Bastian strutted into my office—without knocking, of course. I expected him to take a seat on the other side of my desk, but he completely ignored propriety and dragged one of the chairs around to my side. He dropped into the seat with a sigh and propped his shit-kickers up on the desk.
I raised an eyebrow and did my best to scowl, but he looked so damn hot it was nearly impossible. “Why are you wearing boots like that here in Lansford?”
He crossed his arms, those massive biceps bulging out from under the tight sleeves of his black T-shirt, and rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been here long enough to get a new wardrobe. I needed these back in Montana.” He knocked a heel against my desk for emphasis. “Let’s just get this over with.”
This was going to be a long interview with that attitude of his. I figured it best to jump right into the questions. “Okay then. Well, the purpose of this interview is to let your readers get to know you a little better, so can you start off by telling everyone your name?
“It’s Bastian Evanko—and don’t even think of calling me Bastard Evanko. You don’t want to piss me off.”
Yep, we were off to a great start. I could only imagine how this might end. “And what’s your occupation?”
Bastian finally cracked a slight smile. “I’m a bartender at my brother’s sanguinarian nightclub, Nocturnal Surrender.”
“Why did you say sanguinarian like that?”
He slid his sunglasses up, resting them atop his head, and leaned over the arm of the chair toward me. The predatory look in his eyes made my heart speed up, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“Isn’t it obvious?” For some reason, his voice had deepened.
I simply shook my head and waited for more of an explanation. He reached out and his fingers crawled up my arm, sending shivers racing over my skin. Whether it was fear or excitement—or a combination of both—I wasn’t sure.
He pulled away and sat back again. “I think it’s a rather novel idea to have these clubs where we can be ourselves, vamped out for everyone to see, and all the poor unsuspecting mortals have no clue what we truly are. It sure as hell makes feeding simple, but I can’t believe they actually think we’re just human sanguinarians pretending to be vampires.”
“I suppose people believe whatever they want to.” I relaxed slightly and continued. “I know you basically already answered this, but could you tell us what species you are?”
Bastian put his feet down and scooted his chair closer. His eyes grew wide and he bared his fangs as his irises shifted from blue to silver. “What does it look like?” Just when I thought he might try using those daggers in his mouth, he chuckled. “Seriously, what kind of question was that? You know I’m a vampire. Hell, that’s how you wrote me.”
“Remember, this interview is for the readers. They need to see how you answer these questions to decide if they want to spend more time with you or not.”
“I still think this was a stupid idea. How the hell did I let you talk me into it? I don’t have time for this. I need to plot my revenge. There’s a pretty little psychotherapist I have to kill.”
I wondered how long it would take him to bring up that subject. “Way to score points. You could at least remind everyone that you only want revenge because your fiancée was murdered two hundred years ago.”
He huffed and shoved out his chest. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Fuck them, and fuck you.” Then he glared at me. “Now that I think about it, you were the one who created all this…this…fucking misery I’ve had to live through. I should end you before you cause us more heartache and kill off more of us.”
Thankfully, he didn’t make a move to follow through on his threat, but my heart still pounded and I had a hard time breathing. Could he use his powers on me since he was only a character I created? He seemed real enough sitting beside me, but he was still a fictional being.
Surely I was safe.
Bastian laughed. “You might want to rethink that one, little-miss-almighty-author.”
Shit. He’d obviously listened to my thoughts.
I was screwed.
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