Filthy rich VAMPIRE

Chapter 9- Thea

"Hate?" He chewed on the word for a moment, and I caught another glimpse of his fangs. They weren't as long as they'd been earlier when I pissed him off, but they were there. I added fangs to my growing list of topics to discuss. Julian lifted his broad shoulders, his face a mask of detachment. "I don't hate you. Why would you think that?"

So he was going to deny it. I didn't know where to begin. He'd been hot and cold since the moment we officially met. But his mood swings weren't what made me think he disliked me. "Earlier, when I was playing with the quartet, I caught you watching me."
"Yes," he said calmly, his long, graceful fingers molding around his coffee mug in an oddly human way. "People often watch musicians-or has that changed as well?"
"Watching is the wrong way to put it," I said, bypassing his question.
"What is the correct way?" he asked.
I thought for a moment before landing on it. "You were...uh...murdering me with your eyes."
He stared at me, his face still carefully removed, but shadows clouded his eyes. They didn't go completely black like the vampire who'd bitten Carmen, but his pupils seemed to take over. Yeah, I needed to ask about that, too. But after a moment, he snorted, and the darkness evaporated. "I'd been talking to an old friend and discussing some private matters. I apologize if you thought I was-how did you put it? Murdering you with my eyes?"
"Oh, okay." I grabbed my coffee and took a long drink of it, embarrassment washing through me. I'd imagined it. I mean, why would he want to kill me? Apart from the obvious reasons a vampire might want to kill a human.
"Next question."
"How old are you?" I opted for a more benign one this round before I humiliated myself again.
Before he could answer, the waitress reappeared and plopped our plates in front of us. "Syrup is over there." She pointed to the condiments clustered at the end of the table. "Can I get you anything else? Ketchup? Hot sauce?"
My stomach knotted at the thought of ketchup, and I shook my head. After all the blood I'd seen tonight, I didn't think I could handle the sight of any red liquid. I really hoped that a vampire hadn't ruined french fries for me forever.
"Thirty," he answered when she left. "Give or take."
"Thirty?" I blinked as I tried to make that math work. "You said you were asleep for like thirty years."
"Thirty-five," he corrected me. "Pureblood vampires don't age past thirty."
I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he was going to twist every question I asked. So Julian Rousseaux thought he would be cute? I would be clever. "What year were you born then?"
"I was born around the Battle of Hastings," he said.
"And that was when?"
He muttered something that sounded like a curse. "Around the year 1066."
I nearly choked on a bite of pancake. "Did you say 1066?"
"I'm relatively young," he said. He waited for a moment while my brain tried to process that the man I was sitting across from was nearly a thousand years old.
"You said 'born,'" I pointed out when I'd finally regained control of my brain. "I thought a vampire bit you, and then you died, and you became a vampire."
"That is one vulgar way a vampire can be made." He grimaced as if the thought of it was unappetizing. He pushed a bit of egg around with his fork. He'd yet to take a single bite.

"I thought you said you ate food, but you haven't really touched yours," I said.
"I'm not a huge fan of scrambled eggs."
There was something about the way he said it-as if he'd been offered a sandwich without the crusts cut off-that felt so at odds with everything he was telling me that I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. Julian tilted his head, looking perplexed at this reaction.
"I'm sorry," I said, still unable to get my laughter under control. "It's just that you're a thousand years old-"
"Almost," he cut in.
"-and you're a picky eater," I finished.
"Maybe later you can explain the joke," he said dryly.
"Sorry." I forced myself to stop. I had no idea how long my coffee date with a vampire was going to last. I needed to focus on getting answers. How else would I be able to decide if I wanted him to compel me to forget everything? "So, what's vulgar about being bitten and becoming a vampire? Wait!" A terrible thought occurred to me. "Is Carmen going to become a vampire?"
"No, there are a few more steps involved to be turned," he reassured me.
"Thank God," I said with a groan. "I can't imagine how full of herself she'd be if someone made her immortal."
"Not her biggest fan?"
I shook my head. Now wasn't the time to discuss Carmen or me or any other petty symphony drama. "What else is involved?"
Julian sighed as if he'd rather not discuss the particulars of how one became a vampire. "A human must be drained entirely of blood and then offered vampire blood at the point of death."
"Why does that work?"
"Most vampires believe it's magic."
"But you don't?" I guessed.
"Some vampire scientists have researched it. There's clear evidence that vampire blood overwrites human blood."
"I feel like I should have paid more attention in biology class," I confessed. "So basically, if you gave me your blood, it would turn me into a vampire. So why won't Carmen turn?"
"As I said, it's a bit more complicated. Vampires generally don't discuss the process."
"Because they don't want humans to know how to do it?" I asked.
"Because it's rather private," he said. "At least, it should be. Making another vampire is an intimate choice."
"Have you ever done it?" I wasn't sure if I wanted him to answer that question. Not with the way he said intimate.