His face softened beneath my hand, and he sighed. "I keep waiting for it to happen."
"For what to happen?"
"I know that at some point, something I tell you, or something you see me tell you, will be too much. And then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go." He smiled half a smile, the other side of his mouth bent into a frown, but his eyes were serious. "I won't stop you when you do this. I want it to happen, because I fear for your safety. Being your vampire boyfriend isn't easy, and yet... and yet, that's exactly what I want to be. The two desires are impossible to reconcile... " His eyes forged a trail to mine.
I put my finger to his lips, shushing him. "Then don't."
He smiled beneath my finger. "We'll see."
I tossed my head over my shoulder and giggled. "So, go on—Carlisle was swimming to France."
"Oh, yeah." His eyes skated toward another picture—the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the fattest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas featured four figures high above a throng of people, robes billowing in a stately breeze that carried their fabric over balcony, around pillars and into the crowd. I couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be the dead people.
"Carbomb swam to France and continued on through Europe, stopping at all the major universities. By day he donned a thick cloak and a mustache made from horsehair and would attend lectures lectured by best and brightest of the West. By night he studied music, science, medicine—and found his calling, his passion, in that: in saving human lives." His expression became awed, almost reverent. "I can't adequately describe the artist's struggle; his toil took him through the centuries,

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Chapter 16

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