Page 23 of Tempting the Dhampir

She’s not wrong.

“Um, yeah. There’s just something about him. I’m drawn to him, fully aware of his presence. I can’t quite explain it, but it feels… ‘more.’”

“I get it,” she murmurs, barely audible, turning back to the mirror.

“What? Have you had this before? Wait. You never got around to telling me where your tattoo is or who’s your partner.”

Have I been so self-absorbed that I didn’t remember to ask her? She was asleep by the time I got to our room last night.

“No, nothing as intense as you’re experiencing. We haven’t made any physical contact yet, so I think that’s helping. And you and Everett seem naturally attracted to each other, despite this tattoo thing. My partner, on the other hand, is most certainly not attracted to me. He’s hardly aware of my existence.” She’s not making any eye contact, just vacantly staring at the floor as she runs her fingers through her hair.

I walk over to her and grab her hand. Squeezing it, I gently ask, “Cece, who?”

She finally lifts her gaze and meets my eyes. I take a moment to study her, and I see so much that she’s been trying to hide. There’s confusion, embarrassment, sadness, and… dare I say, longing?

Cece takes a deep breath in. With watery eyes and a wobbly smile, she breathes out, “Adelbert.”

Chapter twelve

Everett

The ladies enter the dining room as a pack, chatting and sticking close together. Their eyes roam over all the males already gathered there, and they go quiet as their gazes linger on Edmond, who now has his wings out.

With the ring’s power, he still looks human—except for the batlike wings protruding from his back. Despite his reluctance, we were able to convince him to stretch his wings before he needs to confine them again for the journey back to Paris.

All the males woke early to prepare a lavish breakfast in the hopes that the women would more easily accept the news we have to break to them on a full stomach.

Because of the different species present, we have a variety of dietary needs covered. We didn’t have to ask them their preferences because there’s something for everyone.

After spending most of the night in the library discussing options, we settled on something we know won’t be met well. It was, however, the best we could do given the circumstances, the timeline, and the limited information available.

Trying to put my flirting on a simmer for the duration of breakfast, I walk over to Sadie and, in as much of a neutral tone as I can muster, ask, “How do you take your coffee, sparkles?”

“Black.”

My head rears back. “Seriously?”

“Why? Think you know me well enough to predict how I’d take my coffee?” Sadie asks with hands on her hips.

“Not well enough… yet.” I wink.

Dammit! Less flirting. I promised myself I’d wrestle it under control for the next hour.

“Okay, zooms. How did you think I’d take it?” she challenges me.

My brows shoot up. “Zooms?”

“What? Thought I’d forget to give you your own nickname? You never walk, always zooming in and out of rooms. If that’s what you’re going to do, then that’s what I’m going to call you. Zooms.” She says all this with her back ramrod straight, arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted defiantly.

It’s hot.

“Well, sparkles. If I had to wager, I’d say you prefer a latte. Something sweet. Preferably caramel, but vanilla would also do. And on particularly indulgent days, you’d add a fuck ton of whipped cream on top. But what do I know?”

Her mouth hangs open. “How did you—”

“But since you prefer black, let me ‘zoom’ over there and get you a nice, strong, bitter black coffee.”

“Wait.” Sadie makes a grab for my arm, and I smirk down at her.

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