Head to the basement. You'll have everything you need.
Take care of our prince. Try to love him if you can.
He's not as bad as he seems to be. Trust me.
-Laurent Bastien.
Tears welled at the corners of my eyes as I read his letter, then I folded it and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.
"I shouldn't have brought you here," Ravić said, his voice breaking the silence as he looked out to the ruins of the building we'd just spent the night in, now reduced to rubble, burying our friend and his empire along with it.
We've been hiding in a tall, empty building a few blocks away, waiting for the night to fall.
Laurent thought it through, when he had Ravić's motorcycle fixed and loaded with blood bags in a small bag that hung to the side. A sealed letter was slipped inside, addressed to his prince that he still hadn't had the courage to read.
It seems like Laurent knew what was going to happen.
"We wouldn't have known this would happen," I replied, even though my heart is breaking.
"I should've," he said, moving away from the window and heading deeper into the shadows.
It is an old office building, with desks, chairs and papers strewn all over, remnants of the old world.
He takes a seat on one of the chairs surrounding the large, conference table.
"We'll wait out here until sunset, then head to your contact, just like we planned," he said, resting his head on his folded hands, elbows on the dusty table.
"Ravić..."
Silence.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked weakly, feeling stupid every second he decided to ignore me.
I huffed out a breath, settling on the seat next to him.
"Fine, then at least talk to me."
He looks up at me and leans back against his chair.
"Tell me what you both were discussing, then. Before I barged in."
I pursed my lips, hesitating.
"Well?"
"He told me about your...condition."
"That's a way to put things mildly," he muttered.
"Is that why you cried?" he asked, his tone sharp.
"No," I replied hastily. "I was mourning my old life."
Ravić rolled his eyes and stepped away from his seat, walking towards the shadows casted right next to the windows, overlooking the ruined buildings.
"I'm getting tired of hearing you say that," he said, voice low.
He turned to me, eyes flashing from stormy grey to red.
"What's wrong with being a vampire?"
"For one, I can no longer come out into the sun."
"So?"
I stood and stalked up to him. "You have no idea what it's like, do you?"
He looked down at me, one brow arched in silent question.
"To stand under the sun," I said. "To feel real warmth on your skin."
"Overrated," he muttered.
"No," I stepped in closer, lifting my gaze to meet his, breathing him in. "It's not."
"I'll never forgive you for taking that choice away from me," I said, turning and walking back to my chair.
A beat passed. Then his voice followed.
"What's the second reason?"
I paused. "What?"
"The second reason you hate being a vampire."
"That I would never be a mother," I confessed, staring down at my feet.
"Not in the way that matters," I muttered.
One moment I was standing by the conference table. The next, my hips were pressed against its edge, his arms braced on either side of me, caging me in.
"You can still carry my child naturally," he said, voice low and rasping, dangerously close. "I hope you know that."
"Not in the way that matters to me," I replied quietly.
"What, you want a human child?" he asked, lifting me onto the table. My legs parted instinctively between the edges as he stepped in.
"A human husband?" he added, spitting the words like it disgusted him.
"Not that it matters anymore," I shot back, wearied by his shifting moods. "It's not like I can go back now."
"Would you?"
I would be lying if I said that being a vampire hasn't grown on me, because it has.
The strength, the speed, the power...it certainly feels different. But maybe it's the grief, or the anger for him that still burns from last night. I just can't find myself to let him win.
"Yes," I answered.
That was all it took, before he slammed me on the table and kissed me hard.
The table cracked in the middle but we didn't care. Our hands fidgeting with our pants, hurriedly pulling them off along with our underwear before he buried himself inside me again.
I held onto his shoulders for dear life as he fucked me against the table, again and again, creating an even larger crack in the middle until he couldn't get enough and slammed me against the wall.
It didn't even hurt when I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him fuck me raw, panting against my chest while I buried my head against his neck. Tongue licking at the wound I've created before I sink my fangs into his skin again, just like that night in the cottage.
He groaned as I sucked, his movements quicker, more fervent, driving me to the edge before I fall over and come over and over again. Each one more intense than the last.
We spent the whole day like that, lost in each other until the sun began to set. Then we gathered our clothes, cleaned ourselves up before he led us through the emergency doors of the building on the side.
I can tell he still itched to pick up his motorcycle along, parked and hidden in the basement, but it's just not possible, not with the hunters still hanging around.
Subway tunnels wouldn't cut it either, even though it would've saved us some time since we wouldn't have to wait until nightfall. It was too dangerous. Cannibals, scavengers, not to mention the hungry newborns that might've escaped from Laurent's compound could be lurking. We simply couldn't risk it.
So we journeyed on by foot instead, heading back the way we came, through the woods.
It didn't take us long to reach the trees, and once we did, we slowed to a walk. We stayed silent the entire way, neither of us willing to address the elephants in the room. Plural.
He fished something out of his bag, about to hand me a blood bag when we heard a stick snap. Like someone had stepped on it.
I froze.
Ravić shoved me down into a crouch, hiding us in the tall grass.
"Rosie? That you?" a familiar voice called. A man.
My heart lodged in my throat.
Why is he here? He shouldn't be here, not this soon.
Ravić stood, rifle raised when his footsteps got closer.
A middle-aged man leveled his own gun at him when I stand. The man wore night vision goggles, but he could've had a sack over his head and I'd still know who he was.
Our contact.
The one who's supposed to help us cross the border.
He's here.
My father.
"Dad," I whispered.