Page 32 of Pike

“I’ve never seen you shift.”

“Because I’m not physically capable of doing so,” he answered.

“A phoenix?”

“Never been fond of fire.”

“How about a dragon?”

Pike gestured around the room. “Do you see any piles of gold?”

“You’re definitely not an angel,” she teased.

“More of a demon, if you will.”

A demon soul. Her mind scratched against its confines trying to determine Pike’s origin story. She thought about what she knew, what she’d seen over the years. The soul of a demon…?

“I’ve never seen you drink blood.”

“Means nothing.”

She scoffed. “You can’t be undead.”

He stared at her. Was he disappointed? “Can’t I?”

“Oh. Oh, God.” Lavinia sucked in a deep breath, her gaze darting between him and the floor. “It can’t be.”

Pike slid closer until his nearness sent her blood pressure spiking. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pushed against her. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Lavinia. What am I? Say it.”

The heat rushing through her body evaporated, replaced by cold. “You’re…a vampire.” Her voice was a whisper of sound. Barely audible. Taken from her lips and strewn far the moment it was birthed. The moment she said the word, she was overtaken by the sensation of cords. Silken cords. Wrapping in and around and binding her to the creature in front of her. She rubbed her arms against the feeling even though she saw nothing. Yet the bonds were there.

Pike smiled with what looked like relief and even resignation. “You figured it out. Took you long enough.”

“But you don’t… I’ve never… You walk in the sunlight!”

“That I do.”

“And you eat garlic!”

“In small doses,” he agreed. “Great for the digestion but not so good for the breath.”

“You…you don’t drink blood,” she continued in an undertone, her eyes on the floor. “I would have seen it.”

“Ah, love. There are more things under heaven than you understand. I don’t have to drink blood to survive. I’m not that kind of vampire.”

“Then how do you…feed?”

“The one thing you haven’t managed to figure out.” His voice was full of bitter triumph. “I’d think it simple. Love, my dear Lavinia. I feed on love. And yours has been a delicious feast.”

CHAPTER 9

Her back stiffened and her bones felt like shattering. Love? How could anyone feed on love?

“You’re joking,” she said.

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