Page 41 of Vampire's Choice

“I’m not used to having casual conversations. Not with a female like you.”

“A vampire female?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate, and she held his gaze, though it took effort.

“Is it less fun than trying to scare me?”

Merc reached out and placed his palm on her chest, the heel of his hand against the upper rise of her breast. Curious, she gave way to the pressure behind it and laid down on the grass. He stretched out next to her, bracing himself on his elbow, and leaned over her. His wing arched over the higher shoulder, and she reached out to brush the black and white filaments. He intercepted, clasping her wrist.

His thumb moved over her pulse, nostrils flaring anew at her sexual response. It shouldn’t mean anything. She’d fucked males she cared nothing about. Sexual response was sexual response, though she’d matured enough to realize the cost of that attitude.

Most vampires were fine having sex with whomever they wanted, and walking away. Like visiting different restaurants. You might go back when you were in that neighborhood. You might not. It wasn’t a two-way commitment. The restaurant’s feelings didn’t matter.

She wasn’t wired that way. Maybe that was her raising. Every interaction with a living being mattered, leaving an imprint of some kind, on both sides. Whether they acknowledged it or not.

“Can you feed on that?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

“Yes. I can feed on any level of sexual response.” The silver in the whites of his eyes were like glints of mica. He dipped his head over her midriff, a central point to inhale whatever was coming to him from all points of her body. “But some are more appetizer than meal.”

He focused on her neck, where the arrow had grazed her. It had healed, but the blood was there. When he put his mouth on it, tasting her essence, she quivered. Hard. He spoke against her skin. “It’s a pleasure, isn’t it? Someone else enjoying your blood? Putting his mouth to your throat?”

Him in particular. She didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need her to answer.

“Who do you feed upon at home?” he asked.

“Members of the preserve staff.”

His tongue moved slowly over her flesh, his fangs grazing her as she trembled harder. “Direct from their flesh, or bottled?”

“Usually bottled. Sometimes direct, if we’re out on the preserve.” If it had been a physically exerting morning, she’d weaken and need it right then, in order to keep working.

“Do you prefer the throat or somewhere else?”

“Depends on the person, the relationship.”

“If it was me?”

Throat. No doubt at all. The idea of putting her mouth, her nose, close to that beating artery, having the opportunity to give him even a tenth of the sensation he was giving her, was irresistible. She would want his arms and wings around her, cradling her as she drank, seeking nourishment from him. The romantic fantasy was impossible to dismiss. Fortunately, so was the knowledge it was based on characteristics she wanted him to have, not ones he did.

“I don’t drink from unknown sources. I don’t know whether incubus or angel blood is okay for vampires.”

“That’s a deflection, Ruth. It was a hypothetical question.”

“I’m not much on hypotheticals. Survival in the vampire world is literal, 24/7.”

“Fair enough.” He inflicted that derisive smile on her, but behind it she detected understanding. The kind that came from firsthand experience.

“Hypothetically, I would like to see you take it from my wrist,” he said. “While kneeling before me, my fingers sliding along your face, your throat, the curve of your ear, into your hair. The movement of my fingers would increase the flow of blood, wouldn’t it?”

She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I guess.”

He still held her wrist in his grasp, but his ruffling feathers grazed her twitching fingertips. He’d told her she didn’t have permission to actively stroke them. She could sense his attention sharpen, as if he anticipated her disobeying him.

She was tempted. So tempted. But when she didn’t move, he drew back. Curving one wing so it dipped into his direct view, he pulled out one of his primaries with a sharp jerk.

“Ouch. Does that hurt?”

“Not badly. Another will grow in its place shortly.” He drew the dagger from his belt and pressed a release on the hilt to reveal another, shorter knife nesting inside it.

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