Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

23. Daniel

CHAPTER 23

Daniel

S urrendering to the attraction I feel toward Alexander is surprisingly easy. After fighting it for weeks and swimming upstream, I’m allowing the current to pull me along. For better or worse.

What do I want from him?

Our conversations are deeply satisfying and feel like a plush cocoon. A warm, feathery and insulated nest that we create every single time we’re together. A shelter where our words and emotions weave like a sturdy fabric.

It feels as if we’re constantly creating this new, untainted world that I love.

Physically touching him is like striking a match. As if I’ve lit a literal fire, he jumps and freaks out from the spark. His eyes burn in a golden blaze of light.

Maybe… I want him to be more comfortable with himself. And perhaps with me as a byproduct?

Ever since he licked me and then gorgeously played Claire de Lune in a private concerto, I have to catch my mind from wandering and conjuring filthy thoughts about him—usually when I’m showering or lying in my bed at night. I haven’t had sex in ages and I miss it. I feel like a prepubescent vampire because I think about sex practically every day now.

I should not be thinking about having sex with an Eden purebred prince.

But here we are.

Earlier, he told me that I was, “Smarter, more mature and more talented,” than him. Well-meaning sentiments, without question. Although, my being “mature” is largely the result of the trauma I’ve endured with Josefina. Yes, I learned a lot from that abusive relationship and I suppose maturity is an inevitable byproduct.

His speech also subtly informed me that I’ve been placed on some kind of pedestal. Plus, there’s Raphael’s anecdote about Alexander admiring me when he was younger.

I want him to understand that I’m not evil or mean. Nor am I some glorified piano prodigy from his adolescent mind that’s beyond his reach. Somehow, and over the course of a month, Alexander has skipped over everything in the middle and landed on admiration instead of aversion.

I’m normal. Touchable and flawed.

That’s all.

We’re sitting on the couch after having lunch and are fifteen minutes into an episode of Buffy . She and Cordelia are competing for homecoming queen and I find this entire storyline rather banal. Alexander is sitting far enough away from me that an entire third vampire could be comfortable between us. I have one knee bent with my foot on the cushions and one leg hanging down as I look over at him.

I’m bored. And horny.

This is cheeky as hell but I do it anyway. “Can I stretch you?”

I stifle a grin as the words almost visibly hit Alexander upside his temple. He blinks, processing with his arms comfortably folded, then turns his head in slow-motion. His expression is perplexed, like he’s clearly misheard me. I couldn’t have just said what he thinks I said .

“Excuse me?”

“Tomorrow morning,” I say, unable to hide my smile. “Let’s do yoga together. You said you were interested in trying. We can do it before we head to Kat and Roland’s?”

His shoulders bounce in a restrained laugh as he focuses back on the projector screen. “Sure… that was a really weird way to ask me that question.”

“Was it?” I say, feigning innocence and shifting my body in his direction so that my shoulder rests into the couch back. “Why do you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Danny. No reason.”

“Did you think I was talking about having sex?”

Closing his eyes, he brings his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, massaging. “No, I did not… I wouldn’t think that. We should end this conversation immediately.”

“Your alighted eyes don’t offend me,” I say, honestly. “They’re beautiful when they spark—and when they don’t. Like molten gold. Has anyone ever told you that?”

In the sunny glare of the room, the blush spreads across his cheeks like strawberry jam. He inhales deep and blows out a breath as if concentrating. “No, no one has ever said that. Thank you.”

“I’m jealous. My eyes don’t alight anymore.”

He turns his head, stunned. “Really?”

“I’m too malnourished. My nature isn’t strong enough to present itself outwardly. That’s why I always have resting bitch face. And, arguably, I am a bitch sometimes.”

Alexander snorts. “You do not have… well…”

“Right.”

“No, it’s not that. Your face is expressive, but you can be difficult to read. Not as much anymore, but in the beginning, I never knew what I’d get with you. I always assumed you were angry or put out by me.”

“In the beginning, I was. ”

“Exactly.”

“Not anymore, though.”

“I know,” he says brightly. “T-shirt.”

“Among other things.”

“Among other things…”

A gentle pause swells in the quiet as we smile. Feeling brave, I scoot closer. “It doesn’t show outwardly, but I’m still capable of being aroused inside my nature. I didn’t think I was, because I haven’t felt anything in a long time. Lately, when we’re together, it speaks to me.”

Alexander watches my every move like a deer in headlights—as if he’s petrified. His body stiffens as I draw nearer. “What does it say?”

At his side and with my knee lightly touching his thigh, I speak softly. “That I’m not dead inside like I thought. I can feel the good things in life—joy, laughter and excitement… You’ve shown me this, Alexander. You give me these sensations.”

Yet again, his eyes glow to life in a blaze of sun fire. This keeps happening and it tells me clearly that in his nature and heart, he desires me too.

Healing from the hurt and rejection he’s been through takes time. I know this.

Even still, shouldn’t we at least acknowledge this growing… I don’t know. Chemistry? Attraction? Impossible madness between us? It feels absurd for us to keep ignoring something so obvious. And I don’t want to.

I meet his gaze. “Do you want me?”

He inhales sharply and his nostrils flare from shock. His eyes widen. “Danny, I—I need to tell you something. It’s a situation that happened between me and Oliver.”

Alright. We’re avoiding the question, it seems.

I nod. “Tell me.”

He reaches up, scratching the back of his head and looking off with his manic and dazzling eyes. “The last time I fed from him, I… I lost control of myself. It was really bad and I hurt him—like traumatized him, I think. Everything about my interaction with Oliver was awful because I was utter shit at reading things and understanding how he felt. I just don’t think… I’m not good at—no, never mind. My point is, I don’t know if you should let your guard down around me. I don’t even trust myself! Maybe I’m exactly the same as Josefina?—”

“You are nothing like Josefina,” I interrupt, wanting to make this point explicitly clear. “And I am not Oliver.”

“I know that! You don’t have to keep telling me that—but I…” He shakes his head as if the words escape him.

I hear what he’s saying. He may have hurt Oliver, but he’s obviously walked away with considerable damage as well. I’m not asking him to forget about the pain and I never would. I only want him to acknowledge the here and now—what’s happening between us in this moment.

“Listen,” I say, straightening my posture. “I don’t want you to be constantly ashamed of or damning your eyes for alighting, or for what your nature is expressing. You should honor and listen to what it says because it guides you. Don’t condemn it—especially not around me, because I’m not offended, nor am I judging you. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Slowly, Alexander nods. “I understand. I just… want to be careful with you and our friendship. It’s really important to me and I should have more self-control than this.” He gestures toward his glowing eyes in an exasperated motion.

Our friendship.

Right.

That’s all we can ever have, realistically. I’m fooling myself thinking that there can be anything more. Society would never approve of us being in a serious relationship, and I don’t want casual and meaningless sex with him. Within the framework of our rigid society, that’s the only role for me in his life. Amusement for his purebred whims. Or his friend, I guess.

Even though his eyes keep alighting for me .

Sighing, I shift and set both feet on the floor, then lean back into the couch. I stare forward at the projector screen. Some chaotic vampire-Buffy fighting is happening in a dirty-looking cabin and I don’t care.

When we’re together, the world around us feels new and different. Liberating. We talk and laugh and relate to one another as equals—without the typical barriers and constraints of Eden’s rigid hierarchy.

Obviously, this fantasy can only go so far.

Alexander leans into my line of sight. “Are you angry?”

“No. I understand how you feel.” I need to stop kidding myself. What do I even expect?

Confused, I shift my eyes toward Alexander because he’s staring at me in the silence. “What is it?” I ask.

“It feels like you’re mad.”

“I’m not. I already told you, I’m half dead and I have resting bitch face, so I don’t know what you want.”

“You’re not half dead and you don’t.” Hesitating, he reaches toward my hands. “May I?”

Not really understanding, I flip my hand over. He slips his into mine, then clasps his fingers around my palm. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For?” I ask, gripping him in return as my stupid heart warms.

“Being you. For showing me kindness. For not being angry. Is yoga class cancelled tomorrow or are we still on?”

I huff. “We can if you want to.”

“Yes, please.” He squeezes my palm and looks down at our hands. “You’ve helped me so much, Danny. More than you can imagine. I’m glad to know that in some ways, I’m helping you heal, too.” He smiles and his eyes softly burn out, returning to their rich golden-brown luster.

Fuck I want him. What a stupid and impossible situation I’ve put myself in. All because I was trying to be nice. I’ll never be nice again.

Leaning, I reach for the remote where I’ve left it at the opposite end. “You are helping me, rest assured. Sorry, I interrupted the rest of that last episode. Shall I rewind?”

“Nah, that one was kind of boring. Let’s skip ahead?”

“Moving forward.” I click over to the next episode.

We sit nestled together on the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder and with his hand clasped within mine and in my lap. He doesn’t pull away, even when I shift to fold my legs underneath me. He only asks if I’m comfortable enough. Of course I am. I grip his hand a little tighter.

Nothing can come from this situation, but somehow, we’ve made progress.

Silently, I inhale a deep breath to fill myself with his sweet effervescence. It sparkles like a Mimosa as it caresses and pours into my body. Into my heart and nature.

“Am I doing this right?” Alexander’s head pops up to find my eyes despite his awkward upside-down angle. His hair is tousled and splayed like the comb of a rooster and his irises are absurdly mesmerizing as they glint in the morning sun.

Inviting him to stay with us was a foolish idea. It’s starting to feel like I’m sharing space with forbidden fruit. An alluring, zesty concoction laced with some strong and exotic alcohol that I’m not allowed to taste. It’s maddening.

“Not really,” I critique, frowning. “Your back should be flatter and your heels should be down.”

“Like this?” he asks, somehow propping his perfect ass higher up in the air.

Exhaling, I straighten from my downward dog pose. “Like I’ve already said, the poses don’t need to be perfect. This is your first time trying, so take it easy. This is supposed to relieve stress.”

“But I want to do it the right way,” he whines. “If I start wrong, I’ll keep doing it incorrectly. ”

The morning air is warm as it hovers like an invisible shawl perfumed with fresh earth and blossoming violets. Pretty birdsong floats on a gentle breeze. Above the snow-tipped mountains in the distance, the sky is blue and cloudless. I can see the depths of the range and its scattered peaks for miles.

Looking down at Alexander set in all this gloriousness, my nature tingles brightly. I bite my lip and decide to take a chance. “Can I help? Is it okay if I touch you?”

He lifts his head again, puzzled. “Uh, sure?”

I step onto his yoga mat parallel to mine so that I’m standing over his back. Gently, I place both of my hands at his lower spine. He tenses. I feel his muscles coil underneath my palms. “Breathe,” I say. “Take a deep breath, then blow it out. I’ll help flatten your back.”

“Okay,” he says, muffled.

With my hands placed firmly at his lower back, the sparkling and citrusy current of his nature flows into my palms. It dances around my wrists, then streams up my arms in a delightful, electric sensation. He breathes in. His muscles expand beneath the contours of my hands. When he exhales, I softly press into his back to flatten it, adjusting his position.

His body yields to me and his hips and arms stretch deeper into the pose. From this angle, he’s long, beautiful and drenched in sunlight. His scent is heady and I’m distracted by the warmth and hardness of his body beneath my fingertips. It’s conjuring some very lewd thoughts and reactions within my own body.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

His answer comes after a long pause. “It’s good.”

“This is how the pose should be. You weren’t deep enough—make sure to keep your heels on the ground?”

“Okay.”

Relinquishing, I stand straight and sigh. Touching Alexander with both hands is like having my palms against a generator fueled by fire and oranges. “Shall we do some sitting and ground stretches?” Stepping back onto my own mat with my bare feet, I sit, facing him with my legs folded.

Without speaking, Alexander shifts into the same sitting position. Weirdly, though, he does this with his eyes closed. Once he’s settled, he inhales—his shoulders rising then falling as he blows it out. He sets his hands in the gap of his legs and doesn’t move.

“Are we alright?” I ask.

“I’m fine.”

“Why are your eyes closed?”

His lids flutter open to reveal glowing irises. He stares down at his hands, but briefly glances up at me before closing them again. He grins, playful. “Don’t mind me.”

Reaching across, I brush and crawl my fingers into his hand. “I mind you.” When his palm is firmly in mine, I decide to reach for the other one. Soon, both of our hands are clasped as we sit opposite one another. Him with his eyes closed and me, observing.

“Do you listen to your nature when it does this—when it speaks to you?” I ask. “Or do you shut it out?” I think I already know the answer, but I wonder if he’s conscious of the choice he keeps making.

He opens his alighted eyes and stares down at our clasped hands. “I don’t listen to it. I guess… I just try to stop it from being vulgar and weird.”

“Why do you think that your nature is ‘vulgar and weird’?”

“Because it’s always doing things that it shouldn’t be doing.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Alexander looks to the side, taking in another breath. “Wanting Oliver when he didn’t want me. Forcing itself on him. Forcing itself on you.”

Pausing, I consider for a moment. “Have you ever intuitively listened to your nature? Or are you always telling it what to do and how to feel?”

Alexander meets my gaze, contemplating and not speaking as if he’s confused .

I go on. “You once told me that you chose Oliver because on paper, you matched. You picked him based purely on social constructs?”

Alexander nods. “Yes.”

“Not because your nature organically desired him.”

“Well, no…” He looks down at our hands again. “So, you’re saying that I’m the one manipulating my nature, yet I keep displacing the blame?”

“Not really. You’re simply… a product of your environment? But you can stop manipulating it, Alexander. You can change and start listening to the supernatural, divine and archaic entity inside of you. It’s there for a reason. Let it guide you.”

A cool breeze picks up, caressing the skin of my arms and face. It blows the wayward strands of my braid so that they tickle and dance at my neck. Alexander’s hands remain gripped in mine, warm and calm. Stable and focused.

“What if I listen to it—and I let myself be guided by it,” he begins, “but… it wants something that it can’t have? Again…” His cheeks redden as he waits, watching me like he’s holding his breath.

Letting go of one hand, I lift and brush my fingers against his cheek. The moment I touch his skin, he closes his eyes. He takes hold of my wrist to keep my palm against his face. The tenderness of the gesture makes my weak nature swell brightly from head to toe.

“You should be brave and trust it,” I say softly. “Listen and know that it won’t steer you wrong. Don’t be afraid of it.”

He turns his head so that his mouth and nose are nestled in the curve of my palm. My breath hitches, but he doesn’t kiss me. His mouth makes no movement. He closes his eyes and I’m captivated as he inhales, breathing me in. I feel alive with his citrus-champagne energy racing up my arm—ignited from the touch of his lips to my skin and his hand gripped around my wrist.

The sunlight pours over us. Flowers bloom and the pollen- dusted bees bear witness to the quiet beauty of this moment and our mirrored bodies.

“I’ll start listening,” he says, his breath and voice vibrate against my hand as he speaks. It sends shivers across every inch of my flesh. “I’ll try.”

When we finish our yoga stretches, I all but run straight up to my room because I need to put some distance between myself and the golden magnetism of this purebred. It rushes and prickles through my body as I take the steps and I’m overheated from the sunlight and his alluring scent.

I push my bedroom door shut and head straight to the bathroom, tear off my t-shit, sweatpants and underwear, then throw myself into the shower. When I turn on the water, it streams cool at first, but does nothing to calm what’s happening inside of my nature and body.

The spray hits my chest as I pull the end of my braid loose and set my hair tie aside, then I step forward, letting the flow of water pour over my face and head—allowing it to soak my hair and make it heavy against my neck and back.

I close my eyes and Alexander is there. Everywhere. Luminous eyes like a roaring fire, or perhaps the golden hour of the day when every surface becomes bathed in vivid light.

The sincerity and quiet charm laced within the depths of his gaze stirs me. Something hungry and twisted inside of me wants to make an absolute mess of him—to tear down all his fragile walls and the rigid misconceptions engrained in him so that he can re-build a fresh and new perspective. So that we can both heal and be stronger, together.

The water runs warm over my body as I take the soap and work until it’s foamy in my hands. Closing my eyes once more, I realize how badly I want to taste his mouth. From the smell of him alone, I know his essence will be heavenly on my tongue. The texture and wetness of him truly divine to my senses .

His lips, the warmth of his skin and his square shoulders. His long legs, the absurdly perfect shape of his ass and the hardness of his cock. I could make him hard if he let me close enough. If he let me in.

Biting into his flesh and feeling his citrusy essence pour into me, seductively tracing and filling my insides. Coursing and intermingling with my own blood and essence.

Suddenly, breathlessly, I want all of it.

I want him to touch me with confidence and I want to put my hands on him. I want to make him come—gasping and satisfied and smiling in his fucking charming and sweet way.

The vision of us entwined, uninhibited and pleasing each other floods my mind as I pump my fist around my cock and lose myself in the fantasy. God, what I wouldn’t give at this point. The things I’d do to him.

When the climax hits, it grips me hard and I gasp within the cloud of steam, still feeling him and the morning sunlight and the flowers against my skin like sparks from a welder’s flame.

Slowly, the tension in my body relinquishes and I slump against the dampened tiled wall, reveling in the soft and delicious quivers of the orgasm. It tingles, centered in my groin and stomach, then dances up to my spine and head. Down my legs, making my knees weak.

Soaked and exhausted, I huff in a laugh. Alexander has barely been in the cottage for twenty-four hours and this is the second time I’ve pleasured myself from the thought and nearness of him. He’s creating this itch deep inside of me, and yet, he refuses to scratch it.

He’s attracted to me. The evidence is irrefutable and I want him too.

Why does this need to be complicated? Why can’t we just skip to the part where I lazily roll over in my bed and he’s naked beside me—relaxed and confident and we make love without even speaking. When a single word doesn’t need to pass between our lips— only soft kisses and hitched, satisfied breaths as we stare into each other’s eyes.

A younger Daniel would have blindly walked into this. The haughty asshole who stupidly fell for Josefina. Alexander is nothing like Josefina, though. And I’m not that Daniel anymore.

God, karma and the universe, can’t this time be different, somehow?

Can’t I have hope?