K. R. Treadway
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Blood and Lace: Chapter 18
🕑 Added 2024-04-14 15:00:07 +0000 UTC 
The high and low points of this week were going to tear Nicholas apart.
If I was a car my shocks would be busted. The sickly attempt at humor did nothing to comfort his churning stomach.
Della stood before him, her arms around her middle and her shoulders hunched. She stared at the floor blankly, and somehow it was the most forlorn expression he'd ever seen. He wanted to rush over and embrace her, but he didn't dare. This moment was unbelievably fragile. He couldn't leave it here…they had to keep talking.
So keep talking.
He swallowed. The revelations of her words seemed to hang between them like smoke. He wasn't sure where to begin. On the one hand, Della liked him. Nicholas’s heart was still singing with that revelation, despite what had come after. She like liked him. Not as a friend or an ally—or some humiliating human pet. Romantically. That meant he wasn't crazy, that the reciprocation he’d felt in her wasn't his own desperate imagination. On the other hand…
We don’t experience physical attraction.
“Huh,” he finally managed. He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s, uh…” He trailed off, unable to find words. His mind was giving him nothing.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Della…I need…could I think about this for a few minutes? Organize my thoughts? Then I'd like to continue talking…if that's all right.”
She blinked, and gave that head tilt that he found—he suddenly realized—deeply endearing. “Why did that sound rehearsed?” she asked with a touch of suspicion.
He managed to smile. “Because I’m repeating something my therapist used to say a long time ago. I'm trying to apply what he taught me right now.”
“Your therapist?”
“Yeah. I, uh, went through a pretty rough patch when I was little, after I lost my dad. Therapy helped. One of the things I’ve retained is that moments like this are best handled slowly.”
“So you can…process?” A corner of her mouth quirked, though her eyes remained sad.
“You’re a very quick study. I take it vampire society doesn't have psychiatrists?”
She shook her head. “But I do understand. You need time to accept things.”
God, she was distracting with that make-up. The dark colors made her light eyes seem even more ethereal. He shook his head, realizing it was his turn to feel lost. “Accept things?” he echoed.
“That there can be nothing between us.”
Nicholas’s heart lurched in a moment of raw anguish. He took an involuntary step towards her without thinking. Della swayed back at his sudden proximity and he froze. For one heartbreaking instant, he thought she was going to flee the room. Then he saw her steady herself and set her shoulders, eyes returning to his face. Her lips were parted, but he couldn't pierce that vampire emotional veil—not when she was guarded.
Moving with exaggerated care, he gently reached towards her with one hand. “Della…I don't accept that truth.”
Her brow furrowed. “How could you not, Nicholas?”
“Because…the way I feel…I just can't. Not yet. Not until we’ve talked more. That's why I need to think. Unless…” He froze. “…you’ve already made up your mind?” He waited, holding his breath. She remained silent.
Deliberately, he resumed reaching out. His heart was racing. Her eyes noted the progress of his hand, but she held herself absolutely still. Nicholas’s hand slowly closed the distance…until he was lifting it to gently caress Della’s cheek. He thought he heard a faint inhale, but he was distracted by how amazing her skin felt.
“If you haven’t made up your mind, I'm hoping you’ll give me—give us—at least a talk. Will you?”
She pursed her lips, clearly mystified, but her answer was a balm on his nerves. “Very well.”
Nicholas let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.” He took a step back, suddenly self-conscious. “Besides, I, uh, brought you a gift of sorts. It's on the coffee table. Why don't you check it out? I'll sit here and…” Try to find a way not to lose you. “…organize my thoughts.”
Della gave him that appraising look, the one weighted with unimaginable years, but this time it was tempered with an uncertainty that made her seem much younger. Finally she nodded, and stepped into the other room. Nicholas sat back down, staring at the towel and his comms gear without seeing it.
Dr. Mullins would say the first step is to get perspective.
Nicholas gave a humorless snort. The intensity of this moment—and the ferocious pace of the last few days—made any objectivity impossible. As helpful as Dr. Mullins had been, this situation was a bit beyond the teachings of his childhood shrink. He was going to have to improvise. They were both winging it…and Della didn't seem to be the spontaneous type. Then again, he’d seen glimpses of impressive adaptability. Even if she was a creature of habit, she was one who could change when the circumstances were important enough.
Was whatever was happening between them important enough?
I guess we'll find out.
Deciding a course of action didn't take Nicholas as long as he thought it would. After five minutes of breathing exercises to lower his disposition from “extremely twitchy” to just “nervous as hell,” he walked out of the kitchen to find Della standing next to the couch and rolling up her sleeve. The fierce look of gratitude she fixed on him was like coming in from the cold.
“Nicholas, it’s perfect.”
He couldn't hide his pleased reaction. “Let me help you.” He stepped around the couch as she placed the sheathed combat knife against her inner forearm, positioned so it could be drawn with her opposite hand. Focusing on his assigned task and not her soft cool skin was challenging, but he was nothing if not disciplined. “It’s mine. Standard-issue for Guild hunters,” he explained, tightening the straps. “Personally I've always felt it was macho posturing. A combat knife won’t make a bit of difference in a stand-up fight with a vampire.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Not if it’s wielded by a human.”
“You keep it very sharp,” she said approvingly. “One notch tighter, please.”
He adjusted it. “Better?” She nodded, and he stepped back. A heartbeat later the knife blurred into her hand. It’s blade was matte black except for a thin sliver of gleaming edge. Like her eyes in the dark. The knife was back in its sheath before he realized she was no longer holding it. It was like witnessing—or not witnessing—a magic trick.
“Let’s move it down an inch.”
Nicholas began dutifully undoing the straps.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I thought I would have to rely on my talons for fighting.”
He stopped, gaping at her. “Wait…you can, I don't know what it’s called, ’manifest’ those black claws we see on ghouls?”
“Ghouls?”
“The, uh, inhuman looking ones? Like the one that was…melting…on the loveseat back in the townhouse?” God, he hoped he wasn't triggering her.
“Ah.” Della’s expression darkened. “We call them ‘ferals.’ You're right, many of them have talons, and yes, I can do something similar. Does that disturb you?”
“That you can grow magical badass claws? That sounds kind of cool, to be honest.”
A mild tension seemed to leave her and he saw the trace of a smile. “They can be very helpful, but they require an effort to make. And they ruin nail polish.”
Nicholas gave a quiet laugh and finished rebuckling the sheath. “How’s that?”
She did another round of now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t, then nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent.”
“I'm glad.” He cleared his throat. “Now, if you’re willing…I'm ready to return to our prior conversation.”
Her hand stilled in the process of rolling her sleeve back down, then continued more slowly. “As you wish.”
“If you don't mind, would you sit there?” He gestured to the couch.
Della considered the couch then looked at him. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Please,” he added.
She buttoned the cuff of her shirt, adjusted the sleeve, then sank down with such fluid grace it looked like a ballet move. To Nicholas she was a picture of otherworldly beauty. With her heels together and clasped hands on one thigh—posture perfect—Della seemed so out-of-place on his battered couch that he almost lost his nerve. But something in her eyes, a kind of wary vulnerability, bolstered his resolve.
He straightened, hands behind his back, into a formal pose. God, this felt awkward. He cleared his throat. “Della…I would like to court you.” Was he supposed to bow? That seemed overly theatrical, but didn't they do that in those history movies where all the men had tall hats? Fuck…should he have a tall hat? Nicholas started to bow, stopped, then went with a stiff nod instead.
“What are you doing?” Della asked.
“I’m, uh, I want to do this right…and I know that you’re, well, old—I mean, not old old, just uh…” he stammered to a halt as horrifying awareness of what he was saying dawned.
“Gods…are you trying to act antiquated?”
Nicholas closed his eyes as a blazing heat began to work its way up his neck. “I was remembering this movie, and I think one, uh, gentleman stood like this, but of course they all had…tall hats…and I don't…” He heard a sharp exhale and quickly opened his eyes.
Instead of the furious vampire he expected, he was treated to Della with her own eyes closed and her shoulders quivering. Her smile confirmed it: she was laughing—even guffawing by her standards.
He facepalmed. “I’m such a dork,” he groaned.
“You are,” she agreed, still trying to recover, “but…it’s very sweet. Please sit down.”
He slumped onto the opposite side of the couch, wondering how much redder his face looked to her eyes.
“Nicholas,” she said gently, “that particular ship has sailed. First”—she held up her index finger—“my father has gone to his final rest. You would have needed to talk to him about ‘courting’ me. Second”—middle finger—“we have not once been chaperoned while sharing this space, and third”—she raised her ring finger—“we have slept in the same bed.” She lowered her hand. “By the standards of my youth, I’m hopelessly ruined.”
Nicholas couldn’t help but laugh at her playful tone. “Point taken,” he said. “Okay, allow me to rephrase: can we date?” Her brow furrowed, and he quickly held up a hand. “Hear me out, please. We’re attracted to each other on some level, right? The connection I feel when I look at you…I’ve never experienced that with anyone else. It sounds like a line, but it's true. I would be a fool not to explore that further…if you feel it too.”
“Nicholas…” she sighed his name, a weary resigned note in her voice.
“Don’t say it’s impossible, Della, please.” He leaned towards her, trying to lead with the humor she’d established rather than the desperation he felt. “Repeat after me: ‘Dating will involve many challenges.’ ”
“That is a prodigious understatement,” she said drily. “The idea of us dating …it is impossible.”
He set his jaw. “Negotiations have commenced.”
“What?”
“We’re negotiating. Here’s my compromise: ’Dating will create prodigious challenges.’ See? I even used your wording.” She narrowed her eyes, and he saw her nostrils flare, but he also saw something else: a tiny spark of amusement. Please, Della, give it a chance.
“Dating you,” she murmured, “is…almost certainly impossible.” Hope blossomed to life in his chest.
“A man could do a lot with ‘almost.’ Final offer: ‘Dating will create almost impossible challenges.’ Just try it on for size.”
She licked her lips, then abruptly flicked her eyes in his direction. I know you heard my heart speed up. I can’t help it, that lipstick should be classed as a weapon. She rolled her eyes as if she could hear his thoughts.
“Dating you,” she said haltingly, “would create almost impossible challenges, Nicholas.”
“The beautiful thing about challenges,” he replied, “is that you can tackle them one at a time. And the beautiful thing about dating, is that it’s open-ended. Success isn’t assured, or even assumed. If any one challenge proves to be too much…then at least we’ll know we didn't let the chance of a lifetime slip away—or lifetimes, in your case.”
Della was on the cusp of giving in, he could see it. She was convinced it would never work—and maybe the Vegas oddsmakers would agree—but she wanted to believe it might. And he would bet it was because she felt the same connection he did.
It was time to go all in.
“I have an idea,” he said, “let’s try a practical example. I believe we were discussing kissing?”
Comments
K. R. Treadway
Haha, his heart-rate will give him away. 💓
VeryFinePrint
"I have an idea,” he said, “let’s try a practical example. I believe we were discussing kissing?” Smooth operator 😆
