Original Sin (The Order of Vampires 1)

Her molars locked. “What about mates? What about all the fail proof stuff you claim we share?”

He opened the three buttons of his shirt and dropped to sit on the chair again, his face angled to the floor as he massaged his brow. “What about it? She and Silus are only married. What they share is very different from the connection you and I share.”

“But if she has some perfect match out there, why wouldn’t she wait?”

He sighed. “Because God decides when the time is right, and she could have waited centuries. Sometimes company is easier than loneliness, even when it’s the wrong company.”

She thought about Grace. How long would she have to wait?

Adam stood and approached the door. Realizing her concern wouldn’t just wash away, he said, “Silus will give her a family. She will take great comfort in raising children. All of that takes time, but it also passes time. My sister’s life will be a happy one, I assure you. But some transitions take patience. There’s an adjustment. She’ll settle in soon enough and by next summer she might have a daughter or son to adore.”

His solution was pregnancy? She was trapped in a primitive Twilight Zone. “I guess.”

“Come in and sit.” He took her hand and she sucked in a breath.

“What is that?” Her fingers closed over his and squeezed. A hollow ache filled her, as heavy as a cannonball and as empty as a balloon.

Adam pulled his hand away and the sensation disappeared. “It’s nothing.”

“Hey.” She caught his arm. “That’s not nothing.” She pressed a hand to his head. “You feel warm. Is that normal?”

He smiled though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re concerned.”

Only then, did she really look into his eyes. “Adam, you look like shit.”

“Language.” He moved to lean against the wall as he stripped off his shirt, his motions not nearly as fluid as before. When he turned, his palm pressed into the plaster and he shut his eyes, as if fighting a dizzy spell.

“Are you okay?”

His skin had a pasty, sallow haze and his eyes seemed flat. “Just a little vertigo. It will pass. I haven’t...” His was focus interrupted, and he wiped his brow where beads of sweat gathered. “It’s my stomach.”

“Did you eat anything? I can make you something.” I think.

She didn’t know how to cook on a stove that worked from wood and she was pretty sure they didn’t have any boxes of Easy Mac lying around, but she could figure something out.

“I have no appetite.”

His feet tripped over nothing and she rushed forward, helping him to the bed. The moment her hands touched him, the hollow ache filled her again.

She had so many questions about his visit to the Council and what would happen to his brother, but all concerns took a back seat to his well-being.

“Lie back. I’ll get you some water.”

She helped him recline on the bed and filled the glass on the dresser from the pitcher.

“Take a sip.”

He watched her as he drank from the glass, but after only a few sips he pushed it away. “I can’t.”

“What happened to your impeccable immune system?”

“My body’s trying to function properly, but I’m not allowing it.” His eyes closed and he winced. “I just need to rest for a few minutes.”

His fingers laced with hers and she frowned. “Let your body fix you, Adam. You look awful.” She pulled her hand away. “And ... I can feel it when I touch you.” No clue how that worked.

His eyes opened. “You feel my hunger?”

It felt more like starvation. She touched her throat which seemed suddenly dry. “I feel an empty ache. I need a sip of your water.”

She lifted the glass and drank to the last drop, but her thirst remained. Refilling it at the pitcher, she guzzled another glass down. Her stomach filled, cutting off any room to drink more, but her throat wanted something liquid and soothing. She poured a third glass but forced herself to only take a small sip this time.

Returning to the bed where Adam rested with his eyes closed, face pinched with discomfort, she brushed her fingers through his hair. “If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

The tension in his face slightly soothed as she brushed her fingertips over his skin. Sometimes he’d tip his face to her palm the way a cat chased a petting hand.

“Food isn’t what I need.”

“What then? Medicine?”

His breathing slowed, eyes still closed. Despite his condition, he grinned. “This is nice,” he rasped. “I like having you here, taking care of me.”

She liked it too. Being there, that was. She’d spent enough sleepless nights waiting by the bedside of a sick patient, worrying if she blinked too long her mother’s fight might end.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.” She didn’t like seeing him this weak.