Page 18 of Hot Blooded

The seriousness faded from Etta’s expression, salacious interest gleaming in her eyes. “A friend, is she? Might this friend become more someday?” Etta waggled her eyebrows.

Amos stared back at her, unamused. “We’ve only known each other for a week.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, sonny boy.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s too soon to hope.” Not that that had stopped him.

“Hmmm.” Etta sank back against Fran, studying Amos.

Fran shifted, wrapping both her arms around Etta, resting her chin atop Etta’s head. “So… how was it? Having live blood for the first time in… how long? Since the blood banks started running. When was that?”

“Nearly a century.”

“Christ,” Fran said. “No wonder you decided to pay for it.”

“But how was it?” Etta demanded impatiently.

“Good,” Amos answered flatly. He could feel his face heating all over again.

Etta cackled. “I’ll bet. And the donor? What did she think?”

“She’s a B&B,” he blurted out.

Fran and Etta were both stunned speechless. After a moment, Etta was the first to find her tongue. “No,” she gasped, scandalized delight shining in her eyes. “She…when you feed…”

Fran let out a low whistle. “Lucky girl.”

Amos nodded. He wanted to dunk his burning face in an ice bath. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he didn’t have anybody else to talk to about it. Vampires were solitary by nature, forming bonds only with bloodmates and progeny, but otherwise keeping to themselves. That didn’t mean loneliness didn’t affect them. Especially for a vampire with no bloodmate.

“No wonder she signed up to be a donor,” Etta said.

“She didn’t know.”

“How could she not know?” Fran asked.

“She’s never been fed from before.”

Etta’s eyes widened. “Are you the only vampire she’s feeding?”

Amos scowled. “Yes. Of course.”

“Well, I’m sorry, darling. I don’t know how these things work. I assumed the donors had a rotation of clients.”

“No. I’m her only…” He couldn’t bring himself to say client. “Her only one.”

“Well, I suppose that makes this whole thing seem a little less… commercial,” Etta conceded.

Her grudging acceptance rankled. Amos scowled at her. “It’s easy for you to talk about the sanctity of feeding when you’ve had live blood on tap for the last fifty years.”

“Hey,” Fran said mildly. “I’m right here.”

Amos gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Fran. You know I don’t think you’re just blood on tap.”

Fran rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly.

At the same time, Etta grimaced at herself. “You’re right, Amos. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a self-righteous nag. I just worry about you. I can’t help it.”

Amos let his annoyance go. “I know you do. I suppose I appreciate it. Sometimes. A little bit.”

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