Bloodlust

Second Chances

— VENICE —

My reflection was more forgiving in the morning. The dark skin under my eyes returned with ample rest and half a cup of coffee had revived some of the light in my smile.

Steam rose from my mug while I studied my reflection. I felt more like myself today than I had in a long time.

I'd been told by the maid who came in at seven o'clock that another maid would bring my clothes. She blessed me with a small carafe of burning hot coffee and loads of cream and sugar. Since she left, I'd used the restroom, washed my face, brushed my hair, and sipped on my hot beverage.

Unwanted thoughts hovered on the horizon of my mind. I tried to fend them off by busying myself, but there was little else for me to do but wait.

Sighing, I rose from the vanity and carried my coffee out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and onto the private balcony. The sun crested the evergreens across the far end of the lake and cast a peachy luster across its placid surface. 

Liam's face appeared in my mind's eye. I pushed a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. I hadn't heard from or seen him this morning.

Was he afraid to come because Macay had seen us together with me in a towel?

He didn't seem to care too much about what other people thought of our relationship, though. Since he hadn't come, he must have thought it was safer or better for me somehow.

Or was he not coming because Eleanor was now awake and demanding his attention?

I kind of wanted to cry again thinking about it but I decided already that I would make the best out of today. I had to or I might as well sign myself up to get mauled by the Princeps.

I'd imagined how they might kill me—choking, sucking out all my blood, cutting me until I bled out, execution, drowning—but I assumed that they wouldn't want to waste a good source. They'd probably drink all my blood or at least torture me with it at first.

A knock sounded at the door, scattering my thoughts.

"Come in!" I shouted.

I expected to hear a "Good morning, Miss," when someone cleared their throat. The noise was distinctly masculine.

Feeling exposed in my robe, I clutched the fluffy sides together and turned toward the voice. Macay stood before me in gym shorts and a muscle tank with sneakers. His jet-black hair hung loosely around his tan face as he stared at the floor.

"Good morning," I squeaked. "Sorry to call you in like that. I thought you were a maid."

"It's no problem." He cleared his throat again. "Forgive me for barging in like this. I didn't know you were indisposed."

Straightening, I folded my arms over my chest. "Is there something I can help you with, Macay?"

"Why don't we talk in here?" he asked.

I stepped into the room but left the balcony doors open behind me. While I actually felt safe around Macay, which was shocking for how long I'd known him, I couldn't be too cautious.

We moved to the couch and loveseat in front of the television, sitting across from each other. I remained painfully aware of my legs to prevent any accidental flashing.

"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes, would you?" he asked. His eyes were still downturned. "I'm sorry—I just am a bit . . ." He chuckled, dimples appearing at each corner of his mouth. "Wow, this is embarrassing. I'm so sorry."