“I’m so sorry, Quinn. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I couldn’t help it. The temptation . . . ” Oliver dropped his head and turned away.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he assured his prodigy and turned back to Blake. “Why don’t you sit down, Blake.”
Wesley pulled a chair to assist.
Quinn shot him a quick look. “And weren’t you supposed to keep an eye on him during the day?”
“If your grandson wouldn’t be such an ass, it would be easier not to avoid his company,” Wesley griped. “But if he keeps on pissing people off by invading their privacy—”
“That’s enough,” Quinn interrupted.
“Grandson?” Blake croaked. “What the fuck?”
Quinn looked at Rose who pulled another chair and slunk into it. Now eyelevel with Blake, she leaned closer. Instinctively, Blake shrunk farther back into his.
Blake watched them with suspicion. His hand went to his neck where Oliver had bitten him, yet the skin was now flawless as if it had never happened. It was freaky to say the least. But he knew what he’d seen: Oliver had fangs, and that made him a vampire.
And if he was one, then the others had to be vampires too. When Quinn and Rose had held him while Quinn had licked his wound to seal it, he’d felt the same kind of supernatural strength from them as Oliver had displayed.
Shit! How could vampires exist and how the fuck had he gotten mixed up with them?
“Blake, honey,” Rose suddenly started. “There’s something you need to know. We’re vampires, but—”
“No shit!” he interrupted. He’d figured that out in the last thirty seconds himself. There couldn’t possibly be anything new she could tell him now. “The cat’s out of the bag.”
And now that he knew their secret, what would they do with him? He cast an assessing look at the assembled crowd. Nobody was missing. Amaury and Cain were huddled with Oliver who had turned away so Blake couldn’t see his face anymore. Zane stood at the door as if wanting to make sure nobody entered or left the kitchen. Thomas and Eddie were frowning. Nina looked concerned, while Wesley had a defiant look on his face.
Jerk! He was ready to bet his first paycheck that Wesley had purposefully not come running to his aid, because he was still pissed off about that stupid book. For good measure, Blake glared at him before looking back at Rose.
“Blake, please remain calm. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I wish I could have spared you this, but—” Her gaze strayed to Quinn, who answered with an encouraging nod. “—you need to know who we are. Quinn and I, we’re your great-great-great-great-grandparents. You’re our flesh and blood, and we’d do anything to keep you safe.”
As Blake pushed back in his chair, its legs scraped on the tile floor, making an eerie sound in the kitchen. Nobody was saying anything, as if they were all waiting for his reaction.
“Bullshit!” He reared up from his seat and instantly swayed, gripping the backrest for support. Clearly, the blood loss was still affecting him.
But his mind was sharper than ever. They were vampires, all right, but no way in hell was he related to any of them.
“I’m no bloodsucker!” he protested. “I’m not like you!”
“Of course not,” Quinn interrupted calmly. “You’re entirely human, because Rose’s and my daughter was conceived and born when we were both still human, back in 1814. Rose and I became vampires after that.”
Blake looked at him, allowing his eyes to inspect his face, then did the same with Rose. The two looked nothing like anybody in his family. And besides, they looked younger than him!
“You’re barely 25!”
Unexpectedly, Rose smiled at him. “One of the advantages of being a vampire: you don’t age.” She exchanged a warm smile with Quinn. “We’ll always look as young as the day we were turned.”
“Well I knew that, of course! I watch movies. I’m not stupid,” Blake quickly replied. “But that doesn’t mean we’re related. So spit it out, what do you want from me?” He glared at them, then motioned his head toward Oliver. “Cause I already know what he wanted. And he’s not getting it. I’d rather slit my own throat!”
Because nobody could ever find out that he’d found Oliver’s bite arousing as hell. That’s why he’d fought him with all he had. Because, fuck, he was no homo! He loved women, one hundred percent, and no fucking bloodsucker would ever get another chance at making him doubt his sexuality. No fucking way!