16. A SECRET

A SECRET

M y mouth went completely dry as Andras crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against his door frame, and smirked. Ugh. Why was I here again? My brain broke. All that remained was a circus monkey banging on symbols.

"Well, this is unexpected," Andras purred, existing there in all of his tall and perfectly sculpted glory, like a high-fae male or some other creature from one of the hundreds of books I'd read over the years that described preternatural beauty.

A pause. He cocked his head to the side, and I realized he was waiting for me to speak.

"Hey. Uhm," I swallowed hard and clasped my hands together in front of my chest, "I'm sorry for just showing up like this but, uhm, I wanted to talk with you about the other night, and I don't have any other way to contact you."

"How did you know this is where I live?" A single eyebrow quirked up.

"Light stalking," I mumbled, shrugging.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Do you want to come in?" He asked, pushing off of the door frame and gesturing inside.

"Sure," I said. I took out my phone and typed Jess a message about where I was and what I was doing.

Andras cleared his throat, "sorry, would you prefer to stay out here? As I said before, I'm not currently homicidal. I just opened a bottle of wine, and I've got the fire going."

I arched a brow at him.

He rubbed his hand down his face, "…oh piss, not to make it sound romantic. It's just cold in my house. I was reading."

I examined him skeptically. "Yeah, I'll come in. One drink. I'm just texting my sister real quick to tell her exactly where I am in case I go missing."

"You're joking?" He huffed a laugh.

"Absolutely not." My fingers flew across my screen, "dropping a pin aaaand… sent."

"Okay. That's fair," he nodded. "My entire gender deserves that. You reap what you sow and all."

"Exactly." I slid my phone into my coat pocket.

Andras turned to the side and gestured for me to go ahead of him, "please come in."

My stomach fluttered as I strode past Andras and took in the woodsy scent of him. Stepping over the threshold and into the foyer felt strange–it was as if I'd just come home. Jesus, I thought to myself, I really love this house. The door clicked shut behind me and Andras prowled to my side, smiling like a cat. Shit. Shit . I was playing a very stupid game. My sister's taunts echoed in my ears about the many reasons why he might have fled my house as the police arrived the other night. "Wanted by the FBI." I couldn't fully trust him, yet I was so painfully attracted to him. And now I stood, alone, with him, in his house.

I blew out a breath and took in the space while he quietly watched me, hands behind his back as if he were on a casual stroll in a museum. I don't know what I'd expected of his house, his style, but it wasn't this. Artwork was everywhere, and fresh-cut flowers filled two enormous vases at the bottom of the staircase. Warm spice candles were somewhere, invoking images of cozy blankets and mirth.

"You have a beautiful home," I said.

One wall was filled with a mid-century modern credenza with abstract art, and the adjacent wall featured a well-lit painting of a ravenous naked woman feasting upon a bushel of apples.

Andras leaned in closer to study my face.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked.

"I don't know. I guess I was expecting something more dark and broody. Like a bachelor den."

"Ah-ha, I see," he chuckled. Sorry to disappoint. Would you like to sit down?" He led me towards the living room off to the side, where navy blue paint covered the walls, to an inviting brown leather sofa under a series of white continuous-line Picasso prints in thick, almost museum-grade unbreakable glass. I lowered myself onto the sofa and twisted to inspect the prints, the thick paper, and the ink.

"Would you like me to take your jacket?" He asked, still standing.

"No, thank you," I answered without looking away from the artwork.

"Alright. Make yourself at home. I'll grab the wine while you look at those," he said as he walked out of the room. I shrugged my jacket off and draped it over the armrest.

Andras returned holding two stemless wine glasses, a bottle of wine, and a corkscrew. He set everything gently on the wooden, mid-century coffee table.

"I hope a Pinot Noir is alright."

"Didn't you say you already had a bottle open?"

I turned to eye him suspiciously.

"I did. I do. But it's not nearly as good as this bottle here." He tapped on the neck of the bottle, click, click.

I grunted out an approving thank you, before twisting back to the drawings. "These look like originals," I mumbled to myself.

"Mmm." Andras hummed.

I turned back towards him.

He elegantly lowered himself into the leather chair across from me and worked to uncork the bottle of wine.

"They're not, though, right?" I asked.

Silence.

I pressed, "They're not, though, right ?"

He glanced up from the wine bottle and cracked a mischievous smile.

I glared at him and turned back to the drawings.

"You gonna tell me about them sometime?"

"Sure." He said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "Your wine."

Andras held out a glass to me and I took it, nodding in thanks.

A record player hummed classical music from the far corner, and hundreds of books lined the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

"You have so many books," I observed, in awe of every single one of them. "I love to read..." I trailed off.

"I'm relieved that you've finally found something about me that isn't entirely off-putting." He smirked.

I studied his face. Fierce blue eyes, flawless olive skin, five o'clock shadow, and a cocky glow that seemed to radiate from him. His soft, pillowy lips seemed to have their own gravitational pull. Come closer , they beckoned.

I drank from the glass in my hand, crossed my legs, and leaned back into the sofa.

"So are you going to tell me what happened the other night?" I asked.

The proud grin wholly vanished from Andras's face. He set his wine glass down with a clink and leaned back in his armchair.

"Yes, of course. What would you like to know?"

His fingertips silently tapped the armrests.

"Well, everything, I guess. I guess to start, how did you know something was wrong? How did you get into my (locked?) house and…" I shuddered, "and, and how did you grab that man and throw him into the wall like that? You did it like he was nothing…"

"You were fighting him, which was impressive by the way, and you were preoccupied so maybe that's why it seemed like I did more than I actually–."

"Don't do that. Don't bullshit me. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, we can talk about something else, or I can go. Just don't try to convince me that I imagined it."

I rose to my feet and grabbed my jacket.

"You're right. I'm sorry." He said.

I paused, facing him in his chair; he tipped up his chin to look at me, concerned.

"Thank you," I started slowly. "Regardless of how you did it, I might not be here, my girls might not be here, if you hadn't helped us, and I will always be grateful to you for it. I just wanted you to know that."

I started for the front door, and just as I reached the foyer, Andras called to me.

"Please don't go. Look, I…" He began.

I hesitated, my hand hovering just above the front door handle. He doesn't want to talk about what happened. He's hiding something. You thanked him. That's enough. Go. I turned the handle and stepped back to pull it open when a gust of wind lifted the loose tendrils around my face. And then Andras was next to me.

I screamed and lurched backward, but a large, gentle hand caught me at my lower back and righted me to my feet. Andras removed his hand and took a large step back away from me.

Andras's eyes were wide. He raked his hands through his hair and blew out a breath. My heart thundered in my chest as panic took root. He must have noticed my chest rising and falling quickly because he put his hands up in front of him as if trying to talk down a scared animal. "I can explain," he spoke softly. "You have nothing to fear from me. I'm not going to hurt you. Can we please sit down and talk? I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go . If he could move like that, from one place to the next in a blink, I was trapped, and he was probably going to murder me or keep me in some dungeon of horrors. I had to stay calm, had to think. I nodded slowly, reluctantly, my eyes owl-like as I tried to survey my surroundings.

I plodded to the couch like a woman heading for the noose and lowered myself to sit once more, keeping my eyes trained on the coffee table, scanning, scanning, scanning for a weapon. Andras sat on the chair again, forearms braced against his thighs. The record had finished and the room was painfully quiet, except for the rhythmic whirl of the turntable going around and around, a million miles away.

"I'm so sorry," Andras began, his voice quiet, and shaky. "Thank you for letting me explain." I could hear him talking and even sorta make out the words below the pounding pulse in my ears from my heart slamming against my ribs, pumping adrenaline through me like a drug, begging me to move, to run, to fight, to get out, get out, get out. And then I saw it, the wine bottle barely within reach on the coffee table. Maybe I couldn't outrun him, but if he were stunned….I planted my feet on the floor.

"I know all of this is going to sound crazy," Andras began. Then he glanced towards the window, towards the street just beyond the wall, and I knew I wouldn't get another shot. I lunged for the bottleneck, wrapping my fingers around it tightly, pulled back and swung it as hard as I could at that beautiful line of his jaw. The bottle broke upon impact as if it had been thrown against a wall. It sent Andras toppling off his chair, his hand going to his face. My forearm stung but I ignored it as I clambered over the coffee table and raced for the front door, my feet slipping across the tiles in the entryway so I crawled on hands and knees, reaching up, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open. Then a gust of cold air rustled my hair and skittered over my face, the scent of someone warm and woodsy, hit me, and Andras was there, eyes full of shadows. He rubbed his jaw.

"Ouch." He whined, "that bottle fucking hurt."

I flung myself backward, away from him, whatever he was. Whatever this was.

"How the fuck are you doing that? LET ME GO!"

"That's what I was trying to explain. And you can go. I won't stop you."

Andras dropped to his knees and put his hands out again, like he was trying to calm a scared animal,

"Seriously. You can leave," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted a chance to explain. To really explain. I just–"

Andras stopped mid-sentence and blinked. His eyes changed from sapphire to gold, and I startled, sliding back further away from him. He frantically looked me over, the ravenous gleam of a predator in the tilt of his head, the color of his eyes. Then his head jerked suddenly towards my arm, where blood was pooling and slowly falling to the parquet as if in slow motion. I must have cut myself on the bottle, but it didn't hurt, not yet. Andras squeezed his eyes shut tight and exhaled slowly. When he opened them, they were blue again. I stepped back.

"Your eyes," I whispered.

A pause. Then Andras ground out, "can you cover that? I have bandages in the hallway drawer."

"Your eyes just changed color. And you move so fast…" The beauty, the old-timey grace, the way he seemed to prowl through the world like a goddamn animal looking for a meal, and he'd tossed that man as if it were nothing. No. Not possible. Do I need to get my Prozac checked?

"Oh, my fucking Gods. What are you?" I whispered. "Are you a…a…?"

I cringed, unable to get the words out, because it sounded way too crazy to mutter out loud. Every movie I'd ever watched with Jess on movie nights flickered through my mind. It wasn't possible. I mean, we'd always talked about it, fantasized about it, but that's all it was–a fantasy.

Andras kept his head turned slightly away from me. "I'll explain everything. Can you please just cover that?" he pleaded.

Slowly getting to my feet, I kept my eyes trained on him and backed away to the hallway closet he'd nodded towards. Careful not to turn my back to him, I rummaged for a heartbeat through old cords and other riff-raff, until I found the first aid kit that appeared to have never been opened. I quickly applied a large band-aid to a small but deep cut on the underside of my forearm, eyes glued to Andras, who remained kneeling ten feet away, grimacing. Was it possible? Was he really that ? Or maybe he was just some psycho who wanted to be one and took steroids and wore contacts that magically changed color.

But what if it were true? What if the world was more vibrant and dark and diverse than I'd ever imagined? What if it was as magical as I'd dreamed of, once, a long time ago? Tossing the kit back into the drawer, I walked past Andras, still kneeling as if he were afraid to move for fear of scaring me off. In the living room, I plopped onto the couch for the third time and waited for a whole two seconds before Andras was across from me.

"You seem strangely calm," he said, concern flickering in his eyes.

"I am. Call it a gift or a curse, but I seem to do okay under pressure. And maybe it's because, like everyone my age, I grew up obsessed with vampire lore and fiction, and it doesn't seem that scary anymore. Which is probably stupid, but I think if you wanted me dead, you wouldn't have saved me, and you could have killed me like the second I swung that bottle at you."

Andras only tilted his head as if to say, yeah, true.

Continuing, I said, "But I have a few questions. Are we talking Anne Rice, or Dracula, in which case I'll start to be properly afraid, or like Vampire Diaries? What are we talking about here?"

I folded my arms over my chest and waited for a response about what kind of vampire he was and the thought of how ridiculous it all was made my lip kick up at the corner.

Andras winced a little, then dragged his hands over his face. "Hmm, well, definitely not Dracula, I don't have a harem of demon vampires trapped in my basement." His eyebrows knit together as he mulled it over, "Anne Rice, hmm, we don't sleep in coffins, and sunlight is fine, I mean, a bit draining, but fine. There are some people who are every bit as evil as some of her characters but I'm not one of them, currently. I'm sure there are novels out there that come close but honestly, it's a genre I try to avoid." He chuckled. "I'm sure you can understand why. Also, I think your being unfazed might have something to do with your character. The fire I so rudely brought up the night we met."

I threw up my hands, "Maybe? But I mean, I did just hit you and flee. Let's stay focused on you, for a minute, okay? Like how is this even possible?"

"It's not that strange, is it? I'm not made of magic, the things that I can do are pretty standard for most animals. A wolf can hear your heartbeat, smell what you had for lunch. A hummingbird can be twenty feet away one minute and next to you an instant later."

"You're really minimizing this," I said, annoyed.

"I'm really not trying to." He cracked his knuckles, then clasped his hands together, "I guess after all this time it doesn't feel that big. I'm a predator. So I'm built like one. Now, are you going to ask me the really important questions ?"

"Like what? Like, are you planning to kill me? My sister knows that I'm here, by the way. What else is there?"

"Let me just answer the things that I feel might come up. Yes, I drink blood from human bodies, not blood bags from a hospital. That's not a thing that I know of, and I can't even imagine the logistics of it. I haven't killed anyone in decades. Yes, I have killed people, regrettably, and many. Yes, there are others like me, but I only know a few. No, I can't control you with my mind, per se, but I can be incredibly persuasive. No, I've never done it to you, but you'd really have no way of knowing, I guess. I can catch glimpses of thoughts, sometimes, and I do have a fancy sort of gift, mind weaving, where I can pull someone else's mind into mine and it feels like reality for both of us."

I grunted in approval, "Well, that's cool." Then it occurred to me that he was probably old, like really old. I wrinkled my nose, "Ew, you're like a hundred, aren't you?"

He threw his head back and howled. Howled! "Give or take a few centuries. And yes, thank you. Ew is always a favorite thing to hear from a beautiful woman."

My cheeks flushed at that.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Andras grinned.

"So, is it hard to be around people? Is it hard to be around me without, you know, like, eating me?"

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and looked directly into my eyes.

"What do you mean by eating you? Specifically?" He smiled, "Yes, it is difficult to be around you and unable to devour you, lick you, be with you." He said this with feral delight, as the color left my face and I forgot how to breathe. For just a second, a specific sort of hunger flashed there, a burning sort of need.

My breathing returned to normal. I rolled my eyes, "You know what I mean."

"Yes, it's difficult. Or, I suppose it can be. I don't walk around wanting to sink my fangs into everyone. In general, I hardly notice humans anymore unless it's been too long, and I'm famished. Unfortunately, today is one of those days. But also, I like you, quite a bit. I'm attracted to you in a way I haven't been attracted to anyone in a long time, or maybe ever. You're beautiful, obviously–nobody can argue with that–but you're also tender, funny, kind, and strong. Admittedly, there is a bit of that unfortunate side effect, a drive to…uhm, consume you. In the carnal sense, but also literally. However, I'm not going to attack you. I have self-control. I'm not a frat boy at a kegger." He winced playfully.

He thought I was beautiful? I mean, when I was younger, I knew that, but these days…well, I hadn't felt that way in a long while. Hard to do when you're constantly nursing two children back to health every other week. But what he'd admitted about liking me sent molten fire through my veins. Power flooded from somewhere inside of me, not from his validation, but because of the reminder of who I was, who I am, deep down: My own person in my own right.

I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward just so, positively pulsating with sexual energy. Andras's lips kicked up at the corners in pure feral delight as though he were more than happy to accept my challenge. A wine glass sat before me on the coffee table, having somehow survived my attack on Andras. I grabbed it and took a long drink–anything to avoid thinking of Andras and the body beneath that sweater. Gods, I just knew that he tasted even better than he looked. I took another drink, focussing on the spines of the books behind him, anywhere but at his smirking lips. Those full, soft lips. His tongue and teeth. His teeth.

"Your teeth," I blurted out, sitting up tall as I came out of my sex-charged stupor.

"Sorry?" Andras asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Show me your teeth."

"Hmmm."

I grinned.

"What are you up to?" Andras asked.

"Nothing. I'm just," stretching my neck to the side, drawing attention to my jugular, "really sore."

Andras's eyes transformed into an incredible shade of deep gold, an enthralling mix of angelic purity and animalistic ferocity. He tilted his head back, parting his lips just enough for me to see his top canines as they descended slowly, morphing into razor-sharp fangs. I leaned in closer, captivated by the raw, magnetic energy emanating from him. Magic. The air crackled with it, making me dizzy with a heady blend of excitement and fear. I felt an irresistible pull towards him, a visceral connection that thrummed through my veins and felt hot in my chest and fingertips. He exhaled deeply, closing his mouth and eyes, and when he reopened them, they were that beautiful serene blue once more.

Andras ran his tongue across his top teeth.

"I feel like I'm at the dentist," he joked.

"Do you go to the dentist?"

"No. I don't get cavities, and I don't know how I'd explain all of this," he motioned to his mouth, "after an x-ray."

"Fair. Does it hurt?" I asked, a flutter of guilt.

"No," Andras said, "it's more of a pressure. A pinch, but it's brief."

"And all of those people you're with?" I asked, remembering all of the pretty women and one rather attractive man one night.

"Dates. When you've lived as long as I have, there's not much to do to entertain yourself. There's sex. There's blood. There are books and music and the occasional hobby. Once in a great while, there's vengeance or love. Or are you asking me if they were my dinner?"

"Yes."

Andras chuckled, "Oh, yes. But they're very much alive and back on whatever dating apps I found them on, I'm sure. I only take a small amount," he said, attempting to show me on his fingers, "when they're…" he searched the ceiling for the right words, "...preoccupied? I can make it quite pleasurable and I heal the marks so there's no evidence."

A clock chimed somewhere in the house, marking the hour. Has it been an hour? More? It would be easy to stay all night, asking question after question about his long life, and the secret world that existed within, yet beyond, ours. But I couldn't. I needed to get back home, to Liv, to Ria, to dinner, to books, and to bedtime.

"I have so many questions about all of that, and more, but I have to go. My girls are with my husb–." I trailed off. What was Steven? We were getting divorced, so calling him my husband felt like a charade. Still, being here, in Andras's home, also felt wrong. It was too soon. We had just ended things and there I was sitting in some hot guy's living room, swooning over him. Cool . Great .

Andras watched my face closely, watched as I processed so much.

"I'm a mess."

I tossed back the rest of the wine in my glass and popped up, swaying, then stumbling. Andras appeared instantly at my side, one hand on my lower back and the other behind my shoulders, hulking around me for support with strong, gentle hands. His slightly stubbled chin slightly grazed my cheek, sending an intoxicating rush of blood to the apex of my thighs. Is my mouth watering?

"Thanks," I said, into his face. "My iron is always a little low and sometimes it makes me dizzy to stand too quickly."

I gently pushed off of him, "I haven't told anyone but my sister this, and honestly, I don't know why I'm telling you, but I'm getting divorced. And it's not final, but I shouldn't be here feeling, ah, things," I said.

"I understand," he said, barely a whisper. He forced a small smile that did not reach his eyes, where shadows seemed to swirl.

I nodded, slowly.

If I don't get out of this fucking house, something is going to happen that I will feel guilty about for the rest of my life or at least until the inevitable dementia from too much screen time.

He offered a crooked smile, and I realized it was because he was reading into how I felt, what I wanted. I glared at him and smoothed the front of my shirt.

"Thank you, again, for everything." I said, genuinely, looking down.

"Of course," he said, stepping back.

Andras walked me to his front door, stalling a heartbeat before pulling it open for me. On the porch, the sun was setting, a bright orange burned in the sky, and it was like the world, my world, had completely changed, yet also somehow hadn't.

"I feel like this comes without saying but–" Andras said.

"–don't tell anyone. I know."

"No, I was going to say that I want to see you again."

I searched his face. No smirk, no crooked grin, just him, sincerely, waiting. I smiled a little at that, then forced myself towards the porch steps. Calling quietly over my shoulder, I whispered, "I want to see you again, too."

My legs carried me forward, as I stepped from one world to another. As I wandered from his home towards my own, towards my family, my thoughts shifted from Andras to them. One moment, I'd been ready to pounce him, to taste him, to press into him, and the next, all I wanted was to sprint through my cozy warm home with my two little girls on my heels. I wanted to snuggle their delicate little faces and delight in their curious eyes. Andras was a hard man to leave, but my girls pulled me towards them, without a second thought. But as I made my way down those last few streets towards my house, a chilling sensation crept up my spine again, like someone was behind me, watching. This was the third time I'd felt that way recently and with the break-in, oh Gods. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me back home.