“Hate?” He chewed on the word for a moment, and I caught another glimpse of his fangs. They weren’t as long as they’d been earlier when I pissed him off, but they were there. I added fangs to my growing list of topics to discuss. Julian lifted his broad shoulders, his face a mask of detachment. “I don’t hate you. Why would you think that?”
So he was going to deny it. I didn’t know where to begin. He’d been hot and cold since the moment we officially met. But his mood swings weren’t what made me think he disliked me. “Earlier, when I was playing with the quartet, I caught you watching me.”
“Yes,” he said calmly, his long, graceful fingers molding around his coffee mug in an oddly human way. “People often watch musicians–or has that changed as well?”
“Watching is the wrong way to put it,” I said, bypassing his question.
“What is the correct way?” he asked.
I thought for a moment before landing on it. “You were…uh…murdering me with your eyes.”
He stared at me, his face still carefully removed, but shadows clouded his eyes. They didn’t go completely black like the vampire who’d bitten Carmen, but his pupils seemed to take over. Yeah, I needed to ask about that, too. But after a moment, he snorted, and the darkness evaporated. “I’d been talking to an old friend and discussing some private matters. I apologize if you thought I was–how did you put it? Murdering you with my eyes?”
“Oh, okay.” I grabbed my coffee and took a long drink of it, embarrassment washing through me. I’d imagined it. I mean, why would he want to kill me? Apart from the obvious reasons a vampire might want to kill a human.
“Next question.”
“How old are you?” I opted for a more benign one this round before I humiliated myself again.
Before he could answer, the waitress reappeared and plopped our plates in front of us. “Syrup is over there.” She pointed to the condiments clustered at the end of the table. “Can I get you anything else? Ketchup? Hot sauce?”
My stomach knotted at the thought of ketchup, and I shook my head. After all the blood I’d seen tonight, I didn’t think I could handle the sight of any red liquid. I really hoped that a vampire hadn’t ruined french fries for me forever.
“Thirty,” he answered when she left. “Give or take.”
“Thirty?” I blinked as I tried to make that math work. “You said you were asleep for like thirty years.”
“Thirty-five,” he corrected me. “Pureblood vampires don’t age past thirty.”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he was going to twist every question I asked. So Julian Rousseaux thought he would be cute? I would be clever. “What year were you born then?”
“I was born around the Battle of Hastings,” he said.
“And that was when?”
He muttered something that sounded like a curse. “Around the year 1066.”
I nearly choked on a bite of pancake. “Did you say 1066?”
“I’m relatively young,” he said. He waited for a moment while my brain tried to process that the man I was sitting across from was nearly a thousand years old.
“You said ‘born,’” I pointed out when I’d finally regained control of my brain. “I thought a vampire bit you, and then you died, and you became a vampire.”
“That is one vulgar way a vampire can be made.” He grimaced as if the thought of it was unappetizing. He pushed a bit of egg around with his fork. He’d yet to take a single bite.
“I thought you said you ate food, but you haven’t really touched yours,” I said.
“I’m not a huge fan of scrambled eggs.”
There was something about the way he said it–as if he’d been offered a sandwich without the crusts cut off–that felt so at odds with everything he was telling me that I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. Julian tilted his head, looking perplexed at this reaction.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still unable to get my laughter under control. “It’s just that you’re a thousand years old–”
“Almost,” he cut in.
“–and you’re a picky eater,” I finished.
“Maybe later you can explain the joke,” he said dryly.
“Sorry.” I forced myself to stop. I had no idea how long my coffee date with a vampire was going to last. I needed to focus on getting answers. How else would I be able to decide if I wanted him to compel me to forget everything? “So, what’s vulgar about being bitten and becoming a vampire? Wait!” A terrible thought occurred to me. “Is Carmen going to become a vampire?”
“No, there are a few more steps involved to be turned,” he reassured me.
“Thank God,” I said with a groan. “I can’t imagine how full of herself she’d be if someone made her immortal.”
“Not her biggest fan?”
I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to discuss Carmen or me or any other petty symphony drama. “What else is involved?”
Julian sighed as if he’d rather not discuss the particulars of how one became a vampire. “A human must be drained entirely of blood and then offered vampire blood at the point of death.”
“Why does that work?”
“Most vampires believe it’s magic.”
“But you don’t?” I guessed.
“Some vampire scientists have researched it. There’s clear evidence that vampire blood overwrites human blood.”
“I feel like I should have paid more attention in biology class,” I confessed. “So basically, if you gave me your blood, it would turn me into a vampire. So why won’t Carmen turn?”
“As I said, it’s a bit more complicated. Vampires generally don’t discuss the process.”
“Because they don’t want humans to know how to do it?” I asked.
“Because it’s rather private,” he said. “At least, it should be. Making another vampire is an intimate choice.”
“Have you ever done it?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to answer that question. Not with the way he said intimate.
“Not like that,” he said. “There are other ways.”
“Oh.” So he had made other vampires. Envy crept through me, and I stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork. I wasn’t sure what I had to be jealous about. It didn’t sound particularly pleasant to become a vampire. It was more the idea that Julian’s fangs might have been in another neck. It was a ridiculous thing to be upset over. He was over nine hundred years old and a vampire. He’d probably bitten hundreds–maybe thousands–of other women. “What other ways?”
“A ritual exchanging of blood,” he said.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Believe me, you don’t want to hear about the other ways.”
But I did. I got the impression that Julian did not, however. “So, then what do you mean you were born a vampire?”
“Exactly that. I was born to a vampire mother and father,” he said.
“Vampires can have babies?” I dropped my fork. This couldn’t get any weirder.
“Yes, Thea,” he said in an exasperated tone, “Vampires can have babies.”
“So, wait, do you have kids?” I tried to imagine Julian with children. An image of him sitting grouchily at a soccer game while tiny vampires ran around formed in my mind.
“I have no pureblood children,” he said.
“So vampires that are born are purebloods,” I clarified. It felt like I should be taking notes to keep all of this straight. I doubted Julian wanted a notebook full of the vampire rules floating around the world, though.
Julian nodded.
“And you’re pureblood?”
“Yes.”
“And you have other pureblood siblings?”
“I had one,” he said. “My twin. She was born a few minutes before me.”
“Had?” I echoed the word carefully.
“She died.” He didn’t offer more details.
I tamped down my curiosity about his sister’s death. As much as I wanted to know more about his twin, I understood grief. I’d experienced it myself. I saw it now contorting his gorgeous face. Apparently, sorrow was a place that vampires and humans found common ground.
I needed to change the topic and fast. I still had a million questions about how vampires were made or born, but there were other things I wanted to know, too. For one, how had I wound up playing cello at a vampire party? My plate was nearly empty. I had no idea how much longer Julian was willing to sit here and allow me to interrogate him. “So, what were you celebrating tonight?”
“Celebrating?”
“The party,” I explained. “I was told it was a reception of some sort.”
“A party? Yes. A celebration? Not exactly. Every fifty years or so, we gather for parties–a social season, if you will.”
“A social season?” I couldn’t help but think of Jane Austen novels. “So you have balls and stuff?”
“And stuff,” he confirmed.
“Why? That sounds a bit…old-fashioned.”
“I suppose vampires are a bit old-fashioned, as you put it,” he said. “We cling to our traditions.”
And with lifespans that lasted hundreds of years, that meant that they probably had some ancient traditions. “So, why bother with a social season?”
“Why do you think?” he asked, tilting his head to study me.
“Well, I’ve seen like every Jane Austen movie ever made, so I’m guessing it’s to show off.”
Julian’s head fell back, and then to my surprise, laughter bellowed from him. When his amusement finally died, he nodded. “I suppose you’re right. There are other matters, of course.”
“Like?” I pressed. There was something romantic about the idea of these beautiful creatures gathering in expensive clothes and discussing the lives they’d led. I couldn’t imagine all of the history they’d witnessed, the art they’d seen, or–a jealous realization hit me–the musicians they’d heard perform throughout the centuries.
“Matchmaking.” His voice took on a bitter tone.
I stared blankly at him.
“You said you watched Jane Austen movies,” he said. “I presume they’re concerned with the same subject matter of the books.”
Why wasn’t I surprised that a vampire would have that the book is better attitude? I ignored the subtle dig and nodded.
“What are the mothers always worrying about?”
I thought for a moment. “Marriage?”
“Exactly,” he groaned.
A strange sadness overcame me as I put all of this information together. “So, you’re all getting together to find someone to marry?”
“It’s a bit more–”
“Complicated.” I finished for him. While he’d been vague on some points regarding vampires, he’d made it clear that nothing about his world was simple. “And your mother wants you…”
I couldn’t even bring myself to say it, but I wasn’t sure why.
“To marry and make little vampires.” He looked like he’d rather go back to his nap.
“So, you’re looking for a wife.” It sounded strange to say it. It was the twenty-first century. People did not go around attending balls and making matches.
But apparently, vampires did.
“I’m not…” He paused as the waitress appeared to deliver the bill.
I reached for it, but he was faster.
“Don’t tell me that men no longer pay for a meal,” he said as he withdrew an expensive leather wallet from the breast pocket of his jacket.
“On dates, they might,” I said, rummaging around my purse.
“Thea, what are you doing?” he asked.
I drew out a couple crumpled bills I found at the bottom of the bag and tossed them on the table. “I can pay for my half.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pushed them toward me. “I’m paying.”
I shook my head, refusing to pick them up.
“Why won’t you let me pay?” he asked, sliding the ticket and a large bill toward the end of the table. My contribution remained balled up between us.
I swallowed, deciding I would not give in to the strange confusion I felt. Lifting my chin, I smiled at him. “Because this isn’t a date, Julian.”
A second ticked by, and he didn’t respond. The waitress reappeared and picked up the bill, but our eyes remained locked on one another.
“Let me get your change,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary.” Julian continued to stare at me, not bothering to look at her as he spoke, “Keep the change.”
“And here’s a little extra.” I shoved the ones toward her. Across from me, a muscle ticced in Julian’s jaw.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding shocked as she gathered the additional tip. Considering the bill Julian had given her, the tip had to have amounted to more than the bill. She vanished toward the kitchen, probably wondering when we’d realize our mistake.
“Why did you do that?” he asked when she was gone.
“I told you,” I said, hoping he missed the way my voice trembled. “I can pay my way. This isn’t a date.”
There was another pause, and for a moment, I was sure that Julian could see past all my pretenses right down to the confusion churning inside my chest. Why did he care so much that I wanted to pay? Why was I fighting him on it?
“Thea.” My name sounded tempting on his lips, but I wasn’t prepared for the offer that followed it. “What if it was a date?”
