Page 68 of Demon Food

“A heightened state. Extremely aroused. Nearing the point of…climax.”

His chuckle was mostly breath as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “I see. And why wouldn’t that be the precise caveat?”

“I don’t know,” I said somberly, “but we’ll do it tonight. That way we have plenty of time to rest afterwards.”

He scrunched his face tight, rubbing his eyes. Then he said, “No.”

The muscles of my face fell as I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“As generous as that is, human.” He grunted in pain as he pushed himself from the bed. “I will have to decline—with regret, of course. Do not take it personally.”

I watched him with wide, disbelieving eyes as he stretched his neck on his stroll toward the window nook. “But that makes no sense. Why do you decline? I don’t understand.”

“Because, darling, I am vultae. I will heal on my own with time. There is no need for you to do all that effort.”

“You will not heal from this, Prince. You are already sick with fever. This will kill you.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, winking back over his shoulder, “feel free to keep the shirt.”

I pushed myself from the bed to circle it. “You know, last night, you reprimanded me for having a death wish, but it is you with the death wish. You.”

His chuckle was so fucking casual. “I promise you, my dear, I have no such thing.”

“Then why not let me help you?”

“Because I have no need for your help, Feloré. As sweet as it may be, my love, and it is. It is so fucking sweet,” he said, pressing his palms together, as if in prayer. “I have no need. I feel just fine.”

I sucked my cheeks, staring at him as he twisted to face the window. There was a dangerous disconnect. A seam that had loosened in the stitches of his reality, distorting the picture so much that he thought the holes were just part of the design.

Either that, or this delusional façade was exactly that—not real. Not really him.

“You want to know what my dream was about?” I asked. “You want to know why I was screaming your name?”

He spun around. “The more detail, the better, sweetheart.”

“Because you were smiling.”

He cut his eyes to the side. “And that is worrisome?”

“It was a slow, horrifying death you were dying, and not only did you refuse to let me help you, but you were fucking smiling about it.”

It was almost poetic watching the smile he wore now falter around the edges.

“Look, I do not pretend to know your secrets, Prince, even if I’m certain you have many. But how could someone who cares so deeply about protecting the life of a human chained to their room not care about protecting his own?”

He stilled, looking like he had so much spinning around his mind, but all he said was, “I do care.”

“You just don’t want help. But if you let me help you, then our score will be settled. We’ll be even.”

His eyes danced as he slid his long tongue over his teeth. “Darling, I don’t give a shit about some score. I don’t need payment in the form of blood because I kept someone from taking a knife to your chest when you shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“See.” I pointed at him. “That is precisely what I’m talking about. You care about injustices. Which is why you must let me help you. Do it for me.”

His chuckle was immediate and dark. “Take your blood for you? What sense does that make?”

“It doesn’t have to make sense. Do it because I’m asking.”

His head slowly cocked to one side, and there was something so endlessly thoughtful in his expression. “Why? Why are you asking, human?”