Which means they all look at me.
So I fake a cough. “Sorry. Something in my throat.”
Sam sighs, and Gideon raises an eyebrow. I don’t think any of them believe me.
“That could work,” Andrew says. “Especially if we shove the table over a bit. Come on, Noah.” He turns and walks out, and my jaw drops. Does he just expect me to follow him like a puppy?
Since he’s well and truly gone, I guess so.
“Noah?” Sam puts a hand on my arm, and I look down at him. I’m not super tall, but he’s short. “Try to be patient. I know Andrew can be… exhausting sometimes, but he’s trying to help you.”
Guilt stabs me in the chest. “Yeah, sorry, I know. It’s just…” That he’s a giant douche monkey? He is actually going out of his way to help me. “I’ll try harder.”
Sam smiles—
“Come on, puny human! You don’t have that many years left in your life that you can waste them like this!” The shout echoes down the hallway and into the room, and I’m pretty sure everyone on the floor—or at least in the immediate area—heard it.
Sam closes his eyes.
I don’t think I have enough fucks left to waste on that guy.
Chapter Two
Andrew
I lean against the wall in the hallway and smile at the sorcerer passing by. I’m pretty sure he works in HR and is about to race back to his office to file a complaint about me. Something about noise, maybe, or that it’s inappropriate to point out to human colleagues how short their lifespans are.
Not that we have many human colleagues. Noah’s it, in fact. We used to have Sam, but then his shifter blood bred true. It’s a long story. Anyway, Noah’s the only human at CSG.
And he’s so fun to tease.
Yeah, I know I piss him off, and yes, most of the time I do it deliberately. Do I feel bad about that? Not really. Noah’s not the shy, retiring type. At first I was worried that he’d never retaliate in case it affected his status with us. Then I saw him in action, and that worry disappeared. Man, Noah can be an ass.
It’s adorable.
I might actually tell him that. It’s guaranteed to get his hackles up.
Anyway, the point is, Noah has no qualms about dishing it back. The only time he really restrains himself is around Percy—and he seems wary around Gideon, which is weird, because Sam dotes on Noah, and Gideon’s main purpose in life now is to make Sam happy. In fact, if you look up “sickening” in the dictionary, you’ll see that it’s defined as “Gideon and Sam’s relationship.”
I’m starting to lose patience and just on the verge of shouting again when Noah comes out of the meeting room and glares at me. He stalks down the hall toward me, and if looks could kill—or if he had a weapon in his hand—I’d actually be concerned. Instead, I straighten and give him my biggest, most infuriating grin.
“There you are! I was starting to wonder if you’d succumbed to your lifespan earlier than we expected.” Sure, it’s dumb, but I’ve noticed that humans have a preoccupation with aging.
He keeps going, right past me, muttering to himself about geriatric fucking vampires who don’t have the grace to stay dead. That throws me for a second until I remember the human myth about vampires being undead.
What does that mean, anyway? Undead. Dead is dead. And if you come back to life after death… you’re alive. Right?
Humans are weird. They make up this whole ridiculous culture to help them ignore the reality of our existence, and then don’t believe that either.
I catch up to him at the elevator and clear my throat.
“It’s cool for you to call me undead,” I say softly, staring straight ahead, “because I don’t give a shit and I deliberately insult you. But make sure nobody else ever hears it. Most vampires don’t like it.”
For a second, I think he’s going to ignore me, but then his head jerks in a nod. “Sorry.” He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, so he doesn’t see my grin come back.
“That’s okay,” I tell him magnanimously. “I understand that the human brain doesn’t have as long to develop as everyone else’s.”
He slams his fist against the elevator call button.
Score for me.
We ride the elevator in silence, and he doesn’t say a word until we get to the conference room. Seriously, not a single word, not even when people say hello in the hallway. He does nod at them, but still. Would it kill him to say hi? No wonder people think he’s an ass.
Not that we don’t have a large percentage of assholes here at CSG—Gideon is their king—but the difference between Noah and the rest of them is that they’re not baby humans. Nobody would ever consider taking Gideon to task for being rude. They’d be too busy apologizing for existing and trying to get out of his way. But Noah is vulnerable, and if he pisses off the wrong person, his spitting kitten act is not going to protect him.
Hence the reason I suggested this training to Percy.
We’ve been concerned for a while about the way the magic clings to Noah. Existential magic just doesn’t do that. The only person it seems to “spend time with” is Percy, and that’s because he’s the lucifer, the leader of our community here on the physical plane. The magic chose him for the job, and it will support him in it for as long as it chooses.
But everyone else… we’re all just random beings to the magic. So the fact that it hovers around Noah to the point that he can actually feel it is a little disturbing. Hopefully it’s just trying to get our attention and show us something Noah needs from us—hence the plan to work with him and see if he has any abilities from his forebears.
In the conference room, I look around, judging the best way to move the furniture to give us some space. We shouldn’t really need too much, but if Noah does have some vampire senses and they kick in, I don’t want him feeling confined. That would just cause panic.
“Okay, let me just shove the table over, and we can get started.” I go to the middle of the table and brace my hands against it.
“Wait, that’s not going to work.” Noah sounds exasperated. “Go to the other end. I’ve got this end.”
Oh, puny human.
Shooting him a mocking grin over my shoulder, I give the table—a fifteen-foot oak monstrosity—a light shove, and it slides across the carpet and comes to rest against the wall. “Vampire strength,” I explain, though I can see from his chagrined expression that he knows. “And look, it took all the chairs on that side with it! We only have to move a few.” More like seven, but there’s an easy way around that.
I plant myself in one of the chairs and shove off. It’s on castors, so I roll across the room, shouting “Wheeeeeee,” and grab two more chairs as I pass them. By the time I reach the corner I was aiming for, the job is nearly half done—actually, it’s more than half done, since we’ll need two of the chairs to sit on.
Fuck, I’m good.
Noah is back to glaring at me, though, so clearly he doesn’t agree. I’m not sure what his problem is this time. Sighing, I get up and grab two more of the chairs, slinging them toward the corner and ignoring the noise as they crash into their friends. Then I sit in one of the remaining ones and gesture to the other.