Chapter 27

*I'ts late, I'm sleepy--as always, any mistakes, kindly point out in a comment and I will get to them.  Also, if you're reading and you like (or not) please let me know.  Seriously.  It's mind-wracking not knowing if people are enjoying this or not.  That being said, I truly appreciate you kind souls who have voted or commented or message me to let me know you like what you're reading.

This week's cover comes from the lovely PureBliss, who is so sweet (I love the NY bestseller bit, lol).

-Nikki*

Chapter 27

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Miriam knew that she should have been afraid. In light of everything, there was no other logical way to feel.  But, as she took stock of her emotions, well…

Shock was there, definitely.  Maybe a little unease—but fear…?

She just didn’t feel it.

Maybe it was because she was to numb to feel much of anything?

The ice of the snow bit through her with its bitter chill, and Eliot himself, leaning over her, was no warmer—in fact…he seemed even colder.

Glacial.

Her teeth began to chatter, as all she could do was freeze and stare.

His eyes glowed ruby red.  Those fangs glittered dangerously in the dim light, and the way the snow bounced off his dark hair reminded her of feathers floating over fire.

He looked frightening; like some horror-movie Dracula come to life.

In a way, the comparison made sense, she realized; no human’s teeth should have been so sharp.  Or curved down like razors to a sharp point perfect for splitting through flesh.

Her heart lurched at the sight.

And still…

Without thinking, she reached up, allowing the tips of her fingers to come within a hair’s breadth of one of those fangs, hovering just out of reach.

He didn’t move.

Not even as the pad of her thumb came to brush the ivory surface; gently though, as if it were made of glass.

To her surprise, it felt as real as her own teeth did—not plastic.

They were cold as well—which wasn’t surprising considering the rest of him.

Still, a part of her couldn’t help thinking that his teeth, at least, should at least be warm, being so close to his mouth.

Especially when her breath was dotting the air in frantic puffs of white.

Though, now that she thought about it, his breath didn’t seem to be turning white on the cool air either.  In fact…he didn’t seem to be breathing at all.

“You have fangs,” she gasped, surprised by just how calm she sounded.

He was too; those red eyes bulged, as if he had never seen anything like her before.

Hell, he looked more terrified of her than she was of him.

But without a hint of fear she went on.

“And you’re so cold…”

He pulled back slightly, eyes going dark.

“And,” Miriam went on softly, ignoring the way he glared.  “You’re fast…really fast,” she trailed off, thinking of all the times he seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

Bracing herself against the snow, she tilted her head back to meet that fiery amber stare.  Her teeth stopped chattering as she let go of her own desire for heat and just embraced the cold.

Slowly, she took a deep breath, and let it out over her next two words; “Are you Superman?”

This definitely wasn’t the time for jokes.

He hovered over her like a snarling wolf—and he had fangs.

She should have been terrified.  Anxious, at least.

The brief shock that crossed his face should not have made her stomach twist and turn into knots that had nothing at all to do with being afraid.

She should have run away.

“Not quite.”  His voice was cold, empty, but in his eyes all she saw was confusion.  Hesitantly, he eyed her finger, still slowly stroking the side of his fang.

“Try again.”

“Hmmm...”  Miriam mulled his words over out loud, even as a tiny shiver began to run down her spine.

Clark Kent could never look so menacing.

“You’re strong, too,” she blurted, adding to the growing list of his oddities.  “And your eyes—they’re like the exact color of…”

“What?”  He pressed when she hesitated.

Suddenly, he leaned closer, cutting off the daylight with his shadow, which fell down like a curtain over her.

He was so close—too close.

She didn’t like the way her heart sped up. Or how her chest began to heave like crazy beneath her jacket.

Eliot watched it all, dark gaze missing nothing.

“My eyes…are the color of what?”  He repeated ominously.

Miriam swallowed.  “Blood.”

It was the truth.

Now, if she really wanted to be honest with herself, she could admit that his eyes weren’t brown, or amber, or ruby—or any other pretty words to fill in the blanks for what color they really were.

There was no way around it; his eyes were a deep, bloody scarlet the exact color of fresh blood.

“What else?”  Eliot demanded, eyes burning.

“You’re rude and you don’t seem to like people,” Miriam said quickly.  “But I think that’s just a part of your personality.”

He didn’t answer.  Not even as she moved her finger—which still throbbed from the touch of that fang—to prop beneath her chin.

“If not superman, then…”  She cocked her head, pretending to think through the options even as the truth twisted inside of her.

Pale skin.

Fangs.

A chilling air that screamed 'danger.'

A five-year old could have guessed what he was.

“What?”  Eliot snapped.  He brought his face closer…and then closer still, until his chest threatened to brush hers with every rapid rise and fall.

Miriam tried to hold her breath, but it was getting so hard just to breathe at all...

“You know what I am,” he said coldly when she didn't speak, eyes on her throat.  “Say it.”

Miriam couldn’t breathe.  “L…leprechaun?”

This time, he didn’t even try to hide the disbelief that crossed over his features.  He scowled. The line of his jaw tightened into stone.

Slam!

The sound was her only warning as his fist smashed into the thick snow right beside her head, sending white arching through the air.

“Dammit Miriam!”  He brought his face within mere inches of hers.  “You know what I am.”

A part of her expected him to bite her—he looked that enraged.

Furious.

Then, before she could blink…

He kissed her instead.

The shock ran through her like molten ice.  Or maybe it was just the cool temperature of his body sinking into her skin?

She could only lay beneath him, utterly frozen as his lips only grazed hers once…twice…before he pulled back, just enough for the contact to linger.

But his lips never quite left hers.

“I’m a vampire,” he snarled against her mouth.  “You should be afraid.  You should—”

Miriam silence him by lifting her hand curling her numb fingers in that thick hair, and dragging him closer.

She had never been kissed; at least, not by anyone other than Bobby Saunders in the fifth grade, who only did it on a dare.

But that chaste little peck was nothing compared to this.

It was still a lip touch—he never deepened the kiss any more than that.  For all intents and purposes, it was no intimate than merely sharing the same breath.

But still…

Miriam felt rooted to the spot.  Charged.  Electrified.

Explosive.

She didn’t know how long it lasted—she didn’t really care.  All that mattered was that, for once, she didn’t have to worry about blue, or her father, or the pain of always being alone.

She didn’t have to think at all….

She just had to feel, as his cool fingers came to curl carefully within her hair, brushing her scalp in the process with gentle pressure. Ignoring his icy chill, her other hand came to sink against his shoulder, holding on as his tongue began to gently trail along her lower lip…

Snap!

Delirium ripped through her chest as, suddenly, Eliot pulled away.  His head shot up, eyes roving to the edge of the woods where they narrowed into slits.

Searching.

Dazed, Miriam craned her head back to follow his gaze.

Right to the very thick of the woods where the sight made her gasp.

Someone was watching them.

She couldn’t be sure—but a dark shape blocked the gap between two trees, unmoving, even as Eliot lurched to his feet.

Eyes molten, he took a step in the direction of the shadow, and…

It moved.

On lighting feet, whatever it was darted away through the trees like a specter of darkness.

“Was that Sage?”  Miriam blurted, moving slowly to her feet.  Her motions were heavy and deliberate, like an old woman’s as she swayed on the slippery ice.

Eliot glanced at her, but didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.  The grim look on his face said it all; he didn’t now.

But, as she glanced it over the thought of being spied on was the last thing on her mind.

“Eliot!”

A vibrant, red rash was beginning to spread along his neck, wherever the brightness of daylight touched.

She had never realized it before, but he always seemed to avoid the…

Impulsively, she reached for his hand, holding tight even as he tried to pull away.

"You're--"

“Eliot darling!”

The shout made them both flinch and turn to the cabin where Lizzie stood, pale hand cupped against her mouth, hair being tossed on the wind.

“Do hurry.  Time is wasting.”

Didn’t Miriam know it.

Even as her eyes turned back to Eliot’s throat, she saw that the skin was unbearable smooth and pale.

As perfect as the falling snow.