Stakes & Stilettos - Michelle Rowen [80]
“As I appreciate your willingness to adapt to… my difficulties.”
I met his gaze. “Difficulties, huh? Is that how we’re putting it now?”
“Do you have another way?”
I touched his face. “I love you, Thierry. I just wish I’d stop having dreams that ended with you—” I stopped talking.
“Ended with me what?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just stupid dreams.”
“You dream about me?”
“Constantly.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that.” He stroked my hair back and tucked it behind my ear.
I frowned. “They’re not always good dreams.”
“You dream of my death?”
My eyes snapped back to his. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Since you met me when I was about to end my life, this isn’t an unusual dream to have. Don’t be concerned.”
I blinked and felt tears begin to well. “You don’t think about that anymore, do you? You haven’t been scouting out any new bridges to throw yourself off? Because I seriously don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
He shook his head and gently pushed my few tears away with his thumb. “Thoughts of leaving this life have recently vanished completely from my mind. I now find myself newly inspired to wake up each morning. You have nothing to fear.”
“Nothing to fear but fear itself.”
He tilted his head to one side and a small smile appeared on his lips. “Oh, there is plenty to be afraid of, Sarah. I don’t think you need me to make a list for you. But my suicide is no longer on that list.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” I blinked and pressed my hand against the side of his face. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“That would be a mistake.” He didn’t move away from me.
“I know. But I still want to.”
He traced his fingers over my lips and then took my hand in his. He brought it to his mouth to kiss it.
“That’s a nice start,” I breathed.
“Okay, break it up!” George shouted from behind Thierry. He clapped his hands. “Up and at ’em, Sarah. Chop chop.”
Thierry didn’t take his attention away from me. “I asked George to watch over you in case of emergency.”
“You two are too close for comfort!” George continued. “I want to see some space. Back up, boss. Give our little nightwalker some air!”
“It’s okay, George. Really. I’m feeling…” I blinked. How was I feeling?
A little cold and clammy, actually.
I pressed my hands against my face. Felt normal enough. But there was something off. I couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.
I sucked in a breath of air. That felt okay, too.
Then I gasped. “It’s my heart.”
“What about it?”
I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my chest.
“Hey, what did I say about getting too close?” George protested. “Am I going to have to separate the two of you naughty little monkeys?”
Thierry frowned deeply and looked into my eyes but said nothing.
“I don’t have a heartbeat,” I said. “What the hell is going on here?”
Thierry nodded slowly. “A lack of a pulse is another trait of the nightwalker.”
“A lack of a pulse? But that means that… that nightwalkers are… are…”
“Undead.”
“And regular vampires are the opposite.”
“Yes.”
I jumped to my feet and walked out of the office, brushing past George, who was looking at me with very wide eyes. Dammit.
I froze in place as I felt my heart begin to beat.
Once.
And then nothing.
“Oh, my God,” I said aloud, and the panic started to let loose again.
Nobody was in Haven at the moment except for the three of us. The chairs were all up on top of the tables. The lights were off. I stood there, in the middle of the ceramic-tiled floor that resembled a whirlpool of blues and mauves, and felt as if it was sucking me down into the pit of despair. And no, I didn’t think I was overexaggerating at all. This was bad. Really bad. I didn’t have a heartbeat. My heart was not beating. There was nothing good about that. The metaphorical pessimistic glass of water wasn’t even half empty anymore. It was bone dry.
“Okay,” I said, and noticed that George and Thierry had followed me into the main area of the club. “Okay. I’m not going to freak out. There’s still