Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Somewhere nearby a church bell rings, the sound solemn, and I glance at my phone. Time for my music theory class, sadly it’s not one with Professor Vampire.
“I have to run,” I tell Livia, finishing the rest of my coffee.
“Okay,” she says. “Next week this time?”
I get out of my chair and nod, pulling my purse onto my shoulder. “I’ll text you if I have any problems,” I tell her.
“Hopefully you won’t,” she says, her face going grim. “Be safe, okay? I mean it.”
I give her a shaky smile. “I’ll do my best. On all accounts.”
I head off toward the school, wishing that the sun felt warmer on my skin. The shadows of the buildings are long, the canals dark, and even though it’s still crowded with tourists, the spooky feeling follows me all the way to my class. Even during class I have a hard time paying attention. Doesn’t help that music theory is incredibly boring.
When the class is finally over, I don’t really feel like going to my apartment. It’s too small and isolated and feels like a hotbox at this time of day. It’s rare that I actually want to be around people—I crave solitude above all else—but after the talk with Livia, I don’t want to be alone.
I decide to head to the library. I’d only been in there twice this week, both just to take a peek, but now that I have some exams and projects coming up I figure it’s good to get a head start in studying.
The library is located on the top floor at the back of the school. With its high arched ceilings, alfresco paints and moldings, it would rival the concert room in grandeur if it didn’t have a haphazard way about it. It’s darker than it should be, as if the light doesn’t travel very far, and the rows are stacked in an awkward manner. That usual smell of old books, the vanilla-ish lignin, is absent.
At the back of the library is a small museum of sorts with rare manuscripts and music sheets on display, a room that’s portioned off by glass. It’s there that I find Professor Aminoff, standing behind a large table in the center and opening an envelope, his hands encased in plastic gloves.
For a moment I think I should just go through the stacks and find the books I need for my courses, but knowing that every second I waste not getting to know the vampire is a second longer that this so-called portal is open.
And it doesn’t matter because I watch as Valtu smiles to himself and then gazes up at me without raising his head, making him look both sexy and sinister, a deadly combination.
The hair raises at the back of my neck, the urge to flee tugging at me.
“Dahlia,” he says quietly, straightening up. “And to what do I owe your presence this evening?”
He’s speaking English and his tone is amused yet dry, as if I’m someone he could do without seeing. The feeling is mutual.
“I was going to check out some books,” I tell him. I walk toward him and stop just outside the entrance to the glass room. “What are you doing?”
He raises up an old book in his hands. “Just received a donation of a rare manuscript from the 1700s. Cover is worn off but the inside is intact.”
I peer at it from where I am. “Who is it from?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We get donations here all the time. I’m sorting through some of them now.” He eyes me. “Come on in.”
I hesitate. “I’m sure you don’t need me breathing all over your rare books.”
“Too much garlic?” he asks, another quirk of his lips. “You’re in Italy now, rossa. Garlic is coming out of all of our pores.”
For a moment I ignore his new nickname for me and wish that the Hollywood ways of killing or repelling vampires actually worked. Garlic? Nope. As you can see, Valtu eats it. Silver? He’s got a few silver rings on his slender fingers. Sunlight? The vampire lives in Italy. I know that vampires in general don’t like the sun because their eyes and skin are extra sensitive, but it certainly doesn’t kill them. A cross? Some vampires go to church. A stake through the heart? Unless it’s the blade of mordernes, the special slayer’s blade I have, then their heart will continue to beat around it. Only decapitation and sometimes fire can actually end their lives.
At the thought of my blade, my fingers start to twitch, something Valtu picks up on.
“Are you alright?” he asks, eyeing my flexing hand.
“I’m mentally playing the organ,” I lie. “Just something I do sometimes.”
He meets my eyes and I have to suck in my breath, the intensity in his dark gaze seeming to steal the oxygen from the room. He knows I’m lying, doesn’t he? He knows that I’m the one to wield the blade that can kill him, that the metal handle fits perfectly in my palm like we were once fused together.