Page 22 of The Kill

Staring into the fridge, my stomach rumbling after hours of running in the woods, I’m too tired to make a decision about what to eat. The choices on offer are unexpectedly overwhelming. Tyson really meant it when he said he had dinner prepared last night. Tupperware after Tupperware are stacked in the fridge, filled with delicious food options. There’s enough here to feed a small army.

He went all-out for our first night here – and I slunk off to bed, unwittingly throwing his effort in his face. Shame gnaws at me.

Maybe I should have made more of an effort.

Putting together a plate of leftovers, I move to the microwave and Lucian practically runs in the opposite direction, keeping the marble countertop firmly between us. As the gorgeous aroma fills the air, Lucian wrinkles his nose, clearly not a fan.

“Not coppery enough for you?” I ask, keeping my back to him as I remove the plate and open the drawer to get cutlery. He scoffs, and, just like Noah, is decidedly chattier when I’m not looking directly at him.

“That… is disgusting,” he pretends to gag, and I roll my eyes at the dramatics. “It smells like feet. How can you put that in your mouth? That’s worse than the kills Seth brings home.” He covers his nose with his hands and tilts his head away, repulsed.

“Well, I’m sorry if my palate isn’t as refined as yours, but I’m starving.”

Turning and leaning against the counter, I observe him closely while shovelling a forkful of food into my mouth. As I expected, his confidence dims under my avid attention, and he steps away, looking out the window to avoid making eye contact with me.

“Do you know where Tyson’s gone?” I ask, deciding not to beat around the bush. Teenagers don’t do subtle.

Lucian turns toward me, but keeps his gaze fixed elsewhere, giving me a one-shouldered shrug.

“He needs to feed. He never would have lost it earlier if he’d just listened to me.” Lucian purses his lips and gives me some serious side eye, as if it’s my fault.

Tyson is a grown man. He can take care of himself.

“There’s a fridge full of food here. Just because I went to bed doesn’t mean he couldn’t have helped himself.”

Waving my fork at the fridge, I grumble. I’m already feeling defensive, and a touch guilty, seeing the effort Tyson made. I swallow another mouthful and moan, savouring the flavours. What kind of idiot, albeit a well-mannered and considerate one, goes to bed hungry when he knows all of this delicious food is waiting?

My chewing slows when I realise Lucian is staring at me like I have two heads. Or like I’m the stupidest person he’s ever met.

“I said feed. Not eat.”

Wiping a hand down my face to make sure I don’t have mayonnaise on my lips or something, it takes me a second longer than I’m proud of for my brain to work out the distinction. The food in my mouth suddenly tastes like dust as his words sink in.

Tyson is also a vampire. It’s not something I should forget.

I assumed that his eating habits would be the same as mine but I’m not an idiot. I knew he’d be attracted to blood, drink it even, proven correct by the way he tasted mine earlier, but I hadn’t stopped to think that might be his primary way of gaining sustenance. Or his only way.

“Do you not keep blood here?”

Frowning, I look at the closed fridge door. I don’t remember seeing anything as obvious as blood bags in there. Maybe they keep it somewhere else? Lucian returns to staring out the window, pretending not to be concerned but clearly anxious about Tyson’s state of mind.

“We do. But it’s not Tyson’s preferred way of feeding.”

Swallowing hard, I reach for my glass and take a long drink of water. This was a conversation that was going to happen at some point. I just wish it had been with the man himself rather than his vampire protege.

“And what is his preferred way of feeding?”

Instead of being frightened by the thought of him sinking his teeth into flesh, I can picture the heated look on his face. I’ve heard rumours about it being erotic and extremely pleasurable. There are some shifters who seek out vampires looking for blood, becoming willing donors precisely because of the intense sexual experience it gives them.

My mind conjures a vision of Tyson, his incisors pressing against my skin, his hot breath on my skin before he sinks into my vein, using my life source to sustain himself, eyes dark and clouded with lust.

The idea of him biting me is hotter than I want to admit, knowing that I could be what he needs to survive, and I squirm, squeezing my thighs to ease the ache between my legs.

“He always goes to see Anya. She has the best blood supply around.”

My stomach sinks so far it hits the floor. Lucian’s innocent reply, volunteering information he sees as perfectly normal, feels like a slap to the face, and I’m stunned into silence.

Now images of Tyson sinking his teeth into some other woman’s flesh, sucking blood straight from her slender neck, fill my mind.

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