We lie in bed on fresh sheets after our shower, Micah tucked against my side. His eyes are closed and I think he’s fallen asleep, but after a few minutes, he presses a kiss to my chest and scoots upright.

“Wanna sleep first or have that talk?” he asks, running his fingers through my chest hair.

“Let’s talk, if you want,“ I say softly. A tension grows in my stomach, but the feeling of his skin against mine helps center me.

“I can go first,” he offers, and I give a small nod to encourage him. “I think you already know I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. I started going to blood lounges for sex when I turned twenty-one.” He entwines our fingers, running his thumb back and forth along my palm. “So I was pretty surprised by how different it was to be around you than any of the other vampires I’d met. You seemed interested in me as a person, not just a sexual partner. And I liked that a lot more than I expected. I didn’t want random sex anymore; I wanted to get close to you, and if that led to sex, that was just a bonus. A really, really nice bonus,” he adds with a grin.

“Now that we have had sex, does that change how you feel?” I ask carefully. He gives me a look, one that rekindles the heat inside me.

“It just makes me want you more.” His hand trails up and down my chest, down to my stomach, sending pleasant tingles down my spine. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship before. I fully admit I’m inexperienced. But I want to try it with you. I think we have something worthwhile here.”

“I feel the same,” I admit, the words slipping past my lips without hesitation. “But before you make up your mind, I need to be honest with you about the parts of my past I haven’t told you about.”

“Will it help if I hold you while you tell me?” Micah asks. I nod, and he scoots closer, wrapping his arms around me. “Focus on me. I’m not here to judge you, I’m just here to listen and support you, okay?”

“Thank you,” I say, adjusting my position in his arms till I’m comfortable. The words don’t come at first, but he squeezes me tighter, and something inside me unlocks. “I killed someone. Many someones, I guess, but you know about the humans. I killed a vampire. My lover.”

He holds me tighter, and I breathe in his scent, trying to fortify myself.

“His name was Alistair. He was my sire, the one who turned me. Our affair was passionate and, eventually, volatile. It started off romantic. He promised a better life for me if I became one of the undead, away from the struggle and dreariness of peasantry. I believed him.

“At first, life with him was better than I could have ever hoped for. We moved to America. He bought me nice clothes and fine leather boots. He taught me how men make love to each other. On occasion he was moody, but I figured he had good reasons for it. He introduced me to vampire society, where I was fawned upon. I suppose they liked my looks. And I think that made him jealous, the attention I received. His moods grew worse. Violent. Cruel.” My breath catches as the memories claw at my mind.

“You’re safe,” Micah says against my skin. “Take your time.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, fighting to center myself, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest against mine as he breathes. “After several years of this, I’d had enough, and I tried to run away. I caught a coach out of town in the early hours of the morning, but Alistair tracked me down. He killed the driver and the other passengers, took me home, and…” My brain stutters and stops. In, out, go Micah’s breaths. I count his inhales for a few moments. “The specifics aren’t important. He hurt me very badly. I became despondent, stopped drinking blood. I was wasting away. Several weeks later, I attempted another escape and was again caught. So I began strategizing.

“I learned, when I joined vampire society, that there were taboos that kept vampires in check. And first among them was the killing of other vampires. Disputes were meant to be resolved by the lord of that realm. Someone like Vasilia,” I clarified. He nodded, eyes watching me intently, a deeply sad look on his face. “But by that point, I was a prisoner in his house. I had no way of contacting the lord, or anyone else.”

“You must have been so lonely,” Micah whispers.

“I was,” I agree. “I had gone through all my options, and I concluded that my only way out was to kill Alistair. I hid a cleaver from the kitchen under my pillow and hacked off his head while he slept. He fought back, of course, but I was desperate and didn’t stop till the job was done. At which point the servants heard the struggle and sent for the lord of the realm. I was imprisoned. Flogged. Denied blood. Kept in captivity for five years before Vasilia rescued me.”

“Oh, Julian.” His lips brush against my shoulder.

“Vasilia’s rule has been more… compassionate than their predecessor. When they took power, they publicly pardoned me. But after five years of gossip, my reputation was ruined. Other vampires, especially the older ones, weren’t so eager to have me back in their ranks. I didn’t have friends, but at least I had freedom. And that’s how it’s been for a very long time.”

It isn’t until Micah sweeps his thumb across my cheek that I realize I’m crying.

“You,” he says, lips brushing my forehead, “are so incredibly strong. I hope you know that. Thank you for sharing your story with me.”

“I don’t often feel strong,” I admit, running my hands through his hair as he lays himself against my chest.

“That’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you.”

*

When I wake up the next day, Micah is already in the kitchen cooking something that smells heavily spiced. Grocery bags sit on the counter, his human sleep schedule clearly different than mine.

“Hey beautiful,” I say, trying the nickname out for size. He turns to me, beaming.

“Morning. Or should I say, afternoon?” He’s wearing an apron that I don’t think is mine, with no shirt underneath it.

Not taking the bait, I cross to him, placing my hands on his hip and kissing his neck. Seeing him in my kitchen, so domestic, awakens something in my chest—something that wants more than I ever thought possible.

“I need to make a call,” I tell him, and he smiles at me as I walk into the living room and pull out my phone.

The painting clutter has mostly been alleviated by the gallery show, thankfully, and the space feels homelike in a way I’m not used to. I can hear Micah cooking in the other room and want more than anything to join him, but there’s something I need to do first.

“Hi Julian,” Tom says over the phone after a few rings. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry about that.” I had neglected to tell Tom that I had another blood source, and it’d been several weeks at this point. 

“All good. You hungry?”

“About that,” I say, unexpected nerves fluttering in my stomach. “I’ve actually met someone.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and then he laughs, a hearty sound.

“Damn, really? I thought you weren’t like that.” I want to be offended by his words, but he’s not wrong. I wasn’t like that for a very long time.

“Yeah, everyone’s surprised. Me most of all.”

“Well, good for you, man. I guess you won’t need my services anymore. Too bad. You’re a good fuck.”

“Thanks?” I say, the words coming out as a question. “But yeah. I’m grateful that our arrangement lasted for so long.”

“Well, if you know any other hot vamps looking for some bear ass, send them my way.”

“Will do. Thanks, Tom.” We say our goodbyes and hang up, the smell of sizzling spices and the memory of Micah in the apron drawing me back to the kitchen.

Micah is flipping what looks like strips of eggplant in a cast-iron pan that is definitely not mine. He smiles at me as I sit down on a stool across from him.

 “So you’ve met someone, I hear,” he says innocently, and I snort a laugh. “Who’s Tom? Your former blood boy?”

“Is that what other vampires call it?” I ask with a grimace. “Never mind, I don’t want to know what those fuckers do.”

“‘Those fuckers’?” 

“Some of the guys you were hanging with before we got together were real sleaze bags. Vasilia had to reprimand one, and don’t ask me what that entails, because I have no idea.”

“Oh shit,” Micah says, freezing mid-flip. “Was it about me? Did I get someone killed?”

“Absolutely not,” I stress, and when he looks uncertain still, I get up and walk around the island to wrap my arms around his waist. “I genuinely don’t know what Vasilia did to him, if anything. But whatever happened, it’s not because of you. It’s because he’s an asshole and disrespected Vasilia’s rules. Not your fault, okay?”

“Which vampire was it?” Micah leans back into my embrace and resumes flipping the eggplant, but he still sounds unsure.

“Donovan.”

“Oh never mind, fuck that guy.” The response startles a laugh out of me.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” I lean closer into him, inhaling his scent. I enjoy the smell of his skin, but I can also pick up the hint of my laundry detergent from him sleeping on my sheets. My vampire instincts love it, that he’s carrying something of me around with him.

“Hey, Micah?”

“Yeah, babe?” The pet name sparks something inside of me, something fighting to surface, something like hope.

“Does that need constant attention or can I kiss you?”

Without missing a beat, Micah puts down the spatula and spins around to meet me in a deep kiss. I feel his heart racing as our bodies press together, and the lonely part of me, the broken part of me, gets quieter as I lose myself in him.

When we part, his breath still warming my skin, I run my fingers along his lower back and then let him get back to the eggplant. I sit down on a stool at the kitchen counter, resting my feet on the footrest.

“You said your grandmother taught you to cook?”

“That’s right,” he confirms as he plates up the dish he created. “Moroccan Jewish cuisine is the best in the world. Tell me what you think.”

“Your family’s from Morocco?” I ask as I take a plate from him, and he sits down next to me. “Are there a lot of Jewish people in Morocco?”

“Now? Basically none. But for hundreds of years, my ancestors lived there after fleeing Spain. So the food’s a mix of traditional Sephardic recipes and North African flavors. Come on, tell me you like it.” He points his fork at me.

I take a bite. The flavors are unfamiliar, but the eggplant is tender and the spices are smooth, blending together into something savory and warming. 

“It’s wonderful,” I tell him honestly, which puts a huge smile on his face. 

“Now try it with the yogurt sauce.” He dollops a scoop of the herbed yogurt onto my plate, and I dip a bite of eggplant into it and bring it to my mouth.

“Wow,” I say after a bite, the freshness lingering on my palate. “You know, you’re teaching me to be a bit of a foodie for a guy who can’t taste much at all.”

“But I can tell from your face when you like something,” Micah says, a little smug. “I’m going to spoil you with good Jewish food.”

“Thank you.” The words come out a bit choked, emotion boiling up inside me.

“What is it?” he asks right away, looking at me with concern as I try not to cry over the food he made us.

I reach for his hand, and he squeezes hard when I find it. Taking a moment, I think about the feel of his skin, lightly callused, warm to the touch. A tear tracks down my face. 

“No one’s taken care of me for a very long time,” I say with a voice that comes out steadier than I feel. “I don’t mean to be dramatic. It’s just a bit unfamiliar. In a good way.”

“Hey.” He grabs my other hand as well, holding both in his lap. “You aren’t being dramatic, and you don’t need to feel self-conscious. Sometimes your emotions catch up with you? Me too, Julian. I cry too. You’ve seen me do it. I’ll probably be a crier forever, and maybe you will be, too. The only difference is now we have each other to cry on, okay? You can always cry on me.”

He squeezes my hands again, and I let him hold me like that for a few moments before nodding. We eat together for a bit, enjoying the food and the closeness.

“You know, Tom calls me emotionally unavailable,” I say as we’re cleaning up. I’m scrubbing, and Micah is drying.

“That’s rude,” Micah says as he puts the cast-iron pan away in a cabinet I never noticed I had.

“He was right, though. I’ve been closed off for so long, I wasn’t interested in letting people in. But you kind of bulldozed right through the barriers I put up.”

“That does sound like me,” Micah agrees. “Should I apologize?”

“Absolutely not,” I assure him firmly. “I just… I wanted to say I’m glad you did. That’s all.”

“How am I supposed to resist that earnest look on your face?” He puts down the dish towel and comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Is it bad that when you get vulnerable, I just want to kiss you more?”

“My hands are all soapy,” I complain, but he spins me around anyway and grabs onto my hips.

“Don’t care,” he whispers as he stands on his toes to close in for a kiss. As our lips meet, I run my soapy hands up his bare sides, reaching back to untie his apron. I pull the loop over his head and let the apron fall to the ground between us, forgotten immediately as I trace my fingers across his chest and down to his pierced bellybutton.

“I fucking love this piercing,” I confess between kisses. “So hot.”

“I knew the right guy would appreciate it.” He looks pleased, toying with the hem of my shirt. “‘That fucker’ Donovan called it faggy. I thought I was gonna kill him.”

“Why don’t we go make some memories around it that have nothing to do with vampiric scumbags?” I trace my pointer finger up his treasure trail promisingly. 

“Yes please.” Micah is already dragging me into the bedroom, and I stumble along behind him, ready to show him exactly how I feel.

–

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