The Dracove (The Prophecy series) (8 page)

“Hell, I even look like I have a hangover.” She examined her eyes more closely. Not much red, so that was a good thing, but still—

“On the contrary,” a deep, yet gentle voice said from behind her. “Your beauty surpasses all others.”

She knocked a glass jar into the sink, shattering it into a dozen little pieces, and she looked around at the man who’d startled her. He was the man from the day before.

“Don’t you know how to make some noise?” Most people make noise, if only breathing, and her hearing was good.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He played with the pencils on her desk. “I’m a bit early for my appointment.”

“It’s okay—” She realized she didn’t hear the door chime either. “Wait,
you’re
my appointment?”

“Aye. I figured today might be better.”

Yeah, right.
Flustered, she picked up the glass fragments to distract her thoughts from the instant fantasy that popped into her head about him.

He smiled, keeping his laughter at bay, and he walked toward her. “Be careful. I wouldn’t want you to cut—”

“Ow.”

“— yourself. Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” she replied, and raised her left hand to get a better look at the cut.

He stopped. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s not too bad.” She looked at him, then back at her hand and cleaned it.

Grant walked over to the painting and looked at it again, waiting for her to finish. He smelled the blood and was thankful it was only a small cut, even though he fed last night. Just the smell of it can bring on the faint sound of the symphony and the hunger if it’s strong enough . . . and the symphony in his head just went up a note or two.

“Are you finished with this one?” He did his best to ignore the slight crescendo of melody.

When she saw what he was asking about, she joined him next to the painting. He slid his sunglasses to the top of his head to get a better look. He’d forgotten to take them off the day before. It happened often. He’d get so damned accustomed to them blocking the light from his eyes.

“You really like that one, don’t you?” He sensed not only her confusion regarding his admiration of the piece, but there was also a hint of fear coming from her. Not fear of him, but of the painting. Something about it scared the hell out of her.

“Aye, I do.”

“Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday—”

“I’m here today; however, it doesn’t look like today is much better for you.” He looked at her hand and returned his eyes to the painting. “Besides, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“Yes, well, I
am
sorry. I’ll try to be nice today,” she said with a warm smile. “But my friend convinced me I’d have a good time if I went out with her last night, so I have a headache. And this” —she raised her hand— “well, accidents happen, I suppose.”

People usually told him things in situations where they wouldn’t otherwise, such as a customer in a gallery shopping for a new painting to hang on his wall. He smiled. “And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Have a good time?” He didn’t move his gaze from the painting.

“Yes, actually, I did. That is, until I woke up this morning.”

He laughed and turned to her. “How much for this one?”

“I’m not sure. I really wasn’t finished with it yet.”

“I like it the way it is.” He looked at it again. “And judging from your reaction concerning it, it doesn’t seem to me that you’ll want to finish it.”

She chuckled. “You’re probably right. Are you sure you want this one?”

“It reminds me of someone I knew long ago.”

“Really?” She arched her right brow. “Strange friend you have.”

He nodded gently. “Yes, he was. I can pick it up tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”

“I think that’ll be fine, but let me check my calendar.” She walked to the front of the studio.

He watched intently, his eyes surveying every inch of her. He followed quietly, surprising her with his stealth when she looked up to find him standing in front of her desk.

“This should be enough.” He handed her a bundle of cash, folded in half, and let the shadows drop back so she could see him truly for the first time. Normally, he’d only let someone see when they were to become his prey.

She stared at his face. He felt goose bumps race over her skin when his hand brushed hers.

“Yes, um . . . I’m sure it will be.”

He smiled when she forced herself to look at the calendar on her desk.

“Could you pick it up around eleven tomorrow morning?”

“That would be fine.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps you could join me for lunch then?” He surprised himself by asking, but there was nothing he could do. It just came out.

The forefinger of her right hand gently touched her lips and tapped softly. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Maybe I could, if you tell me your first name.”

“My first name?” He realized he never introduced himself to her. “Oh shit, please pardon my rudeness. My name is Grantlund; you may call me Grant, if you like.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Grant.” She extended her right hand to shake his.

“The pleasure is most definitely mine, Kylie.” He leaned forward and kissed her hand. He shifted his eyes upward to catch the blush rising in her cheeks. Holding her hand in his, he stood straight again. “I do have another appointment, so I must go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Kylie lost the fine art of speech. All she could do was nod her answer. Her hand slipped out of his, until only their fingertips touched, and she strangely felt like a part of her vanished with his touch. It was a familiar feeling, the same she’d experienced at the club the night before for no apparent reason.

He looked back at her, giving her another opportunity to see those ice blue eyes before sliding his sunglasses back in place. He smiled, waved, opened the door, and disappeared into the world.

When he was gone, she dropped into her chair. Her thoughts drifted Cianán and she thumped her forehead down on the desk. She sighed heavily. Last night, it was Cianán, who was . . . mysterious; that would be the best word to describe him, and she was supposed to have dinner with him tonight. Now this new man, Grant, asked her to lunch. She sighed deeply again.
Rob could never compete with these two
. She stood and walked to the back of the studio.
Shithead.

Ana came in not long after Grant left and told her about Rob. The story had been all over the news, which Kylie never watched. It upset her, even though he wasn’t a part of her life anymore. She now didn’t understand how she could love someone who was so mean to her. Why she stayed with him for so long, she didn’t know, and her decision to leave wasn’t easy. She’d left him after that terrible night when Tobak bit him, but he still had trouble letting her go. He’d followed her to every new place she’d moved to. She wasn’t sure how she got away from him completely. It was as though someone watched over her, since she still lived in the same city. When she opened the studio, it surprised her he didn’t find out and show up at her door. That special someone must have been watching out for her again one she liked to call her guardian angel. She affectionately called
him
“Mane” when she was a child. She really didn’t know if Mane was male or female.

At any rate, there couldn’t be any other explanation. Rob wasn’t one to give up easily and he surely would have searched until he found her, but for some reason he never did. Up until Ana told her what had happened to him, she’d been wondering how she got home last night without him following.

Maybe Mane killed him.
She shook her head.
No, guardian angels don’t kill people
. But, vampyres do, and if they existed, she’d swear that was what happened to him because they didn’t find any blood. Not around him, or even in him.
Nah, it’s probably some weird occult thing. I watch too many horror movies.

Her thoughts shifted back to sweet little Ana with her curly black hair, who comforted her through just about everything. Sometimes she didn’t know what she would do without her. Ana was her
Ami
—a soul-sister. Kylie could tell her anything; Ana was someone who would always be there for her when she needed her and not think twice about it—even if she was a little crazy sometimes. But Kylie needed that craziness in her life, since it was so full of tragedy, and Ana was the perfect person for that. Her bubbly personality brightened Kylie’s day on more than one occasion.

She first met Ana when she leased the studio. She’d only known her for about four months, but they became the best of friends right away. Kylie was glad she chose this place for her gallery.

Rob came to mind again and she wondered if she should go to the funeral. It might not be a good idea. His parents never liked the fact she’d accused him of hitting her. No, not their son, he could never do a thing like that.

“Whatever,” she muttered and dipped the brush in the water to clean it. She swatted the brush against the easel leg a few times to get rid of the excess water, and dipped it into the next color—cadmium red.

The phone rang and she jumped at the sound. “Hello?” She didn’t usually answer the phone that way in her studio, but her mind wasn’t on work, nor was it on whether or not the phone would be ringing anytime soon.

“Hello, Kylie? This is Cianán.”

A smile appeared at hearing his voice. “Hi.” She tried to sound cheerful.

“Good afternoon, an’ how are ye today?”

“I’m okay, and you?”

“I’m fine, thank ye.” Silence filled the line briefly. “Are ye sure you’re all right? I detect a bit o’ sadness in your voice.”

“I guess I can’t hide it, huh?”

“What’s the problem?”

“I just received some bad news about a . . . friend, but I’ll be all right.”

“Are ye certain? We can ‘ave dinner ‘nother time, if ye like.”

“No, tonight will be fine, unless you’re trying to back out?”

He laughed. “I’d like nothing more than to have dinner with ye this eve.”

“Then I guess you’re taking me to dinner.”

“I s’pose I am. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I look forward to it.”

“As do I.”

“I suppose you’ll want to know where to pick me up?”

“That’d help.”

She laughed and gave him directions to her house. When she hung up, she realized she wasn’t so sad anymore. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was about Cianán that brought a smile to her face. She didn’t get that wonderful feeling like she did with Grant, yet there was definitely something there. The comment he’d made—asking her if she believed in destiny—came to mind. She wondered if he was her destiny.

“Oh, that’s just crazy. It’s probably just because he’s a foreigner with a cool name.” But the smile remained on her face. She thought about the night before and the way he looked at her. The way he spoke to her—to her, not
at
her, nor at her chest. She’d learned over the years to tell the difference, and they’d both spoken to her that way.

Perhaps Grant was the one she was destined to be with, when she recalled the incredible energy she’d felt with his touch. She shook her head, chuckling under her breath. Grant was a hottie with a cool name. Finally, she stood and walked back to Grant’s painting to finish what she’d started.