Page 21

“So, uh… you hungry?” I extend my arm toward him, wrist up, hand relaxed just like Cat showed me. I wore only a T-shirt specifically to avoid any awkward sleeve situations, and the veins in my wrist are clearly visible through their thin layer of skin.

He scoffs lightly, his fangs flashing, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. Fuck, I’m really doing this. I expect him to reply, to say something about how he missed breakfast this morning or hasn’t eaten since the temp was here last night⁠—

The stabbing, searing pain in my wrist catches me off guard. I didn’t even see him take hold of it, he moved that fast, and now… holy fuuuuuck. What is this?

A lone tear rolls down my cheek, a remnant of the pain, and more moisture clings to my lower lashes, but other than that first moment, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t exactly feel good, either. It… I don’t even know. Tristan is sucking my wrist, and not lightly, either. There’s strong pressure there, a drawing feeling, dampness. From his mouth? Or is there blood on my arm? I can’t see with his head in the way, but it can’t be blood. He wouldn’t let it go to waste like that, would he?

As the minutes pass and nothing new happens, I begin to relax. It’s not until my muscles release their tension that I realise how tightly I was wound. Tristan’s gaze flicks up to meet mine for a second, like he can feel the difference in me—well, he probably can. He’s got his hands wrapped around my forearm and his mouth on my wrist.

His mouth. On. Me.

A light shiver rolls down my spine. The only contact between us is on my arm, with the rest of our bodies still that respectable ruler length apart, but fuck me, was I ever wrong before. This is intimate—so very intimate. I’m feeding him from my body.

My breathing picks up pace, and as my heart rate speeds up to match, his gaze lifts to me again. This time there’s a question in it, and I shake my head. It’s a small movement, and I’m not sure if I’m telling him not to worry or just expressing disbelief at this whole insane situation, but he must take assurance from it, because his attention returns to what he’s doing.

Which is drinking my blood.

I lean back against the window and try to understand how so much of my life could have changed in less than twenty-four hours. This time yesterday I was picking up my stuff from my old job and telling my manager to go fuck himself. I had no idea that vampires were real and would have pissed myself laughing if anyone had suggested they were. I had no idea that my family has spent the past few hundred years curating a position as the tastiest treat a vampire can find. What even is that? Like, did great-great-something-grandpa wake up one morning and decide that the best way to secure the well-being of his descendants was to advertise how delicious we taste and train up the kids to enjoy being bitten?

Wait… am I enjoying this?

The thought pulls me up short. Am I? I don’t love it or anything, but I don’t hate it, either. It’s not going to bother me to let Tristan do this twice a day for the next year, anyway. That should probably disturb me, right? Does it make me one of those weird vampire lovers with zombie brains who can think of nothing except getting bitten?

I’m still mentally debating that a while later when the suction of Tristan’s mouth begins to lessen. I glance over at that too-perfect face bent over my arm, and that’s when the sucking stops and his tongue swipes over my skin. Once, twice… and he lifts his head, licking a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth, fangs on full display, eyes dark and slumberous.

Vampire.

I swallow hard. It’s stupid. I knew he was a vampire. I signed a fucking contract that said it, in black and white. He literally just finished sucking my blood. But the sight of him right now slams it home in my brain like nothing else has.

“Are—” I stop and clear my throat. My voice is all rusty. “Are you done?” Wincing, I add, “I mean, is there anything else you need?” That’s not much better, but I don’t think I have the brain power to make the right words. Make the words? That doesn’t sound right. We don’t make words, we make… stuff.

“Stuff,” I murmur, then giggle. That’s such a funny word to say. “Stuffff.” I grin at Tristan, who’s eyeing me curiously. He lets go of my arm, and the extra weight makes me sway.

He sighs. “Did you have lunch today, Adam?”

Lunch? Lunch! “I meant to, but I took longer at the ’Socion than I thought.” I blink, suddenly a bit sleepy.

Tristan sighs again, and then in the time between one heartbeat and the next, he has me up from the bench and moved to one of the armchairs. My head lolls against the back of it as I blink up at him in astonishment. I guess that answers the question about super strength. I’m not exactly a lightweight.

“Why’d ya move meeee?” I ask, surprised by how slurry the words come out, but he’s gone. How rude.

I stare up at the ceiling for long seconds. I need to get up, get some of that moussaka Anna was talking about, and then finish setting up my Xbox, but I’m just gonna rest for a⁠—

“Adam?” Anna leans over me. “You idiot. On the first feed, too. Here.” She slides a hand behind my head and holds a glass to my mouth, and when salty-sweet liquid touches my lips, I part them and drink. She lets me have a few mouthfuls before pulling it away and replacing it with… chocolate?

I manage to lift my heavy arm and push it away. “Spoil m’dinner.”

She huffs. “Mate, that’s the least of your worries right now.”

Chapter 11

“For god’s sake, Adam, hold still,” Anna snaps, pushing me back onto the couch.

“I’m fine,” I protest, but no matter which way I squirm, there’s zero chance of me getting away from her. She may not be as big as I am, but she’s got serious muscle and no hesitation about using it. Case in point, she practically carried me here from the office.

Giving up, I flop back against the squashy couch cushions and let her put the blood pressure cuff on my arm.

“I’m really fine,” I mutter, but she’s already inflating it and ignoring me completely. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself, since I’m the idiot who didn’t eat or drink anything for ten hours before donating blood. Technically, I’m in breach of the contract I signed just a few hours ago. Tristan is contractually obliged to ensure food is provided for me, but I’m the one who’s in charge of making sure I actually eat. I fucked up.