Chapter Twelve | Scent of Sunlight

To co-exist in such close proximity while maintaining such formal distance was a challenging concept to most, but yet again, Warren seemed to be coping perfectly well. It hadn't occurred to him that the other party involved might not be, and so for the fourth day in a row, he woke up early, showered, dressed, took breakfast, and disappeared into his office, all without saying a single word to the person with whom he shared his home.

Work had been hectic lately, and he'd surrendered himself to the long hours without realising that there had to be some fallout. Everything came second to securing the objective of his new venture, including feeding himself. He would undoubtedly pay for the self-neglect in the next few days. Since the air in the unit had grown sweeter due to its new inhabitant, he'd been unable to go more than two days without his thirst plaguing him. Karou's natural aroma was certainly delicious; it tempted him relentlessly, and in his moments of weakness, he caught himself staring at her neck when she wasn't paying attention. Although biting her had crossed his mind, he had no intention of following through with it—he'd made an unspoken promise to himself—he'd taken her in to protect her, not hurt her. Little did he know that she was growing as curious about the act as he was.

Inky black wells had taken the place of his blue eyes and swallowed all the light that poured from his laptop. In the corner of the screen, the pixelated digits showed the time was nearly half-past three in the morning. That's enough for today, he concluded. Deviating from his usual routine meant he'd long missed his regular appointment with his liquor decanter, so Warren skipped his evening scotch and headed straight for his bed.

Karou never closed her bedroom door completely; she always left it open just a crack. Warren didn't know why, and he never questioned it. That night, he noticed her lamp was still on when he passed by her door. Peering in, he saw a book splayed open over her chest; she'd fallen asleep reading. Without hesitation, he took the book out of her hands and set it on the nightstand, making sure to bookmark her page. He flicked off the lamp before turning to leave. He had fully intended on leaving when he paused; a moment of indecision overcame him. The scent gathered in her small room was potent, and in his current state of thirst, it was almost painful to linger, but he took some time to consider her sleeping face. It was almost a week since the evening they'd had that strange conversation. Even though he'd revealed that he was a Vampire and even detailed how he'd become such a creature, the intimacy of that topic paled in comparison to how he'd admitted he found her attractive. There had only been fleeting moments when he stopped looking at her like a child, but worryingly, their frequency was increasing. Little did he know that he wasn't the only one with wandering eyes.

When Warren's work alarm would echo through the wall that separated their bedrooms, it was so efficient that it woke Karou, too. Shortly after, Warren would wander from his room into the bathroom to shower before getting dressed for work. Through the gap in her door, Karou would feast her eyes on him. God forbid anyone ever found out, but her favourite part was watching him exit.

It had mortified her that one morning, after Ellis had spent the night, when she'd bumped into him, but since that day, she'd become somewhat of a peeping Tom. Her opportunity had arisen because Warren never took a change of clothes into the bathroom—he'd come out through the steam, clothed only in a towel once his ablutions concluded.

Since their first meeting, Karou had thought Warren was handsome, but it had been a harmless observation at first. She'd never taken any interest in men in her old life, but now she'd been kidnapped into this new world she was becoming a different person, and with change came a myriad of new experiences and emotions. Living in the unit with him meant Karou couldn't escape noticing him. Since he now had an inkling that she found him physically appealing, she'd have to hide her voyeurism carefully. Splayed out on her stomach with her pillow clutched to her chest, Karou waited, staring at the bathroom door, and wondered, is this what coming of age feels like? No matter how belated, Karou's season of desire was upon her. It made the skin around her neck and chest feel hot.

The alarm had gone off around a half-hour ago, but Karou still hadn't heard Warren leave his bedroom, which was unusual. Warren never gave himself a day off unless he expected Magnus and Ellis. When another half-hour passed, Karou sat up in her bed, debating whether to check on him, but that would mean giving away that she knew his morning routine; a tough decision lay afoot.

A scene of a different kind of indecision and anguish was playing out in the other bedroom. Warren had woken up in pain. The aftermath from his unusual siring meant that the location on this thigh that had once been a wound sight would regress in times of "starvation". The result was the deterioration of his left thigh muscle, which left him in agony and barely able to walk. Laid prostrate in his bed, Warren fought against the urge to admit defeat—it felt like a gaping hole beneath his skin, where soon the skin would mangle and possibly open up. With a forearm draped over his closed eyes, he sweated into his bedsheets, shivering in pain and panting to stop himself from crying. Self-preservation and pride wouldn't allow him to give up, though, and after some psyching up, he managed to scramble out of bed. Now, all he had to do was make it across the unit and into his office, where he kept his private supply of "nourishment". He cursed himself for not having it closer at hand.

In the end, Warren managed to leave his bedroom before Karou plucked up the courage to check on him. When she heard his bedroom door creak open, she crept out of bed to peep through the gap in her door and saw Warren hobbling down the hall and into the lounge. Her brows furrowed, confused as to why he was limping.

It was a tiring task, walking all that way in his condition, so when his office door was only a few feet away, Warren used the side table that ran the back of the couch as a crutch to lean against. Once rested, his first mistake was putting his weight onto his left leg on his first step; the next was where he placed his hand to steady himself when he inevitably stumbled. The tray of rock glasses and crystal scotch decanter went crashing to the ground. Cursing under his breath, Warren glared at the broken fragments at his feet but knew before he could attempt any damage control, he had to get to his office. Reaching towards the office door, he tried forcing it open, but the gust of air he commanded was useless; the handle had latched into the jamb too well. Defeated, he snarled.

Stirred from her peeping spot by the sound of the shattering glass, Karou loitered in the hall and tentatively watched Warren from across the room. Watching him reach for a door, though it was still some feet away, was as odd as his limp. "Is… Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Go back to bed." Warren spat unconvincingly. The way his hand lingered over his thigh as he leaned a hip onto the side table, combined with his tone, read that he was in pain. 

Having given the order without looking her way, he didn't see how she instantly defied him and inched nearer. Warren was still gathering himself to take another step around the shards of glass when Karou appeared at his side, staring up at him with her kind blue eyes, freckled cheeks still flushed from sleep and a sweet closed-lip smile. Too winsome to be threatening, and her brows contorted in such a way to show that she was concerned, she offered, "I'm awake now. Do you need me to clean up the broken glass?"

"No! Don't—" Warren commanded hurriedly. "Don't touch the glass. You might cut yourself." He added his reason with a gentler tone. Split blood tempted disaster. Nevertheless, his nerves were too fraught to argue with her about going back to bed, and since she was right there and looking at him expectantly, why not 'use' her? "But seeing as you're awake, could you open the door for me?"

"Yeah, sure." Dodging the shards of broken glass, she held the door open. "You're not going to work, are you?" If he'd been on form, he might've replied sarcastically; instead, he merely scoffed. Yet despite his foul mood, Karou pushed on, "Warren, what's wrong?" 

"I'm thirsty. My leg hurts. And I've had that decanter for over forty years. So I'm a little pissed, and no, I'm not going to work." Given his predicament, his answer was terse but perhaps justified. She could tell he was thirsty by his eyes alone, and though she thought there was something enchanting about their depth, she didn't stare too long. Instead, she was distracted by something else, and it caused a flush of colour to rise to her cheeks—he was wearing pyjama pants but nothing else.

"Inside, there's a safe in the corner by the standing lamp; I need you to open it." Warren urged Karou onward and back to the task at hand.

"You want me to go into your office?"

"Yes, Karou," His eyes almost rolled; it was a simple enough request. "If you want to be helpful, then help." Between the panting, groans, and grumbles of pain, Warren managed to stagger to his desk, where he perched himself on its ledge. Taking the weight off of his leg seemed to improve his mood instantly. "See the safe? I need you to bring me what's inside it, please."

The safe's appearance was entirely ordinary: a large metal box with a handle and combination dial. In the spirit of being helpful, Karou knelt and tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. Given his mood, she didn't want to state the obvious, but it was locked. 

Meanwhile, across the room, Warren's predatory gaze bore into her neck, into the exact spot that looked especially biteable, but when her piercing blue eyes looked up at him from over her shoulder, he snapped out of his thirsty daze. 

"1-9-3-2" A year—the combination.

Karou twisted the dial until the door released. With a slight tug on the handle, it gasped open, and a plume of cool air swept past her cheeks which startled her eyes to blink rapidly. Once her eyes adjusted, she peered inside—it wasn't a money safe. 

Foolish, perhaps, to have been bewildered, but she couldn't hide how her eyes widened, and her brows shot upward at the notion that a Vampire had a cold storage safe full of blood. The two shelves were dominated by packages of medical-grade blood bags.  "D–d'you want all of it?" She asked, attempting to appear cavalier. 

"No, two should be fine. Actually, make it three." Warren stated, genuinely nonchalant and fighting back a smirk, he enjoyed her reaction, but what he enjoyed most was how her heart rate had accelerated at her revelation.

With his meal gathered into her hands, Karou examined the blood bags' appearance and the way the cold, thick liquid felt in her hands through the thin plastic package. There was something strange about cold blood, her recollections of the substance had always been warm and sticky feeling, but everything about what she held now was so sterile and far removed from the people it had come from.

Closing the safe door with her hip, she wandered over to Warren and presented him with his meal. Warren went about the mundane ritual of feeding himself while being very aware of Karou's gaze. She loitered and watched his every move with morbid fascination. Warren opened and put one of the tubes that stuck out what Karou presumed was the bottom between his lips and drank the contents as if it were a juice pouch. Curiously, her head tipped to her left, while she wondered, what does it taste like? Metallic, I'd bet. Must be gross 'cause it's cold. Thick, maybe?

Seeing that Karou's eyes fixated elsewhere, namely on his mouth and the level of blood disappearing from the bag as he fed, he had the chance to take in her face, especially her eyes. When the second bag was empty, Warren sucked the blood from his teeth and with lips subtly stained crimson, he broke their silence when he said, "Your eyes are practically swirling with questions you want to ask." 

"My eyes?" They looked up to his own, and their focus and intensity didn't waver. "Yours are blue again." She whispered as if she were speaking to herself.

"Naturally," Warren said, withdrawing the third and final blood bag from his mouth and set it aside on his desk along with the other empties. That was when Karou noticed what hung down into the hollow of his mouth as he spoke. Her brows suddenly rose, and the eyes he was staring at widened. "Something wrong?"

"N-no, it's just your… your, uh... Teeth." Karou felt a little embarrassed even to have noticed them, but it was the first time she'd seen fangs on a person.

"Hmm, yes. Sorry if they're off-putting." Warren opened his mouth like he was about to yawn, and just like that, their length retracted into his gums—they looked like normal canines. The clicking noise their retraction made piqued Karou's curiosity, and her hand involuntarily flinched as if she were about to reach up to his face.

"They're not." She gulped despite being bold in her statement. Thinking about their sharp points made her touch her neck, which Warren recognised as a protective instinct but Karou was actually pinching her skin slightly and wondering how tender her flesh was, gauging how much Warren's potential bite might hurt.

"They should be. They should make you want to stay away from me." He warned.

"They don't." She admitted easily. If she hadn't already been close, she might've stepped closer to prove her point, but that would've put them chest to chest. Without an ounce of judgment but with open-minded inquisitiveness, Karou asked, "Do you always feed yourself like this?"

"What, with my mouth?" Warren grinned wryly.

"No, I mean—" Karou frowned, but then it dawned on her; he was trying to be funny, and she smirked, too.

"I know what you meant." He chuckled, "Yes, I always drink blood like this." He continued, joking aside.

"So, you don't bite people?"

"Not very often, no," Then, out of the blue and with an equally open mind, he asked, "Why do you smell like you do?"

The question was as disarming as his gaze, Karou's head jerked, taken aback. "D-Do I smell weird to you? I mean, it could be just something else wrong—"

"Like sunlight." 

"—with me..." The impact of what he'd said was powerful; it caught her breath, put colour in her cheeks. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Her mind went reeling. Sunshine doesn't even have a smell… But, that's kinda a sweet thing to say. Unlike him. 

They were only a foot from each other, and just as she'd admitted, she didn't feel inclined to distance herself from him; he didn't want her to either. Now that he wasn't thirsty, his fullness allowed him to enjoy her otherwise hindering scent. It was heavenly. As full as he was, he was sure he could still manage a mouthful of her if she offered. What her blushing did to her skin was rather pretty, and warmed her scent from her skin to diffuse into the air around them and waft straight up his nose. "It makes my throat dry and my mouth water all at the same time... It's not a scent or sensation I've come across before meeting you back in August, and I've drunk both psionic and fae blood before..."

Karou didn't fully understand what he meant about psionic and fae blood but correctly presumed they had unique flavours or qualities sought after by Vampires. Still, all she could focus on was Warren's candid aura. His being so intrigued by something as personal and innate as her scent, to begin with, made Karou's neck and chest feel warm again. Why can't I look away from his eyes? Maybe this is the vampiric allure they talk about. "Is how I smell a bad thing?" 

"It could be bad for you. What if, in a moment of weakness, I bit you?" Warren's eyes flickered over her neck and exposed collarbones. 

"I've wondered about that," Karou whispered.

The way his pupils dilated in reaction to her caused her toes to curl against the hardwood floor while her fingers toyed with the drawstrings of her pyjama shorts. It was a nervous habit, and Karou was clearly anxious, but she wasn't wishing her feet would come unstuck from the floor and carry her away from him. No, strangely, she itched to step closer. And in that claustrophobic room, the pull between them was getting harder for Warren to ignore too. Lifting his rear from his desk, he shifted his weight onto his feet like he was about to close the gap between them completely. Although his leg had healed beneath his pyjamas, he stumbled when the newly re-grown muscle flexed. Nevertheless, the gap was closed, even if not how he'd intended. Karou had stepped forward to steady him on his feet and grabbed hold of his forearms. The moment he felt her warm hands grasp onto him, he flinched as if he'd been stung. What had motivated their movements was instinctual on both their parts, but what pained Warren was that he was predatory, whereas Karou was compassionate. You monster! A voice in his head barked, chastising his inner predator. He sought her eyes for the forgiveness he craved for thinking such wicked thoughts. It was such a pitiful thing for him to desire her so badly yet not want to harm her in any way. "You shouldn't wonder about that; it's a death wish," Warren warned.

Finally, Karou's blue eyes separated from his, and she looked down at their feet as she pitifully admitted, "Maybe I don't want to live anymore,"

"Are you so unhappy here that you'd rather die?" Warren asked, lowering his voice with a tone that Karou recognised as concern.

"I just mean that my life has always been kinda crappy one way or another. Living here has been so much better than living with my mom, but I still don't belong. Maybe being like you would make it easier. It wouldn't be so bad, right?" Karou mused, her eyes slowly finding his once more. Gazing at him from under her lashes, she forced a weak smile. She knew what she was saying was pathetic. They hadn't done much feeling-sharing, but she hoped he wouldn't brush her off. Perhaps foolishly, she hoped that those small acts of kindness could extend for a moment and allow him to listen and maybe comfort her.

"I understand what you're saying, but I don't understand why. Your life being crappy before you got here had nothing to do with your being Mortal, Karou. It had everything to do with the environment and family you found yourself in..."

"But being Mortal here is hard." She defended, with hopeful, perhaps even desperate, eyes.

"Being Mortal here is better than being dead out there. What exactly are you asking me for, Karou?"

"Maybe..." She paused, gathering her nerves, "Maybe you could make me like you?"

"Where on earth did you get an idea like that?" Warren recoiled—tearing his arms from her hands. His expression hardened, like ice, and so stern she feared she'd angered him. 

"People think that's why I live with you. That maybe you're grooming me to become your fledgeling? Or that or your…" Karou didn't know if she dared mention the other rumour. To her mind, that one was the less likely of the two most popular amongst the gossiping community.

"That I'm what?" His tone grew angrier as a knot tightened in his stomach. Warren had a disturbing feeling that he already knew what she was about to say. 

"That you're "having your fun with me"." Karou quoted, but she didn't dare look at him when she said it. "It's even stupider than their first theory, I know..."

"They're both as ridiculous and as unfounded as each other." Warren barked, marched past her towards the door, and bolted into the lounge. "Get those obscene ideas out of your head!"

Karou followed, despite feeling wounded over how he could be so lovely and complimentary in one moment and then so insulting the next that it didn't stand to reason; she still bit back and raised her voice as she stalked Warren down the hall as he charged towards his bedroom.

"If you did it, I could leave here, and you'd never have to see me again. That's a good thing, right?" Karou suggested, attempting to persuade him to think about it; perhaps it would be more appealing from that perspective.

All he did to reply was glare at her from over his shoulder with a deadly sort of disapproval before slamming his bedroom door in her face. His reaction stunned her more than having been shouted at would have; having a door slammed in her face was as symbolically final.