Wicked Soul (Ancient Blood #1)(4)

“A doe who worries the lion does not find it appetizing,” he murmured, an amused twitch still playing at the corner of his mouth. “That’s a first.”

“I am not a doe,” I huffed, fighting back the warm tinge heating my cheeks. “And I’m not worried. Just… curious. I’ve got so many questions, and… well, this is sort of a once-in-a-lifetime chance for me.”

His blue gaze was fixed on my face, expressionless, and it dawned on me I’d probably committed yet another faux pas.

“Um, I mean… it’s only a once-in-a-lifetime chance if you want to answer my questions, of course. I can’t force you. Uh… I just… you know, want to make the best of a bad situation and… stuff?” I grimaced. “Sorry, there’s probably a reason vampires don’t do interviews in People magazine. You value your privacy—shrouded in a veil of mystery, and all that. Forget I asked.”

The silence spread between us, seeming so much heavier in the wake of my unhinged babbling.

“You didn’t ask,” he said at last.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t ask me your questions.”

“Oh!” I couldn’t suppress my wide and immediate grin of elation. “You mean I can…? You don’t mind?”

He leaned back a bit, supporting his weight on his hands. “I cannot promise I will answer them, but you may ask—if, in return, you will answer my questions.”

I blinked, surprised a nightwalker was even remotely interested in knowing anything about me. I didn’t exactly lead the most interesting life. “Yeah, sure. That seems fair.” I hesitated, weighing what would be the least offensive question to start off with. I wasn’t about to let this once-in-a-lifetime chance slip through my fingers by accidentally offending the stoic young man in front of me.

“All right, so… coffins? Do you all really sleep in them, or…?”

The vampire’s sensitive lips twitched, giving his eyes an amused gleam. “It’s not overly common, no.”

“Oh.” Well, there went centuries of vampire myth down the drain. “Where do you sleep, then?”

“I prefer a bed.”

I don’t know what I’d expected—upside-down in a cave like a bat, maybe. But a bed? It sounded so… normal. “I thought you slept in the ground?”

“It happens.” Judging from the amused twist of his mouth, my disappointment was visible on my face. “But if we do, it’s usually with nothing but the dirt around us. Is it my turn?”

“Sure.” I leaned back against the bars of our makeshift prison. “Ask away.”

“What’s your name?”

A rush of shame stemming back from my Midwestern upbringing spread across my face. How had my first question not been his name? He might be a vampire, but that didn’t excuse bad manners. I could practically feel Grandma’s ruler cracking down across my knuckles in disapproval.

“Liv. Olivia Green,” I answered.

“Liv?” he asked. Something sparked in his eyes, curiosity perhaps, but it was hard to pinpoint. “Your name is Liv?” The way he pronounced it, it suddenly dawned on me that he had the slightest accent. It was a harder sound, like he was swallowing the v.

“It’s my nickname,” I said with a shrug. “I like it better than Olivia. And, uh, what’s your name?”

“Warin,” he said,disturbingly blue eyes intent on my face, as if he was trying to see through me somehow. “I am known as Warin Waldlitch.”

“Oh, you’re from abroad?” I latched onto that opening with both hands. Somehow, the idea that vampires immigrated had never crossed my mind. But of course, if they were in America, it stood to reason that at least a few would have made the journey across the Atlantic at some point. “Whereabouts?”

“The northern parts of Europe.”

I’d always assumed most Scandinavians were tall and blond, and from the looks of it, Warin was just a few inches above my height and his short hair was even darker than mine. At least he had the blue eyes. “Do you miss it? Your home country?”

“No.”

All righty, then. “What about your family?”

“My family?” he looked puzzled, as if it was the strangest thing I could have asked. It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. I had about a hundred inappropriate questions burning on the tip of my tongue, from whether he had a favorite “cuisine” to how personal hygiene worked for an undead. But I didn’t ask them, partly because that would probably be rude, and partly because I didn’t want to cut short the most amazing Q&A session I’d ever have access to.

“Yeah, you know, your parents, siblings, grandparents. Aunts, uncles. Or do you still keep in touch?”

Warin cocked his head, and I got the wild urge for pen and paper so I could draw him. The way the shadows played over his features underlined his inhuman beauty, from the paleness of his skin and hollows of his cheeks, to the strength of his jaw and softness of his lips. I hadn’t had much time to appreciate how jaw-droppingly handsome he truly was, what with being locked up by crazies and thinking I was going to get eaten, but as I looked at him now, it dawned on me that he was quite possibly the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. It felt a little strange to think of a man as “beautiful,” but for Warin, the word fit perfectly.