Dying to Date(39)

“Ye old timey diner,” he pointed out, maneuvering the car into the small parking lot. “Looks decent enough for a quick bite.”

“Fine by me,” she agreed.

The truck stop looked like it’d been modeled after a fifties diner. Or perhaps it simply hadn’t been updated in decades. Either way, they found a spot to sit in one red vinyl booth. A ragged looking waitress came up to them immediately with two menus and two waters.

“You two are out late,” she commented.

“Road trip,” Tarian replied. “I’ll take as big a cup of coffee as you can muster up and an equally large burger. Rare.”

“Coming right up.” She turned to Melissa. “And for you?”

“Not hungry,” she replied, holding out her menu.

“Need some meat on those bones, sugar,” the waitress said as she took the menus and walked away.

Melissa sighed. The woman wasn’t wrong. She’d grown up in a time that had valued more voluptuous figures and had always thought it was a far healthier alternative to the current model craze. Her vampirism, however, kept her from ever achieving the more womanly figure she admired.

“I think you’re perfect,” Tarian commented as he sipped his water.

The words brought a smile to her face even as they sent a shiver down her spine. “You’re biased, since you’re trying to keep me in a good mood so I don’t desert you.”

“Believe what you wish.” He leaned back against the booth with a tired sigh.

“I’ll drive the next leg,” she offered. “It’ll be hours before exhaustion catches up with me.”

“Deal.”

The waitress hustled back with his coffee, and Tarian groaned in pleasure when he tasted the hot beverage.

“Life got a whole lot easier after this drink was invented,” he said, inhaling the aroma with closed eyes.

Melissa blinked. He was older than coffee? Racking her brain, she tried to remember when coffee had come into vogue. Certainly by her time it was a standard in many homes.

When she’d met Tarian in Fated Match’s reception room she’d assumed they were of similar age. A careless mistake on her part. An immortal’s appearance didn’t necessarily correlate to their chronological years. Strength, however, grew with the passage of time. If he was old, then he’d be a strong opponent against any foe. Perhaps even her father.

“I can hear you worrying,” he said, not bothering to open his eyes.

Melissa was used to hearing the heartbeat of those around her and noting when it raced with excitement or shuddered in fear. That someone else could read her body’s changes in the same way unnerved her.

“Looking forward to getting home,” she replied.

“Nope. Not it.” His blue eyes flickered open. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

She debated asking her questions. They had a decent enough truce going. More than decently, really, considering the activities of last night. Prying into his past could change that.

Or worse, it could cause her to become even more infatuated with the damn necromancer than she already was.

“I was wondering about you,” she answered, meeting his gaze.

Tarian tilted his head. “I told you, there isn’t much to tell.”

“Such lies,” she murmured.

He set his cup down before giving her his full attention. “If you want to delve into my past, Melissa, I’ll be demanding quid pro quo.”

Her mother’s face flashed across her mind. Tarian might be on her side right now but who knew what the future held? Giving him more ammunition against her could be a mistake.

Curiosity killed the cat, she thought. Then again, maybe the cat had died happy.

“Where were you before America?” she asked.

“Europe.”

“And when exactly did coffee come to Europe?”

A tiny smile twisted his lips. “My history is a little rusty, but I believe a pope in the 1600’s is to thank for its rise in popularity.”

Her nails gouged into the vinyl beneath her. That definitely beat her single century.

“Were you young when coffee changed the mornings of Europeans across the continent?”

He held her gaze. “No.”

Melissa licked her lips as she contemplated her next question. “Did you fight in the necromancer wars?”

This time he wasn’t so forthcoming. His fingers tapped against the laminate tabletop. “Are you sure you want to know, Melissa?”

She swallowed. If he had, then he was old. Not a few hundred years, give or take, but really, really old. According to her history books, the wars had raged across Eastern Europe in the early fourteenth century. If he’d been a part of them, that not only meant he was a strong warrior, but he was qualified to be an elder, if necromancers had one.