Chapter 20

“Hungry?” Vlad asked in that faux casual tone when everyone cleared out of the villa half an hour later.

I was, but I was also afraid that if I put off admitting my guilt any longer, I’d chicken out for the rest of tonight. Or the rest of my life, which was what I really wanted to do.

“No,” I said, steeling myself for what I had to do.

His half smile remained although his gaze narrowed. “You always smell of guilt when you lie to me.”

Then I must have stunk up the place since he’d rescued me. “Fine. I am hungry, but I want to talk more than I want to eat.”

“You can do both,” he said, beckoning me to follow as he left the room.

I did, a desperate part of me trying to memorize how he looked. With how he reacted to betrayal, this might be the last time I saw him. Vlad’s hair was brushed back in smooth waves and he’d shaved the excess growth on his jaw until it was that enticing, stubbled shadow again. He wore sand-colored pants and a white silk shirt, an open button at the neck showing only the cleft at the base of his throat. The rest of his body was concealed by the rich material, which stretched to highlight his muscles as he moved with his usual stalking grace. The effect was sexier than all the bare-chested men I’d glimpsed around the pool earlier. Vlad didn’t show off his seething masculinity by wearing fewer clothes. Instead, he wore more to taunt people with what he didn’t allow them to feast their eyes on.

“Here,” he said when we reached the elegant interior pub and he went behind the bar. Then he pulled out a bag of blood.

“It’s warm,” I said in surprise when I accepted it.

“There’s an appliance back here that keeps items at exactly ninety-nine degrees.” He gave me a jaded smile. “We’re not the first vampires to stay in these villas.”

Talk about catering to every type of clientele. The bag even had a spout; how fancy. I unscrewed it and took a long swig before setting it down in suspicion.

“You don’t think they killed anyone to fill this, do you?”

Vlad’s laugh held notes of contempt. “No. They’re probably overrun with volunteers. This town stinks of greed and desperation. Becoming a vampire’s blood donor would be a large step up compared to other ways people make money here.”

“You really don’t like Vegas,” I noted, although his answer mollified me into taking another swallow.

“Why would I? ‘What happens here, stays here’ is a call for people to indulge in their favorite depravities, as if I don’t get more than my fill of those through the thoughts I overhear.”

I could sympathize with that. I’d kept my right glove on not out of voltage concerns, but because I didn’t want to relive any of the essence imprints that these rooms were probably soaked with. And speaking of overhearing things . . .

“Can you, um, send the guards away for a little bit?” I asked, biting my lower lip.

Vlad issued a command in Romanian that had multiple doors opening and closing moments later. Now that we had some privacy, I tried to think up the best way to begin my confession, but as usual, Vlad cut right to the point.

“Why don’t you want me to touch you?” he asked, his light tone belying the intended shock of the question.

“I, ah, that’s not,” I began to stammer.

“At first, I believed you couldn’t stand for anyone to do so, which I understood,” he went on. “For years after my boyhood captivity, I couldn’t tolerate another person’s hands on me. In truth, it’s why I’m so particular about that to this day, although now I’m only angered instead of disgusted when people touch me without my leave. That’s why I honored your obvious aversion before, yet when I saw you embracing Martin and your sister, I realized it was directed only at me.”

My mouth remained open while dozens of thoughts swirled around my mind. For once, I wished I wasn’t a vampire so he could hear them in their entirety instead of me trying to piece together an explanation that would fall short of my intentions.

“I can’t stand the guilt when I touch you,” I finally said. See? Woefully short.

He rested his arms against the bar and leaned forward. “Why? Because you won’t admit that Maximus raped you?”

He still didn’t believe me? “I told you; he didn’t.”

Vlad inhaled, green glittering in his eyes. “Remember how I said you smell like guilt when you lie? Leila, my love, every time you speak of what happened with Maximus, you reek of it.”

I turned away from the memory—and his hands were suddenly around my face, forcing me to look at him.

“I meant it when I said you don’t have to talk about it, but you can’t keep lying to me or yourself.” His tone was hard, but his fingers caressed me in a way that made me want to lean into him instead of pull way. “It might feel easier now to pretend that someone you trusted, a friend, couldn’t do that to you, but in the end, the pretense will destroy you.”

I couldn’t stop the tears that started to flow, and they flowed even more when he leaned over the bar and kissed them.

“It changes nothing between us,” he breathed against my skin. “I love you, Leila, no matter what he or anyone else did.”

I closed my eyes, something starved in me soaking up the acceptance he conveyed with his words and every brush of his lips. I wasn’t aware that I’d leaned forward until I felt his neck against my cheek. His hands slid down my back, and in one smooth motion, he swept me onto the counter and into his arms. I wanted to stay there forever, but the lie he sensed loomed between us, a wall I couldn’t scale. The only way past it was to blow it—and possibly our relationship—to pieces.