my veins and up my spine.

He licked me, knowingly.

Oliver’s blood was right there in my hand, but he skirted it and went for me . The fact that he wasn’t in his right mind at the time can’t be overlooked, but this thing bubbling between us? I can’t keep ignoring it.

Selfishly, impossibly, I want him.

It doesn’t make any sense and the situation is utterly doomed to fail, but …

“Raphael told me that your parents will be gone until next month,” I say as we recover from our spontaneous fit of laughter.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Playfully, I lean forward and into my inevitable demise. “Will you come stay at our cottage while they’re away? Have you decided whether or not you’ll accept our offer? We could watch more Buffy —maybe a season that I haven’t seen?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “We’re a couple of weirdos, you know? Quoting nineteenth century French poetry one minute and talking about Buffy the next.”

“Is this a bad thing? I’ve never had these things in common with anyone else. I enjoy it… I enjoy you, Alexander.”

The words flow from me unashamed and I can feel the warmth of his quieted energy stirring. Like lightly skimming my fingers over a candle flame. It makes my nature inside my belly swirl with quiet bliss.

He takes a breath and looks at me with flushed cheeks. “I enjoy you, too… really. And yes. I would love to stay with you and Leoni as a test run. Thank you for trusting me. I promise that I’ll be lucid, and I’ll definitely keep my tongue to myself.” He folds his lips in, frowning as he looks away. “That sounds creepy and awful, but you get what I’m saying.”

Incapable of behaving myself this time, I lift my palm from the bench and sneakily pinch the curve of his waist. He inhales sharply from surprise, but I do it softly to avoid jarring him. His eyes shift and within seconds, they’re glowing. Beautiful and molten gold.

“Stop making promises that you can’t keep,” I whisper, sneering in a mocking expression. “When you feel ready, come to me? To the cottage… I mean.”

With a palm covering his face and eyes, he breathes. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll come.”

Pleased and relaxed in this comfy bubble that we’ve created, I lazily caress the keys with my fingertips. The weighted shame I felt when I first sat down is lighter. The atmosphere is rosy as rays from the morning sun pour into the room.

Exhaling, I press a single key.

The note resonates brightly. Clear and strong. I haven’t touched a piano in over two years.

It feels really good.