Page 25 of Hunting His Vampire Mate

Michael let out a long breath at that, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he just looked at me through narrowed eyes, his brow furrowed. I could hear his heartbeat, if I focused on it. It was faster than his otherwise calm exterior would have suggested. He was nervous.

Of course he was fucking nervous. He was sitting across from a monster, and he knew exactly what I was capable of now. If I had been able to, I would have gone right for his throat, and he knew it. I let my gaze wander down to his throat, to the pulse beating there. And I waited for my new instincts to kick in—for my body towantto kill him for his blood. Maybe if he saw the fangs, it would help move things along to their inevitable conclusion.

But nothing happened. His pulse hammering in his throat was just that—a pulse hammering in a throat. My body had zero reaction to it. No fangs. No bloodlust.

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

In fact, in Michael’s presence, the burning in my throat abruptly stopped. And the gnawing hunger faded into background noise. It was still there, but it was like the volume had been turned way down on it in an instant. The moment he’d stepped into the barn, actually.

What in the actual fuck?

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was used to my body betraying me by now, wasn’t I? Maybe bloodlust was tied up with sexuality? Maybe because I wasn’t into Michael sexually,I didn’t want his blood either? But that didn’t make any sense, did it?

And besides, when Michael crossed his arms over his chest, I couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his arms. And how enticing his well-built shoulders abruptly were. He lookedgood.Strong. Strong enough to—

I blinked, alarmed at the sudden heat of arousal that ignited within me at the thought of him taking those big, strong arms, and holding me, pinning me…

Yet again, what in the actual fuck?

My eyes were probably wide with alarm, like a deer about to get mowed down by an oncoming train, when they met his. And I was reasonably sure that if I could’ve still blushed, I would have.

“Yeah, no. I’m not doing that. Sorry,” Michael replied, still eyeing me. His warm leather and orange scent enveloped me. Oddly enough, even against my will, it was gently calming me down. It was making it harder to hold onto the grim certainty of my own impending demise. He added, “You’re not dying tonight, Danny. Not again.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded, outrage tearing through me. “You made me a promise!”

He winced at that. “Yeah, I know.”

“I could fucking hurt someone! I could hurtyou.”

The thought filled me with fresh dread. Even now, even when I wanted to clobber him over the head, the idea of hurting him was unthinkable. My body seemed to vehemently agree, because the gnawing hunger faded even further into the background, like it wasn’t even there at all.

“You won’t,” he replied, sounding far more certain than he had any right to.

“You don’t know that. The safest thing for you to do is to go get the machete and—”

“I’m not doing that!” He snapped. “I shouldn’t have promised you that I’d stop you from turning, or that I’d ever do anything to hurt you.”

“I’m notmeanymore,” I reminded him.

He let out a sharp bray of laughter. “Are you sure? Because here you are, berating me for being a fucking idiot.”

“I don’t berate. I gently chide.”

He snorted. “Right. See? Classic Danny. Next you’ll start lecturing me on chupa-whatevers.”

“Chupacabras,” I supplied, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “And this is hardly the time. Besides, they don’t even feed on people. They feed on the blood of livestock.”

Relief flooded into Michael’s face. And it was awful—he actually had to bite the back of his hand and look away from me. After a long moment filled with ragged, shuddering breaths, he blinked rapidly and turned back to me. His eyes were shiny, and his voice was all wrong—way too thick—and he said, “I’m not hurting you.Ever.Please don’t make me go through losing you all over again.”

I stared at him, really letting myself see him. He looked objectively awful. His clothes were caked with earth. His face was far cleaner than the rest of him, like he’d recently rinsed it off with a bottle of water or something, but his hair was tangled and filthy. In fact, he looked very much like he’d recently been buried in an unmarked grave himself.

What the hell had happened to him?

I scowled, but for some reason I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to say no to him. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to say yes, either. What exactly was his plan, though? Sooner or later, I was going to need to drink blood. And yeah, I still felt like me—mostly—but for how long? How hungry would I have to get before the beast inside of me tore some innocent person to shreds?

And then Michaelwouldhave to kill me. He wouldn’t have a choice.

“What’s your game plan?” I demanded. “You know you can’t just leave me tied up forever.”

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