3. Dark Whispers （Talia）

3

DARK WHISPERS (TALIA)

I 'm being kissed by a vampire.

That's the first thought clouding my foggy mind as the pale man leans over me. Maybe I'm hallucinating from low oxygen, but he looks—

Inhuman.

Imaginary.

Dangerous, with his red, red mouth descending toward mine.

His skin glows like moonstone.

His hair, too, a pale silvery-white like ice teased into sideswept strands. His face is so beautiful, so angular. He's like some dark elven prince from the dirtiest fantasy books, smoldering and strange.

And his eyes—Oh God.

They're somewhere between desert blue sky and arctic grey.

Twin moons on a hollow night, holding me hypnotized.

Yes, in the back of my mind, I know he's a cop. He's wearing a navy-blue police uniform.

I've seen him before.

I even remember when he first moved here a few years ago. Half the town whispered about Junior Sergeant Micah Ainsley because they'd never seen an albino before. The other half whispered because he was from ‘the big city'—New York City, I think—and they thought he'd be stuck up as hell and cosmopolitan.

But when he quietly blended into our town, mostly out of sight when he's not walking his dog or doing local patrols, everyone just sort of stopped chewing that bone, and he faded into the scenery.

I've never had a reason to talk to him.

No one bothers us much at A Touch of Grey, not even the odd teenage vandals during tourist season. We don't deal with the police.

So I've never really gotten a look at him up close, just quick glimpses as he heads past the shop some mornings with his hands full of coffee.

But now, he's all I see.

He becomes my whole world as he seals his lips to mine and literally breathes life into me and I blush like I'm dying.

Vaguely, I know what he's doing.

He gave me a few pumps off my inhaler, but it takes a few minutes for the prednisone to really hit, and those excruciating minutes can be life or death.

That's why he's sharing his breath.

A taste of his life, helping me hold on to mine.

But my drowning mind remembers something else, too.

A teenage fantasy. Dark dreams I'd never tell anyone about when they'd just laugh at me for being so excited by a pale, inhumanly beautiful man with a dangerous mouth and eyes drawn like swords.

Christian Dracul.

…okay. Yes. I was one of those freaks growing up.

Totally vampire-obsessed, and the movie version of Christian could curl my toes with the thought of his lips at my throat, so hungry and seductive.

…and it's not so different from what's happening now, is it?

That's what a vampire man does.

He gives you a piece of himself to make you like him.

He brings you back from the dead, sharing his blood like Officer Ainsley shares his breath now.

I'm trapped in the most surreal place right now.

I should be panicking. My chest caving in. The pain stitching up my lungs until I pass out.

I know this feeling all too well.

Instead, I feel like I'm dreaming.

I must be when all I can feel is this slow, molten warmth as the tightness in my chest slowly eases. It feels like escaping a giant's fist.

His mouth burns so hot against mine. I taste a hint of coffee and something stark and creamy-minty every time he exhales.

His touch feels far too warm for the undead, too.

The graze of his teeth teases my lips.

That's why I think I'm dreaming.

Because I swear his teeth feel sharper than any man's have a right to be.

My heart rabbits, but not because of the asthma attack anymore. Because right now, I am so confused.

The logical explanation for what just happened battles the weird fantasy devouring me and making me wonder if this is all a grand delusion from my oxygen-starved brain.

But his eyes are too real. They never leave mine.

That pale, stark color completely swallows my world.

I don't even remember why I had an asthma attack.

But suddenly, it's over.

Suddenly, Officer Ainsley leans away from me and I'm looking up at him through a haze of tears while the sun forms a burning halo behind his head.

He's suddenly cast in shadows, and all I can make out is his athletic silhouette, tall and strong with an older runner's frame, so sleek inside a crisp dark uniform that seems tailored for the graceful angles of his body.

Then one strong arm slides under me and he lifts me up, cradling me against his wall of a chest. His warmth envelops me.

"Are you with me now? Are you feeling all right?" he whispers.

I don't answer.

I'm too dizzy.

I can't even speak and it has nothing to do with the unwanted audience witnessing my crappiest day ever.

It has everything to do with my gaze locked on his mouth.

It's still so very red.

So wet, too, gleaming and slick.

Like we've been kissing.

Like that's really what I need to be thinking about right now.

He studies me with a searching gaze.

He doesn't smile.

If anything, he looks like he doesn't know how , even if that scarlet mouth can be so generous.

"Feeling better, Miss Grey?" he asks. His voice is dry, dispassionate, serious yet somehow reassuring.

I blink slowly.

Yeah, I'm… definitely not reacting very well right now.

Blame it on the attack, though I can feel the medicine now, easing that suffocating, reminding my lungs how to work again.

"H-how…" Talking is hard, my throat constricted so tight, barely a whisper squeezing past. "…how do you know my n-name?"

"Small town." His lips twitch at the corners, but no… no smile. He tilts his head toward the far edge of the town square, our shop a short ways down the lane. "I remembered you work at the furniture shop approximately thirty seconds after I was sure you weren't going to die on me."

"O-oh. Yeah. Okay." I try to smile, but everything feels so numb and floaty. I'm not sure if my lips are moving. "It's… it's Talia. You d-don't have to call me Miss Grey."

"Got it, Talia." God, the way his sultry voice rolls over my name does something crazy, warming me from head to toe and chasing away the chill of trauma. "You couldn't answer me before, but did you hit your head?"

"No. I'm… I'm used to falling. It's almost instinct to tuck up so my body takes the brunt of it."

"You've probably got some bruises, maybe knocked a few bones around, but no concussion. That's good."

Pale eyes flick over me quickly, taking me in from head to toe.

There's this careful coolness in his voice, completely at odds with the kindness in the way he handles me. Almost like his voice and those gunmetal-blue eyes are a mask, and his touch tells the truth—and maybe it's that neediness after having a bad attack, but I don't want him to let me go.

Not yet.

"So this is a regular thing for you, Talia?" he asks.

I shake my head, wincing as it pulls at my sore shoulders a bit.

"Not anymore. I mean, I used to have bad attacks as a kid, but it doesn't happen much these days."

"I see." A discerning look lingers on me. "Let's get you on your feet. We'll see how steady you are and if I'll be driving you to the medical center or waiting for the ambulance."

" No !"

I go stiff with fresh panic. I can't.

I spent half my childhood in that medical center.

I know those depressing institutional walls by heart. A cold, sterile ghost of loneliness.

As if I wasn't already totally humiliated, I see half the town gathered around us in a distant circle, watching me batting my eyes in Officer Ainsley's arms.

Ugh.

I can't stand going back there.

But Officer Ainsley just stares with this cool, intense question in his eyes.

My face heats. I lower my eyes to the point where his long, pale hand curls against my elbow to support me.

Holy hell.

I've never seen anyone with skin paler than mine. I can see the veins snaking along the backs of his hands and through his fingers, huge and powerful, making him seem even more like some strange beast of the night.

The only color is in his fingertips and his knuckles—thick, coarse, red. His hands seem too big and sharp for such an elegant man.

"Talia?" he whispers.

"S-sorry," I stutter. Speech comes easier now as my throat slowly relaxes. "It's just… the prednisone's working. I'm fine. I'm used to this, but I don't want to waste anyone's time at the medical center. I just need a few minutes. I need some water."

I'm expecting him to tell me I have to go to the medical center anyway. For him to completely dismiss me and override my wishes.

It's the same thing the doctors always did, and just about anyone else besides Grandpa, always treating me like this glass doll that has to be locked away in a protective case and never allowed to live .

But after a few long seconds, Officer Ainsley nods.

"Compromise," he growls. "If you can get up and walk to Red Grounds with me, we'll sit down, talk, and have something to drink. If you're still feeling okay after that, I'll let you go. If not, I'll give you a ride to the medical center. Fair?"

Too fair, maybe.

I stare at him.

I know he's just looking after me, being responsible, but—

No. That's the wooziness talking.

That, and the fact that he's so captivating that I can't stop looking at him.

He raises both brows. "You're starting to worry me, Miss Grey. Are you processing?"

"Processing?" I squeak.

"Are my words getting through?"

"Yes! Loud and clear. And um, I told you before, it's Talia. None of that Miss Grey business." I'm about to blush myself into passing out again. "Sorry, I'm just—"

"You're asking if you should trust me," he offers.

I freeze.

Holy shit, how?

This is the first time we've ever really spoken.

And in a matter of minutes, he sees right through me.

I look away sharply with a weird flutter in my heart.

"It's not you, I promise. It's habit. But if you can help me up and get me away from this crowd, you've got a deal," I say.

He doesn't reply.

A second later, his strong arms flex around me before he gently sets me down, maneuvering his thighs from under me so he can stand without ever fully letting me go.

Instead, his hand slides down my arm until he catches my hand. His fingers may be raw—almost brutal—but they're still graceful and warm as they catch mine.

My heart skips again as I see him standing over me at full height, rakish and framed in morning light. A fallen angel.

Dear God.

I've got to stop doing that, letting myself get so swept up in looking at him.

It's the damsel in distress shock, I bet. That, plus the fact that I've never kissed anyone. While that wasn't really a kiss, it was the first time I've ever felt a man's mouth on mine.

Something about the liquid push and pull between us brought me back. I don't just mean the oxygen.

I curl my fingers in his, trying not to tremble.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I say. "You must have better things to do than babysitting."

"It's not babysitting." He continues holding my hand firmly. "It's my job. The second you hit the ground, I clocked in."

It's my job .

Right, right, right.

Duty calls.

All the more reason why I need to stop tumbling head over heels into fantasyland and wondering if I should check myself in for brain damage.

"Of course," I say distantly—then I tighten my hand in his and give myself a little bit of a pull.

What I'm not expecting is the way his arm flexes.

The way he lifts me up like I'm weightless.

The whole world spins for a second.

Gasping, I get my feet under me, trying not to waver from the surprise of it, bracing one hand against his chest.

Oops.

I freeze up for the tenth time today.

Yes, with my hand still locked in his while my other hand rests over the beat of his heart.

He's so calm on the outside. So withdrawn, this impenetrable alabaster statue. But under my palm, there's a heartbeat just as wild as mine.

Is he caught up in this strangeness too?

Or is he just wondering what the hell is wrong with me?

He pulls away, just as I tilt my head back to look up at him. His hand untangles from mine and my fingers fall away from his chest, leaving me feeling oddly chilled.

He's not looking at me now. He's looking over my head, toward the crowd still lingering along the sidewalk and the edge of the square.

Or is he looking past them at something else? There's a sudden burst of black crows taking off from a nearby lamppost.

"She'll be fine. Move along now, people," he says with a flash of annoyance. His cool, dry voice projects authority.

I'm grateful.

I really am.

I'm so flipping tired of people gawking like I'm going to die right in front of them.

I'm going to be okay.

Sure, I passed out, but my head feels clearer now. I'm only a little sore from banging my hip and my elbows when I fell.

My legs are steady. I think I can walk.

I test my balance, bending to pick up my purse and my portfolio, gathering my scattered belongings back into my plain leather shoulder bag. I don't get dizzy when I dip down. There's a little head rush when I stand, but that's normal enough.

When I rise, I find Officer Ainsley watching me closely.

Why do I feel like I'm being watched by a hungry animal? Even after he inclines his head politely, his eyes shuttering over as he gestures toward the café up the street.

"After you, Miss Grey."

"Talia!" I correct again. "You said it before."

He doesn't say anything.

He just moves silently at my back, this pale shadow of a man trailing in my wake, making me feel so warm and haunted as we make our way to Red Grounds.