Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “not all makers are like that, from what I’ve heard. Some are kind. Some are compassionate and wise.”
“But most are bloodthirsty monsters. At the end of the day, vampires are what they are: evil.”
“I wasn’t evil. I mean, yeah, it was rough that first week after I was abandoned, but I think,” she whispered the next part, “when I killed recklessly, it was more about acting out. I’d just lost my entire family. But after a few weeks, I realized that being angry and violent wasn’t going to bring back my parents. It certainly wasn’t honoring their memory.”
“And you believe that becoming a murdering abomination again will honor them?”
“I don’t think you have to be an abomination if you’re a vampire. It’s a choice. Just like being a good or bad human. Or demon. Just look at Gorg and Bon. Have you ever seen more loving creatures? All they want to do is cuddle and be happy. They don’t let their species or origin of hellfire dictate who they are. And even if they are occasionally murderous, who’s to say that killing is entirely wrong? Even the Bible believes in justice. Eye for an eye?”
He narrowed his eyes; he wasn’t buying it.
“Okay. I see it like this: God made tigers, scorpions, rattlesnakes, crocodiles, and giant creepy spiders. Their jobs are to kill and maintain balance in nature. So why can’t I believe that your kind wasn’t made for the same reason? You have a part to play, and it’s not evil unless you make it that way.”
“This is all fine and good, except for one flaw in your argument, MF. If being a giant creepy spider makes you feel miserable because you are giant and creepy, and those qualities fly in the face of everything you hold sacred, then it becomes an act of suffering. Of pain. Of relentless damnation, and there isn’t a damned thing you can do to change it.”
Whoa. I think I hit a nerve. “I thought you said you hated being a vampire because you were bored?”
“And I was truthful.”
Really? Because his anger didn’t sound like boredom. It sounded like a man haunted by his past. He had her deepest sympathy.
MF stared at this beautiful man, looking like a dream in his new suit as they strolled. She wanted to ease his torment. Mostly because she’d been alone during her darkest moments and wished it on no one.
“I get the feeling you’re not telling the entire truth,” MF said. “Totally your prerogative. But if you want to talk to someone, I promise I won’t judge. I’m so not about that.” She might dress tough—leather, spikes, torn jeans, tits out half the time—but that was only to shield the gooey center.
“Do you tell everything to perfect strangers?” he asked.
“No, but I’d tell you. Anything you want.”
He stopped walking, and so did she.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I like you. And before you claim I just want you to—” she looked over her shoulder at a group of teens nearby, lowering her voice “—to turn me, that’s not it at all.”
“You like me?” He chuckled snidely.
“Insult my integrity if you want, but as far as I’m concerned, you have no reason to doubt me. I haven’t said or done anything to make you believe I’m not one hundred percent transparent. I am as good-hearted as they come.”
“Yet you want to change into a violent, bloodthirsty creature.”
She pointed to her heart. “Won’t change this. Nothing ever has.”
Maxton stared for a long moment, his green eyes smoldering. “Show me this nirvana of gentlemen’s wear you speak of.”
She smiled. “My pleasure.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MF couldn’t believe how different Maxton was acting suddenly, as if the whole ritual of wearing gentlemen’s clothing relaxed him. Maybe because it was something familiar and comforting, like sewing. For her, sewing wasn’t “women’s work” or “antiquated,” as some of the younger, more “progressive” generation claimed. Sewing was an art where imagination met engineering. The engineering of fabrics.
She wasn’t just talking about fashion designers. She was talking about the everyday seamstress, the tailor, the home sewer, the quilter and embroiderer. One might even argue that crocheting was engineering.
One could have all the ideas in the world—skirts that flowed like waterfalls, dresses that shimmered and moved with the light, dress shirts that gave a man an air of sophistication, or even a simple pillowcase for Aunt Fanny—but that idea meant nothing without execution. Perfect angles. Perfect cuts on the bias. Perfect fabric selection and stitching. Precision. That was what she loved about the art.
She was partial to complicated vampires, too.
MF, Maxton, and the two napping demons in the doggy stroller exited the men’s clothing store with over ten thousand dollars’ worth of suits for Maxton, and he looked happier than a clam in wet sand.
The funny part was when he went to pay, Maxton simply waved his hand and said: “IOU. The gold will be in the post by week’s end. I must return home first.”