Page 36 of Bewitched By a Vampire

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” she snapped and he arched an eyebrow at her, so she reeled in her nerves and tried to be polite, attempting to throw him off her scent so he wouldn’t ask why she was suddenly so intent on getting rid of him. “With your brother perhaps?”

Night angled his head upwards, flashing the scar around his throat that she diligently kept her eyes away from. “My brother is gone. His mate is in trouble.”

Lilian frowned at him, curiosity replacing her nerves. “Shouldn’t you have gone with him?”

Night lowered his gaze to her and there wasn’t even a trace of emotion in it. “My cousin will help him. Grave will only worry about me if I go with him.”

“But he doesn’t worry about your cousin?” She watched his eyes as she asked that question.

Not even a flicker of feeling crossed them.

He pushed off and strode to the canisters, and picked one up. When he looked as if he was going to drink it, she snatched it from him.

“It’s out of date.” She set it down, turned to the refrigerator and grabbed him one that was in date, and thrust it towards him. “Here.”

He took it from her, his fingers brushing hers, igniting the embers of her desire, and there was that reaction she had been trying to get from him. Heat coloured his eyes, darkening them as his pupils dilated, and she felt she was on dangerous, unsteady ground. That look drew her towards him, as if he had tied a string to her ribs and was tugging on it, and she had to fight to resist the pull of him.

She drew down a steadying breath. Big mistake. Mother earth, he smelled good. Warm. Enticing.

He helped her regain control by unscrewing the lid of the canister, adding the scent of blood to the fragrance of his aftershave and ruining it.

“Stopping Snow from doing something he wants to do, especially if it involves his family, is like trying to stop the sun from rising. It’s never going to happen, no matter how much you want it to.” He stared into the top of the canister, frowning at it.

“Did you want to go with your brother?” she said, her voice quiet, although she wasn’t sure why she feared asking that question. Because she didn’t want him to go? Because just the thought of him leaving had her aching inside?

He paused with the canister halfway to his lips and lowered it again as he murmured, “I would have, but family business keeps me here.”

He meant her.

“I’m sorry for being such a burden,” she snapped and grabbed one of the old canisters, and then stormed to the sink and emptied it. Was she bitter or angry? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from saying those words. They had risen unbidden to her lips, bringing hurt in their wake.

The reason for that hurt dawned on her, hitting her hard and freezing her in place as the last of the blood dripped from the canister into the sink.

He resented having to babysit her, as if it was a chore for him.

As if he didn’t enjoy her company.

Night’s gaze tracked her, so intense she knew he wanted her to look at him, so she avoided him instead, busying herself with emptying the rest of the canisters. The air thickened again, the silence weighing on her as she poured blood down the drain.

Lilian stared at it.

Blood. Human blood. What was it like to thirst for it and rely upon it for survival? She wanted to ask him that but held her tongue, clinging to her mood, but the longer he remained silent, swigging blood from the canister he gripped, the harder it became to resist voicing that question.

When the last canister was empty, she turned on the tap and watched the blood swirl and mix with the water.

“What’s it like to drink blood?” She stared at the final streak of crimson as it whirled down the drain and then looked at him.

He stared at her, looking as if she had caught him off guard with that question, and then he looked down at the canister in his right hand.

“Blood is blood.” His tone was far too matter of fact, giving her the impression he either didn’t want to talk about it or wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s sustenance.”

Lilian settled on it being the latter.

“I know that.” She turned and rested her backside against the counter. “But… like food has different flavours to me, does blood have different flavours to you?”

She realised how dangerous her question had been as his gaze dropped to her throat, an intense quality to his eyes as crimson invaded them, ringing the aquamarine of his irises. He was thinking about her blood. About what she would taste like. A compulsion ran through her, a powerful urge to touch the spot on her neck he was staring at so intently, and she fought it. If she touched her neck, she would be in danger of finding his fangs in her throat.

She almost cursed.

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