Sex, Lies, and Vampires

I peeled myself off him with an effort, lured away from his warmth and solidness by the promise of light. He flicked his lighter a couple of times, cupping a hand around the flame to protect it as he walked over to a pile of discarded barrel bits. He cleared a small patch, setting the lighter down carefully, lowering the level of the flame. The light from it didn't penetrate the darkness beyond a few feet, but it was better than nothing. I hurried toward it, drawn like a moth to the light that flickered and danced in the draft.

"Better?" he asked. I nodded, rubbing my arms against the chill of the room. Odd how I hadn't noticed how cold it was when I had been snuggled up to him. He kicked aside more wood, clearing a path to a wall a few feet away.

"Ryan," I said, watching as he sat down, his back against the wall.

"Adrian," he corrected, leaning back, his arms crossed, his eyes closed.

"Ryan is friendlier. Ryan all but oozes niceness. I like Ryan. A Ryan would never snack on someone's leg. Adrian sounds"—I made an expressive gesture with my hands—"cruel. Heartless. Savage."

"I am cruel, heartless, and savage. I am the Betrayer."

"Mmm. Ryan reeks of normalcy."

His eyes opened at that.

I made a face. "Maybe you're right. You're not exactly the Ryan type. Adrian it is."

I rubbed my arms again, glancing around for somewhere I could curl up and keep warm.

"No one has ever called me anything but Adrian the Betrayer." For a moment there was a look of surprised longing in his eyes; then it disappeared as he closed his eyes again.

"What are you doing?" I asked, shivering slightly. I hadn't seen any sign of them, but I couldn't help wondering if there were any rats trapped in the room with us. I bet if there were, none would bother Adrian. Weren't vampires supposed to be able to control the creatures of the night?

"I am trying to sleep. There are no rats."

"Stop reading my mind!" Annoyance at the way he dipped into my mind whenever he felt like it drove away the worry about rats and discomfort of the cold.

The corners of his lips quirked stiffly, as if he hadn't smiled in a long time. Even in partial shadow as he was, my inner squeal girl couldn't help but point out just how handsome he was. The faint glow of light picked up the red notes in his hair, kissing the hard planes of his face, the reddish whiskers softening an otherwise hard line of jaw. When his lips quirked upward at the corner, a hint of dimple showed on either cheek. His nose had a couple of small bumps down its length, indicating that he must have broken it once or twice. Eyelashes, thick and black, lay fanned on his cheeks, hiding those beautiful, haunted eyes.

He really was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.

The faint line of dimples on either cheek deepened.

Sexy as hell, too, but I expected he knew that.

One side of his mouth curled.

He probably didn't even have to go shopping for dinner. I bet the women were on him so thick, he had to shovel them off.

The other side of his mouth twitched. The dimples deepened.

He didn't do anything for me, though. Nothing at all. I was more sexually attracted to the burned root that lay on the floor than to him.

His eyes opened in surprise.

"Ha!" I told him, rubbing my arms. "That'll teach you to eavesdrop in people's private fanta… er… thoughts!"

"I assure you, it's not an ability I sought. In truth, the fact that we can read each other is more than a little disconcerting since it means…"

"What?" I asked, shivering with the damp and cold of the room.

"Nothing."

He closed his eyes again and appeared to go to sleep.

I kicked his foot. "You have dimples."

One of his eyebrows raised, but he didn't even bother to open his eyes.

"That's got to be against a law of nature. Everyone knows it's physically impossible for vampires to have dimples. Men who have dimples are cute and adorable, like little fluffy bunnies. Vampires are dark, brooding, and tortured. You can't be dark, brooding, and tortured if you could burst out into dimples at any moment."

His eyebrows lowered, but his arms remained crossed over his chest.

I kicked his foot again. "Men with dimples sing Broadway show tunes. Upbeat Broadway show tunes!"

"I don't have dimples." He crossed one ankle over the other just as I was going to kick his boot again.

"Yes, you do. I've seen them. You just don't know you have because you can't see your reflection in a mirror."

You shouldn't believe everything you read.

"You can see yourself in a mirror? Oh. Well, the next time you're near one, you'll have to smile at yourself and see your dimples."

His eyes opened for a few seconds to glare a steel-blue glare at me before closing again. Do I look like the sort of man who goes about smiling at himself in mirrors?