Davy Harwood (The Immortal Prophecy 1)

“Well, I wish I hadn’t now.” My voice sounded like I’d just sang the lead in an opera—as a novice.

“Your throat hurts?” Was there sympathy in that voice?

“Yeah.” It felt like I’d swallowed bark and then vomited it back up, still fully formed.

Roane crossed and sat in the chair beside my head. He leaned forward on his knees and regarded me intently. Why did the chair have to be positioned so close to the couch? Why did Roane’s hands brush slightly against my shoulder and why didn’t I suppress the shiver this time? I swallowed tightly and grimaced from the pain. The shivers were becoming normal to me. Somehow, I was certain that wasn’t a good thing.

“You might be able to ignore that something’s going on with you, but I won’t.”

I slowly and achingly sat up. “Why do you care?”

“Because I might need you if Kates goes against the decree again. You’re still the only person she’ll listen to and contrary to what you think; I really don’t want to kill your friend.”

What every girl wants to hear. “Well… thanks for not wanting to kill my friend.” What every girl wants to say.

“Have you talked to anyone about your symptoms?”

“You sound like a counselor or a doctor. It’s annoying. And no, I haven’t said anything. You know that, it’s why you brought me in here from the convention—the convention! Adam! Did you—”

Roane stood and crossed to the window. He peeked through the drawn blinds. “Your boyfriend thinks you had an emergency and that’s why you were called away. Don’t worry; I had someone pass along the message.” Did I detect a slight smirk at the corner of his lips? I could only imagine what that might mean… “Can you stand?”

“Uh… yeah… I mean… can I have a minute here?” I swallowed underneath those impenetrable eyes of his.

“I can help, you know.”

I knew instantly what he meant and I felt myself pale. “No, no, no. I am not drinking your blood. I don’t care if it’ll heal whatever wrong’s with me.”

“I thought I’d offer.”

“Again. No.”

Roane stood up. The chair didn’t even creak. It looked old, uncomfortable, and pink. I felt the couch creak underneath my weight so I knew that if I’d been the one to stand up from the chair, it would’ve sounded like a falling tree. Not Roane with his supernatural grace. Not even Kates could move how he did. Something told me that Roane was not the vampire to be pitted against. I shivered at that thought and for once I was thankful the Hunters were on my side.

“You should go home and rest for the night.”

I could rest, yes, but not for the night. “I can’t. I have a date tonight.”

“With your boyfriend?” He said it so calmly and evenly. I frowned when I couldn’t discern what he might be thinking—and why the hell did I care about that?

“With Adam. He’s taking me to the Alexander Restaurant. It’s supposed to be divine eating.” I almost tripped on my own self-righteousness.

“I own it.” His voice was flat. Emotionless.

“Let me know how that makes sense. I didn’t know that vampires were such ‘divine’ chefs.”

“You should stop stereotyping us. You know that we’re not all the same, Davy.”

I heard the seductive promise and I hated how my body reacted. “Is it hot in here?”

“I’m not Adam either. You like him because you can control him. You don’t like me because you can’t manipulate me. You can’t control me.”

“You’re not very normal for a vampire either.” Had I just admitted to being manipulative?

“Truth hurts. Deal with it.” Roane turned back towards the window.

“What’s out there? You keep looking out there. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“More like someone in particular.”