Verchiel (Tales from the Island), Page 2

particularly friendly today.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Oh grow up.” She turned away and then paused again. “I imagine you know where Jorick and his pet are?”

  “On the beach, I think. Micah and Loren are down there, too, and Wolfe and Sadihra snuck off for some private time. I’m afraid I rather ruined it the last time they tried.”

  “You have a way of doing that,” Torina said, and headed towards the beach.

  “So much abuse!” he called after her. “I know you only use the cold words to mask your true feelings!” He could feel it for a moment; a flutter in her mind as she contemplated coming back to tell him off, but then the impulse disappeared and she moved out of range.

  “That was fun, wasn’t it?” he said to no one. The chirping bugs were his only reply, and he dropped his sunglasses down again. “It’s a shame we didn’t go to Hawaii. At least there are hula girls there.”

  He held up his hands and wiggled his wrinkly fingers. That was something that vampirism didn’t cure, though he wasn’t sure why. If he’d had a laptop or his phone handy he’d have looked it up, but it wasn’t worth a lot of effort for a casual curiosity. Besides, he doubted there was much of a cell signal.

  He climbed out and toweled off, then wandered into the house for a snack. A polite Asian lady poured him a glass of blood and bowed a lot. He gave her a good come hither look, which she ignored, and with a shrug he wandered outside to the patio.

  Just as he’d thought, Oren sat in a chair, his nose stuck in a book. Etsuko was behind him, working furiously on her needlework. Verchiel tilted his head this way and that, admiring the subtle pattern.

  “What are you making?”

  Oren looked up sharply, as if he’d been unaware of Verchiel’s presence, but Etsuko calmly replied, “I had thought to make a kimono for Oren-sama, if he does not object.”

  The blonde vampire cleared his throat uncomfortably, and looked quickly back to his book.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Verchiel said. “I bet he’ll look great in it.”

  Etsuko nodded, but Verchiel noticed the blush that stole over her cheeks. The woman had it bad.

  Oren shifted uncomfortably, and though he stared at the pages, Verchiel didn’t think he was reading anymore.

  “You should make him a whole fleet of them,” the redhead suggested with a grin. “He could have one for every day of the week.”

  “Does Verchiel-sama not think that would be excessive?” Etsuko asked with genuine concern, and Verchiel bit back a laugh.

  “He’s only teasing you,” Oren muttered.

  “Oh!” Etsuko blinked uncertainly, then recovered. “I see.”

  “You should relax,” Verchiel told her and dropped into the nearest empty chair. “You and gloomy Gus both.”

  “Excuse me?” Oren snapped.

  “Oh come on! We’re in a tropical paradise and you’re sitting by the house, reading a book, wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt. You even have boots on! Boots! This is the kind of place where you chill and let it all hang out.” He motioned to his own speedo.

  Oren’s voice and expression were cold. “Hardly. You’d do well to wear more. None of us want to look at you without clothes.”

  “I have clothes! I’m wearing just as much as your sister.”

  Oren’s frown deepened. “Yes, I know. As if it would hurt her to wear something.”

  “It’s the beach!” Verchiel reminded him. “Bikinis should be mandatory for all the ladies.” He gave Etsuko a wink that turned her cheeks pinker.

  Oren looked horrified and his eyes skipped away. Verchiel saw the shimmer of a thought in his head; a vision of Etsuko in a tiny red two piece. He snickered to himself. At least Oren wasn’t as dead as he liked to appear.

  “I think everyone could do with more clothing,” Oren snapped. “And I could do with more silence. Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”

  Verchiel kicked back in the chair, hands behind his head, and feigned innocence. “I had thought about checking up on Kately and grumpy boots, but he seemed so hostile the last time I saw him.”

  “Do you blame him?” Oren asked. “He knows what you’re up to.”

  “I’m not up to anything. “ He mimed hurt. “Why do all of you have such a low opinion of me?”

  “Because you give us such cause to.”

  He didn’t bother to ask how, only sighed dramatically. “It’s sad. I try so hard and yet I’m still rejected.”

  “Rejected?” Oren blinked. “What are you blathering about?”

  “I try to be your friend. I try to come and say, ‘hey, how’s it going? Let’s hang out,’ and all I get is told to go away.”

  “Then perhaps you should try to be less annoying?”

  Verchiel threw a hand to his head. “I try. Oh, I try. But it seems no matter what I do, no matter how acquiescing I am, someone is offended. Someone is mad. Someone is impatient.”

  Oren cleared his throat and drew away from the display. “Yes, well, try harder then.”

  “You say to try, but how? How am I to try? How am I to please everyone?”

  Oren choked. “I-I don’t…” A sudden idea seemed to strike him. “You could leave Jorick’s human alone for starters.”

  Verchiel sat up straight, grinning. “You mean Kately? Ah, I wouldn’t want to abandon my buddy, now, would I? Can I help it if Jorick’s over sensitive and thinks I’m trying to steal her away? I mean I could, if I wanted to. Who could resist this?” He motioned to his lithe, toned physique.

  “I imagine any number of women could,” Oren said dryly. “And perhaps Jorick wouldn’t be oversensitive if you weren’t always trying to get her alone.”

  “Is that what it looks like? How interesting.” Verchiel tapped his chin thoughtfully.

  “Of course it does. Are you completely stupid? On top of that you drank from her.”

  “I was starving,” Verchiel interjected.

  “Of course you were. And you had no control.” Oren’s tone was sarcasm. “We’ve all been starving before.”

  “Then you should be sympathetic.”

  “That wasn’t my point.” Oren’s eyes flashed and he met Verchiel’s gaze and held it. “Vampires caught in a bloodlust may feed on anything they can get their hands on, but that doesn’t mean that they enjoy it as much as you did.”

  “I have no idea what you’re implying.” He smiled sweetly. “Perhaps you could elaborate?”

  Oren growled. “We both know you-” he broke off, as if he just remembered Etsuko was there. “You know,” he finished stiffly. “Enough. I have better things to do.” He made a point of turning his angry attention to his book.

  “Is the story really that interesting?” Oren didn’t answer and Verchiel sighed. “I think it’s lovely that you defend Jorick and Kately. It shows real loyalty, especially since you hate her so.”

  “I never said I hated her,” Oren snapped. “I’m starting to feel that way about you, though.”

  Verchiel ignored the slight. “Really? She thinks you hate her, and given the way you’re always talking down to her, or complaining about ‘the human’ being in the way, I don’t blame her. I’d start to think that too.”

  “I don’t complain about her being in the way! Except when she is. Which happens quite frequently.” He broke off, frustrated. “Jorick would be easier to handle if she wasn’t in the middle of things.”

  “You mean easier to talk into things, like joining wars?” Verchiel suggested. “You’re done with those now, though.”

  “Whether I am or not has nothing to do with this conversation!” He growled and then looked back to the book. “Never mind. I’m finished speaking to you.”

  Verchiel shrugged and stood. “Suit yourself. I’m just saying that you might try being nicer is all.”

  Oren snarled, and Verchiel waved to Etsuko and then wandered down to the beach. He made to put his hands in his pockets, but without pockets the gesture fell to nothing.

  “Maybe he’s righ
t about the clothes. Or else they should just put pockets on these.”

  The second idea was better, and he contemplated how hard it would be to add them. He supposed he’d have to find some spandex – that was what they were made out of, wasn’t it? Though spandex was probably hard to sew, and his skills were basic. Maybe he could get Etsuko to do it for him?

  “Speedos with pockets. We could make a mint.”

  “Who the hell are you talking to?”

  Verchiel looked up to see Micah, a bald vampire with a goatee and lots of tattoos. Near him was Loren, a raven haired teen, clutching a pile of seashells to him with one arm.

  “Well hello there! And what are you two up to.” He nodded to the teen’s treasures. “That’s a lot of shells!”

  “Yeah,” Loren said hesitantly. Enthusiasm slowly crept over his face. “There’s some really good ones in here. I found most of them in the ocean, but a few of them were on the beach. Micah even found a couple.”

  “You managed to get the big lug out of a beach chair?” Verchiel asked.

  Loren laughed. “I know, right?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Micah eyed the redhead. “You tryin’ to start somethin’?”

  “Oh, lighten up.” Loren rolled his eyes. “He’s right, you’ve hardly done anything but sit in that chair and smoke.”

  “So what’s wrong with that? This is supposed to be a goddamn vacation. We’re supposed to be relaxing, not fucking running around all the damn time. When you’re on a vacation you’re supposed to do shit that you like, and that’s what I like.” He rounded on Verchiel. “You got a problem with that, Executioner?”

  “Hey, hey, I’m not judging. What