17. Kairhyse

17

Kairhyse

I 'm not necessarily surprised, but I am concerned. The moment she was breathing steadily, her eyes were closed, and she was passed out.

She's been sleeping a lot recently, more than when I began following her. I guess I've fucked her and given her quite the squirting orgasm two days in a row. Though, if she'd let me, I'd spend all day doing that for her.

While the thought of it being my doing does please me, I doubt it is. Something tells me it has nothing to do with that. She didn't feed from me, even though I was willing and prepared for her to do so. The first time we fucked, yes she did, but not a lot. This time, I could feel her pulling at my energy, but it never disappeared. She never consumed it. Why?

Adjusting, I slide from inside of her and tuck myself back into my pants. Both of her arms are sandwiched between us, her head turned and resting against my chest.

I release a soft sigh and draw her hair across to one side, exposing her entire back. I'd be lying to myself if I didn't like how perfectly she fits against me. Running my fingers along her spine, I reach the small of her back where the only distinctive marking I've ever noticed on her body resides. It's akin to a scar, yet it lacks the usual raised or irregular texture. Instead, it appears as if a darker hue of her natural skin tone was splashed like paint in this particular area.

The safe thing to do is move her to her seat and put her seatbelt on, but who am I for safety? Even if we crash, we would both survive.

We'll be fine, and I personally want to keep her right where she is. So, I grab my jacket tucked right behind her seat and drape it over her shoulders. I pull us slightly closer to the steering wheel, and I get back on the road.

I do my best not to stare at her, but when she sleeps, fuck she's so cute. I'm a lost cause. I've completely lost my mind for this little demon, and that is a problem of its own because I still have a job to do. I need to figure out how to satisfy Achille, and get him off her back.

I laugh at myself. Look at me, questioning who my loyalty is to.

The one that pays me, or the one that will likely slap the shit out of me when she finds out she slept on me.

As if I don't already know the answer to that.

Hopeless moron.

"Hmm," I muse as I survey the contents of my fridge. I don't recall ever seeing it this full before, at least not since my turning. I might have gone a bit overboard. Initially, I just wanted enough to make her lunch, but somehow, I've managed to stock it for a few days.

She'll likely be gone within an hour of waking up, and the only way she'd find herself back in my bed is if I kidnap her and put her there.

Honestly, I am considering doing just that.

We returned almost four hours ago, and she was still fast asleep in my arms. Even when I accidentally bumped her head while getting out of the car, she remained blissfully unaware. I'll keep that little mishap to myself, and if she wakes up with a headache, I'll blame it on my cock.

After tucking her into my bed, I ordered groceries and have been patiently waiting for her to wake up ever since .

Buzz. Buzz.

My phone vibrates on the counter, and I swiftly grab it without checking who's calling. "Hello?"

There aren't many people that call me, so my assumption was Achille. However, I was wrong, instead it was his son, Marcos.

"Hey, Kairhyse. How's it going?" I lean against the wall, my eyes trained straight up the stairway, watching the door to my bedroom with intensity.

"It's going, how can I help you?" I maintain a composed tone, though I sense a simmering frustration building within me. The frequent requests for updates are beginning to grate on my nerves; this is the second one within twenty-four hours. With a meeting scheduled with Achille tomorrow, I'm irked by the additional interruption.

Marcos sighs, "I require assistance, but it's unrelated to the killer you are after. At least, I think it is."

"Is there compensation involved?" I idly twirl my index finger against my thumb. "And how long will it take?"

"I understand you're occupied with tracking down the girl. We want to find out if Mathas died in a separate attack, or if it was the girl. My father has asked me," I tune him out as I hear shuffling in my room. The sheets and blankets are moving, but I don't hear her feet tap against the floor yet.

Then a soft chirp, almost like a moan, signals she's waking up.

"—but I'm at a loss for leads. There are reports suggesting a Vampire intervened to rescue a girl from Mathas, but it all seems peculiar. And the accounts of the incident vary drastically. Dispatch and authorities claim the assailant who killed Mathas was a white male with spiked hair, but eyewitnesses offer conflicting descriptions. The description of the girl rescued also differs." Marcos continues, but I remain silent, attuned to the presence of my little demon.

"Where... am I?" her voice is but a whisper to herself.

"Kairhyse, do you mind digging into that for me? We just want to close out Mathas' case."

"Sure," I mutter, my tone clipped. "I'll look into it." With that, I end the call and place the phone on the counter.

As my bedroom door creaks open, I instinctively cross my arms, watching as Xeraphine emerges, appearing utterly bewildered. I put her into a fresh shirt when we got here, still one of mine, silently enjoying the sight of her wearing it. The gentle patter of her feet against the wooden floor fills the room, accompanied only by the sound of her sharp breath as she surveys the landing, then the living room beyond.

I reside in the heart of Sidence, though not in a penthouse—it feels too ostentatious for my taste, despite being able to afford it. The walls are predominantly black, accented with white trim to soften the obsidian aesthetic. Minimalistic yet elegant furniture dots the space, with three large sofas in red adorned with white pillows, arranged around a glass table. Before them stands a towering fireplace, reaching up to the twenty-or-so-foot ceilings.

In one corner sits a piano, an instrument I've never quite mastered, but I enjoy its automatic melodies during feedings—though dining at home has become a rare occurrence. I can't even remember the last time I brought someone here.

"I see you're not lacking in funds," Xeraphine remarks dryly, her gaze sweeping over the luxurious surroundings. "Unless you've broken into someone else's house, that is."

"Did I also carjack the Corvette?" I retort with a toothy grin.

She eyes me as she descends the stairs. "Honestly, I wouldn't put anything past you at this point," she remarks. Once she's on the main level, I contemplate kissing her.

"Feeling hungry?" I ask, resisting the urge because I'd like to keep her from leaving too quickly.

"No," she replies, pausing to consider. "Maybe. I don't know, actually. I feel strange."

A knot of concern tightens in my stomach, but I keep it in check. "Maybe just try. I'll make you something." Not waiting for her to protest, I head into the kitchen, equally lavish, yet unused for its intended purpose. Here, too, I eschew the storage of even blood.

The kitchen boasts black marble countertops, complemented by dark gray cabinets adorned with silver accents. The lone exception is the farmhouse sink, a pristine white amidst the dark hues.

"Why do you even need such a nice kitchen?" Her tone carries that usual hint of irritation. "Seems like such a waste."

I'm opening the stainless-steel fridge when I retort, "What else would I have here?" I think I'll just make her a sandwich; quick, easy—can't fuck that up. "Do you like turkey? I can also make you a peanut butter and jelly."

"You know I'm fully capable of making myself a sandwich..." she remarks, slinking up beside me and reaching for the ingredients. Her insistence on independence can be infuriating at times.

I take her wrist and drag her a step back, "Because it's my house, so I will make it." Our eyes lock and her lips are pressed into a fine line. Imagining her softening up to me is as unlikely as a zealot of the Gods bowing to Belial himself.

Guess it's a good thing I'm persistent with things I want.

"Sit your ass down on that barstool, Xera." I gesture with my head, "And I'll bring you your sandwich. Now, turkey or peanut butter and jelly, like a child, because that is how you are acting."

I sense her defiance, yet she remains silent, wrenching her arm free from my grasp before turning away. With an eye roll, I focus on preparing the sandwich.

"Turkey," I hear her murmur just as the stool is pulled back, and she takes a seat. Though she can't see it, a smile creeps across my face. She's a constant pain in my ass, but one I can't seem to resist. Chasing her across state lines might just be the best decision I've ever made.

The sandwich is simple, perhaps the most basic she'll ever eat—turkey, cheese, and mustard between two slices of white bread. But it's something.

I place it on a plate and set it down in front of her, accompanied by a glass of tomato juice. Her reaction catches me off guard as she looks at me with something akin to awe. "Tomato... juice?" she questions, surprised.

I nod, "Try and eat."

She takes a bite, and I can discern from her expression that she either doesn't like it or isn't feeling well and simply doesn't want to eat. I can't mess up a sandwich, so I don't feel guilty if she just isn't enjoying it.

She finishes the juice, licking her lips. "I'll be fine. Maybe I'm just not hungry. I've felt like this before, just not in a long time."

"When was the last time?" I ask, trying my best not to portray my concern.

A soft sigh escapes her, and she pushes the plate toward me. I take it out of her sight. "Last time was when I overfed myself, but I'm not overfed now. That's the only difference." She crosses her legs and leans against the counter, her head in her hands. I want her to keep talking, but I understand her lack of trust, and I can't blame her.

"Xera," I say gently, catching her gaze, "you can talk to me, but I'm not a therapist, so don't expect any magical words from me."

"I already pay for one of those, I don't need another." Her head drops again, looking down into the cracks of the marble. "I barely talk with her, you think I'll open up to you? You're more delusional than I thought."

"Do you talk with Sydni? What is the—"

"Oh, SHIT!" She shoots up so fast it even startles me. "Where is my phone?!"

I guess I forgot to let her know, "It broke when you dropped it. Your phone was old anyway, I'll buy you a new one."

She spots mine resting on the counter to her right, and with an abruptness that surprises me, she demands, "Your phone, can I use it?"

I nonchalantly shrug, "Sure." Before I can blink, she snatches it up so swiftly it's a wonder it doesn't go flying. Finding that it's locked, she impatiently gestures for me to unlock it. "19879," I offer. It takes a few taps for the code to appear.

"Now that your fingerprints are all over the place, I'll lift a set, and put it into my phone so you can just press the button to unlock it," I playfully tease.

"You're so fucking WEIRD !" she shouts, her frustration echoing in the room, as she abruptly turns and strides away from the kitchen, disappearing into the living room.

"Syd?"

I can hear her friend on the other end, "Holy frick-balls Phiny-bear! Where have you been?! I've been worried sick!" Before Xeraphine can get a word out Sydni is continuing, "Whose phone is this? Where is your phone? It still shows you're next to Eldritch! Did you see Tali?!"

"For fucks sakes, woman, shut up!" Xeraphine growls, "I'm fine. My phone broke, and no… I think I'm back in Sidence." She glances over at me, and I give her a nod. "This is…" she hesitates.

"This isn't Tyson's phone, who are you with?"

She bites her lip, and I'm needy. I want to bite it.

"It's… Kairhyse's…" Her tone was nearly inaudible for me to hear, so when Sydni screams ‘ WHAT ' I'm not surprised. "It's Kairhyse's. The Vampire. It's his phone."

"Oh…"

"Syd…" Her tone was a gentle plea.

"My…"

"Shut up!" The way her head fell back as she plops herself onto my couch, makes me chuckle.

"GODS!!!! TELL ME EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW!"