Page 89 of Roman

Yes.

Pleasure shot throughout his own body, his demon roaring in triumph as he emptied himself into their mate.

Roman and Danny both spent long moments catching their breath. Roman didn’t want to move at all. He was content, his weight resting on his mate. Keeping Danny where he belonged—in their bed.

Roman lifted his head. “Show me.”

Danny didn’t have to ask what he meant. He flushed slightly, embarrassed by the request, but then his eyes shifted to black, and his fangs dropped again.

Roman took it in, the sight of his sweet, formerly human mate shifted. The differences were so slight yet life-altering.

“Am I…am I okay like this?” Roman heard it, the almost imperceptible difference in Danny’s voice when his demon was at the forefront. Unlike Roman’s, which turned even deeper, almost gravelly, Danny’s voice took on a more melodic tone.

Roman smiled at his mate in wonder. “Your demon is as lovely as you are.”

Danny smiled, relief lighting up his eyes as they shifted back to brown. “He really likes you,” he whispered shyly. “My demon.”

“That is fortunate,” Roman laughed. “Because I am afraid he is going to have to keep me. I am not going anywhere.”

Danny’s answering smile was one of the sweetest things Roman had ever seen.

Roman eyed the candy thermometer sticking out of the copper pot in front of him. A few more minutes, and it would be ready.

He could hear Danny’s stomach growling from across the kitchen. Roman hadn’t even known vampire stomachscouldgrowl, but he supposed he’d never seen a vampire go hungry for long enough to find out. Self-control wasn’t normally their strong suit.

As it was, he’d had to forcibly remove Danny from their bed once Roman had realized the shadows under his mate’s eyes—the ones being turned had mercifully gotten rid of—were reappearing.

It turned out that, while a newly turned vampire with a bonded mate may have more control over their blood lust than normal, they were insatiable little creatures when it came toactuallust. They’d already had sex twice more after Danny’s initial claiming of him, and Danny had been ready for another go. But the boy needed sustenance.

It was amazing Danny had gone this many hours already without drinking any blood. Anyhumanblood, that was. Roman suppressed a smirk at the memories of his fierce little mate drinking from his neck while riding him. He’d later claimed Roman tasted like “the best candy in the world, sprinkled with crack on top or something.”

Roman figured the description was meant to be flattering, if a little disturbing. Was crack-sprinkled candy considered a good thing?

“What’s that face for?” Danny asked, watching Roman from the kitchen counter as he heated blood on the stove. Roman had asked Soren to snag a few blood bags from the hospital, much to Danny’s dismay.

“Those are forpatients, Roman,” he’d gasped in outrage.

Truly, his little king was too sweet for this world.

But Roman’s mate came before all others. He needed blood, and Roman would give it to him. He’d convinced Danny with the argument that it was better than Danny overdoing it on his first feeding and accidentally killing someone.

A new vampire wasn’t normally even controlled enough for blood bags—they needed the aggression of a live hunt—but Danny was sitting more or less patiently, waiting for his takeout, as he’d called it, once he’d acquiesced to the idea of a little hospital theft.

Roman hummed to himself as he stirred, not bothering to answer his mate’s earlier question. He didn’t want to bring up the bite, for fear any mention of sexual activities would lead to Danny jumping Roman again before he could get any blood into his boy.

Although, he supposed there were worse things.

They had already kicked Soren and Gabe out of the kitchen. Gabe because he’d looked visibly ill at the thought of his little brother drinking blood, and Danny didn’t need that kind of judgment right now, and Soren because he’d lookedtoodelighted at the prospect, and Danny likewise didn’t need to feel like a zoo animal.

“Tell me again why we can’t just nuke it?” Danny asked. Roman turned to him in horror, and Danny laughed out loud at whatever expression was on Roman’s face. “Oh my God, Rome. Is the aversion to microwaves a French thing or an ancient thing?”

“It is a matter oftastething, little heathen.”

Danny snorted at him but kept his mouth otherwise shut.

The candy thermometer—Danny had been shocked to find he even had one in his kitchen—hit ninety-eight degrees, and Roman removed the pan from the stove before pouring the heated blood into a mug with a cartoon picture of a fat orange cat on it. He placed the hideous mug in front of Danny, who looked at it a little apprehensively but nonetheless pulled it closer, his eyes turning black and fangs popping out with the motion.

“Drink,” Roman urged.

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