Page 52 of Blood and Buttercups

Looking just as irritated as I feel, Noah clears his throat and then continues in a conversational tone, “First off, you don’t have to use the synthetic prescription blood. It has everything in it to keep you healthy, but some people can’t get used to the taste. There are companies that will ship you a variety of blood every week if you’d prefer something natural.”

“Are you serious? Like those mail-order meal kits, but forvampires?”

If he wasn’t so agitated, I think he might laugh, but all I get out of him is a grim smile. “Something like that. There are many different varieties, from your basic heifer to exotic blends.”

“What the heck is exotic blood?”

“Bison, elk, alligator. They have sample packs where you can try several types and see what you like the best. Some people say bear tastes too wild, and antelope is oddly tangy?—”

I hold up a hand. “Next.”

“Human blood is illegal.”

“I’m not a cannibal,” I mutter.

“Most pre-vamps don’t crave it anyway—plus they don’t have the fangs to drain someone, so it’s generally not an issue. But we are required to bring it up.”

“It was in a pamphlet.”

“Great, moving on. You have to keep quiet about your illness. More people know about it than you might think—healthcare workers, police, government officials—but the general populace does not. There would be pandemonium if word spread. Think pitchforks and bonfires.”

“Isn’t it kind of impossible to hide something like this?”

“Of course it is. Why do you think there are so many vampire movies?”

I mull that over for a moment before I look at him. “Are there werewolves, too?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Noah’s expression becomes a little more relaxed, and his eyes brighten with humor. “But who knows? Maybe there’s another organization that handles them.”

“What should I call you?”

“Just call me Noah.”

Like his family does. For some reason, the thought sends a trickle of warmth straight to my heart.

“So…you’re a conservator,” I say. “You work for NIHA. And I’m the person you’re babysitting.”

Something wicked flashes in his eyes. “I told you my job had its perks.”

I point at him. “No flirting.”

“You started it.” He lifts his brows. “Pretty sure you called me hot and tempting last night.”

“It was dark. I wasmistaken.”

He shrugs, annoyingly smug.

“How many people have you…”

“Babysat?” he supplies ever so helpfully.

I give him a wry look.

“Two,” he answers. “And then I was promoted.”

“To what?”

“Hunter.”

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