For the Love of a Vampire (Blood Like Poison 1)

“Ridley,” Bo said from behind me, his voice low and deadly.  “Go to class.  I’ll meet you back here after Home Room.”

I wanted to argue, but I knew by Bo’s tone that it wouldn’t be wise.  Just before I turned to do as Bo suggested, I saw the stranger’s attention flicker to my left.  Struggling to tear my eyes away from him, I physically turned my head just in time to see Trinity round the corner and come onto the hall.

Like everyone else, she stopped and stared, instantly entranced by the new guy.  Altering her course the tiniest bit, she drifted unerringly to him, almost as if he was reeling her in.

When she stopped in front of him, the top of her head barely reaching the middle of his chest, she recovered more quickly than the rest of us had.  As I watched, she turned on her charm full blast, eliciting a deep chuckle from the newcomer.  I shivered when the sound rang through the hall.  It was like the auditory equivalent of heroine.

Bo stepped up to my side and I swung my gaze to him.  He was tight-lipped and frowning, but there was something in his eyes, something I hadn’t seen there before.

“Do you know him?”

His response was terse, anxiety evident in his tone.  “No, but I know he’s one of us.”

“One of us as in…” I trailed off, looking at him meaningfully.

Bo nodded, one short, curt bob of his dark head.

“What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

The bell chose that moment to ring.  Bo and I stood together, watching Trinity point to something on a paper that the guy was holding and then gesture down the hall.  I can only assume he was asking for directions and that she, exemplary citizen that she is, was giving them.

Not one to embrace minimalism, Trinity no doubt offered to show him the way, because they walked off together.  When they were out of sight, I felt the air come back into the hall, everyone around me snapping out of their stupor and scrambling to get to class.

Bo started to walk off, but then, as if in afterthought, he turned back to me.  “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, brushing his lips over mine.

He looked at me absently for a few seconds before I saw him mentally return to me with a faint shake of his head.  It was evident by the clearing of his expression that he was no longer with Trinity and the stranger down the hall; he was with me in the here and now.

“Promise me you’ll stay away from him,” Bo insisted.

“Of course.”

The concern on his face had me agreeing immediately, but it also worried me.  It couldn’t be a good thing when someone elicited this kind of reaction from Bo.

“See you soon.”

He turned and walked away and I watched him until he was out of sight.  Plagued with an odd sense of foreboding, I turned and made my way down the hall in the opposite direction, toward Home Room.

By the time I was seated in class, the whole incident in the hall seemed strangely distant and confusing.  I couldn’t remember what had been so fascinating about the new guy.  In fact, I was a little embarrassed that I’d gawked like an idiot, and right in front of Bo no less.  I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I had no intention of letting it happen again.

Contrary to what he’d said, I didn’t see Bo after Home Room.  In fact, I didn’t see him at all until lunch.  I did, however, see the new guy quite a bit.  Every time I turned around, he was with Trinity somewhere.  He was even sitting with her at lunch, holding the entire table captive by his peculiarly compelling presence.

I was sitting under the tree I’d claimed as my new lunchtime hangout when Bo found me.  He saw that I was studying the newcomer and he leaned up against the tree behind me to watch, too.

“His name is Lars Swenson.”

“How do you know?”

“Student Services.”

“Is he from around here?”

“No.  He’s supposedly an exchange student from Switzerland.”

“Do you think Trinity knows him?”

“No.  I think she’s just fallen under his charm like everyone else,” he said pointedly.

I craned my neck to look back and up at him.  “I’m not under his charm.”

I felt a little insulted that he’d lump me in with all the nitwits that were hanging on his every word.

Bo’s eyes darted down to me and he quirked one brow suggestively.  “Maybe not now.”

I chose to ignore that comment, mainly because I had no defense.  It was true—I had been nit-witting over the guy this morning, just like everyone else.  “Why doesn’t he affect you like that?”

“Probably because we’re the same.”

“You’re nothing like him,” I declared in Bo’s defense.  Though I knew nothing about the stranger (other than he had piercing blue eyes and a mouthwatering smell), instinctively, I had no doubt that he was trouble, trouble of a magnitude that I’d never seen.  He made me feel twitchy inside, and not in a good way.

“No, I think he’s probably very, very old,” Bo said, his voice dropping down low.

“What does that mean?”

“That he’s also very, very powerful.”

“What’s he doing here?”

Just then, Lars lifted his head from where he’d had it bent listening to Trinity and his eyes locked with Bo’s across the lawn.  Though his expression never changed, menace rolled off him in thick, black waves.

“I think he’s come for me,” Bo muttered, apparently unconcerned.

“What?” I was immediately alarmed.  I wasn’t sure what that even meant, but it sounded terrible.  It sounded deadly.  “Why?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long until I find out,” Bo said, never taking his eyes off the stranger.

I looked back and forth between them, wondering what kind of silent battle was being waged and why no one else seemed to notice.  When my gaze flicked back to Lars, I saw a cold grin drift across his lips right before he glanced at me and then turned his attention back to Trinity.  In a way, I had the feeling that we’d somehow been marked, but marked for what I didn’t know.

“Bo!”

Bo and I both turned to look toward the picnic tables, where Savannah sat with Devon.  She was motioning us to come over.

I felt Bo’s fingers brush the back of my head.  I turned to look at him over my shoulder.  He squatted down, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger, seemingly fascinated by it.