This Time Next Year by Catherine Peace Page B

against the need to drop his fangs, Kiernan opened the door to the cheerful attendant on the other side, a slight girl of maybe twenty who held a bottle of pinot grigio and two wine glasses in her hands.
    “Mr. Shaw, here’s the wine you requested.”
    “Perfect. Thank you.” He took the bottle and examined it, inwardly chuckling at the Castillo logo on the label. Whiskey had been his drink of choice during his human years, so he knew nothing of wine. It would do, he supposed. At least it wasn’t red, the one color he refused to allow in the room. The hotel had gone to great lengths to remove all traces of the color from the suite. They’d never understand his gratitude for their accommodation.
    “The roses should be here any time, sir,” the girl said. “Would you like me to call you when they arrive, or have them sent up?”
    “Sent up, if you please.” He couldn’t wait to see the lavender beauties that would flank each side of the door and hoped his ‘date’ would love them.
    “Certainly, sir. Anything else I can help you with?”
    The girl’s bright smile stirred a different kind of desire—the desire for her blood. The synthetic blood he depended on kept him alive; it didn’t provide him with warmth and color like fresh. His stomach burned with the thought of taking the attendant and getting just a taste, but he hid his urge behind a forced smile. “That will be all. My thanks for your help, miss.”
    “My pleasure.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the elevator.
    Kiernan stared at the wine bottle in his hands, as another round of second thoughts invaded his frazzled mind. Did she even like wine? Did she prefer beer? In the end, little things made or broke an encounter, and he couldn’t afford a mistake. Everything had to be right . Perfect. Nothing short of perfection would help him atone for his numerous sins.
    In the corner, the clock’s monotonous ticking sliced through the otherwise silent room, perking his ears with each second it counted off. Another second he wouldn’t age. Another second where thirst clawed the back of his throat like an angry wolverine.
    She’d be there in two hours, and he still had plenty to do before she arrived.
    Like pray.
     
    ***
     
    Moira stood outside the suite, staring at the cream-colored keycard emblazoned with the Castillo Albany logo in her trembling hand. What am I doing here? The urge to kill Tandy almost forced her back downstairs.
    She’d balked once before getting into the shower. After all the disappointments, all the times she’d woken alone, she feared no one would be able to handle her. She wanted to be as full of life as Tandy, vibrant, a force that drew all the attention in a room. Instead, she cowered in the corners, away from prying eyes that might see her broken and scared. At art shows, she’d stand in the dim light clutching a glass of champagne and watch her best friend work the room. No one noticed her, and she liked that.
    Tonight she’d be alone in a room with someone who’d wanted to meet her. Someone who’d looked at her bio and found her interesting, maybe even alluring. She shook her head. Alluring didn’t describe her. Tandy, yes, Moira, no. But Tee had reassured her, at least twenty times, that Madame Eve screened all the applicants. No psychos, especially of the fanged variety.
    Suppressing a shudder, she slid the keycard in the lock. No turning back now .
    When she opened the door, the sweet fragrance of roses tickled her nose. A bottle of wine rested on the counter, but the room was empty. “Hello? Anybody here?”
    She swallowed and set her purse next to one of the wine glasses, feeling like she’d entered the beginning of a horror movie—the stupid chick opening the wrong damn door and getting eviscerated by the psycho killer.
    Her heart pounded in her ears, and she flushed with warmth, chiding her overactive imagination. She had to trust Madame Eve. No serial killers lurked in the shadows. No crazy