Free Gifts of the Blood by Vicki Keire Page A

to pick the ones I thought he might actually answer in the short time it took to walk two stores over to The Whitfield Coffee Shop. There was nothing. My questions were all too huge and crazy for the sidewalk in front of work. “I brought your jacket,” I finally said, after several false starts. “It’s cold. You should wear your jacket.”
    He laughed. “I’m warm enough.” We had stopped walking again. People moved around us like currents of water flowing around boulders. I dimly registered that we stood in the front window of my job. Rows of tea lights stood sentinel along the windowsill, waiting for me to come in and light them. Ethan’s leather jacket hung from my shoulders, warm and scented like soft cotton sheets pulled straight from the dryer. Impossible, I wanted to protest. Leather didn’t smell like warm cotton. I felt firm warm fingers forcing my chin up, level with his.
    “Your eyes are more silver than gray,” he said solemnly, like he was imparting important information. “Did you know?”
    “I know what color my eyes are,” I told him, although no one had ever called them silver before. I wanted to break eye contact. I wondered how many of my co-workers were watching, and how badly they were going to tease me for this.
    “The jacket is yours,” he said, his fingers sliding under my chin to cup the side of my jaw. “I meant what I said, about protection. Please wear it.”
    “You said you thought I was in danger.” The words came out in a hoarse whisper. I leaned into him as I spoke, so closely I could feel the thickly knit cabled texture of his sweater through my thermal long-sleeved shirt. A few more inches, and our faces would touch. “Is that why you’re here? Is my brother in danger, too?”
    Both of his hands cradled my face in a grip at once both so fierce and careful his entire body vibrated from the force of it. My injured arm dangled uselessly; the other again held my extra sweater and apron. Once again, I hadn’t seen him move. Once again, his eyes promised a gathering storm, lightening flickering in their depths, tightly leashed. “I hope to keep you both from harm, Caspia Chastain. As much as I am able.” He released me abruptly, and I staggered back, almost hitting the glass. His hand on the small of my back steadied me.
    “Oh. Wow. Ok, then.” I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. It wouldn’t do to walk into work hyperventilating at the start of my shift.
    “You will manage? With your injury?” he asked, his voice gone cold and formal. I looked up to see he had moved several feet back on the sidewalk. The sudden distance twisted something inside me.
    “I always manage,” I said with as much dignity as I could gather. Behind the glass, Mr. Markov stared, sightless and moody, at his eternal game of chess. Nicolas put out new dessert trays while sneaking covert glances my way. His twin sister Amelie had no such pretenses. She just outright stared at Ethan and I, a neatly folded towel in one hand as she leaned against the counter. “Look, thanks for the walk and the jacket and all. Don’t worry about me. I only live two stores away. I’ll be fine,” I said tiredly. I was supposed to close and take the deposit to the bank tonight, but there was no way I was telling him that. I could look after myself just fine. I’d been doing it for years now.
    Ethan looked far from pleased. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pocket and kicked at the sidewalk. “I do not doubt your competence. Nevertheless, I will be here to escort you to the bank, should you wish for company.” I felt my jaw drop. How did he know...? I hastily snapped it shut again as he continued. “Should you not wish for company, I understand. I will stay several feet behind you. Either way, if you have questions, I will do my best to answer them.” He glared at a staring Amelie, who paled and began frantically wiping the counter. “After work.”
    “After work,” I agreed, slipping into the warm,