Page 122 of The Good Vampire's Guide to Blood & Boyfriends
Brennan was so dizzy, so thirsty, so desperate he thought he was going to lose it, or die. He would prefer dying.
“Cole,” Brennan said. Blood was on his lips. “You are the literal light of my life, but if you don’t get far away from me right now I’m going to—”
“Bite me.”
“I was going to saygo feral,but yeah, that’s basically—”
“No, I mean,” Cole said, “bite me.”
He was waiting for a reaction with wide eyes.
“It won’t kill me,” Cole continued. “And it won’t turn me. You can stop and I haven’t donated blood in a month, so I can totally go again.”
He put it so logically that Brennan felt sick, not just thirsty.
“No,” he said, with such finality that he was sure Cole would leave it there.
Instead, Cole closed the distance between them and cupped Brennan’s jaw in his hands, tilting his face down toward Cole’s like he was going in for a kiss but pausing an inch away. Everything in Brennan was alight, but not in the good way that happened when Cole usually kissed him. His head throbbed. Cole smelled like ambrosia and nectar. Cole’s heartbeat became everything, a warm bubble around them both, one Brennan was terrified of bursting.
“What happens if you don’t?” Cole asked, voice quiet, breath falling on Brennan’s lips.
Brennan couldn’t let himself breathe.
“What?”
“If you don’t get human blood. Do you starve? Do you die?”
“I don’t know.” Brennan was shaking. He didn’t know, and he was scared—of what would happen if he didn’t do this, and what would happen if he did.
“So bite me,” Cole said. He tried to be lighthearted. “It’s win-win, really. I can’t say I’m not curious, though I wish the situation were a tad different.”
“You’re serious,” Brennan whispered.
“I am.”
Brennan wanted desperately to tell Cole that he loved him, then. Cole was watery-eyed, a determined set to his jaw. Brennan was hyperaware of every movement of him, every shift, every breath, the fluctuating speed of his racing heart. Cole had never been more beautiful, and Brennan loved him, but it wasn’t the time.
Those words should be saved for somewhere softer.
“I’m so sorry,” Brennan said. His hands tentatively gripped Cole’s waist, squeezing in reassurance and apology.
“I know,” said Cole, and he extended his neck.
And Brennan bit him.
Sweet relief flooded every one of Brennan’s senses. Cole tensed andcried out, then shuddered and collapsed into it, into Brennan’s arms. Distantly, Brennan remembered a pamphlet—a vampire’s venom is soothing to its prey—and then Brennan wasn’t thinking of anything but the sweet glory of the drink, the base instinct of it, how it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
The fog in Brennan’s head started to clear but didn’t fade completely. Brennan drank, and thirst continued to burn at his throat.
“Brennan,” Cole said weakly. A warning. And reality crashed down on Brennan again, the self-hate, the fear, theI’m hurting him I’m hurting him I’m—
He pulled off and staggered back, leaving Cole swaying where he stood, dazed, eyes clouded over.
Brennan wanted to throw up. He wanted to run to Cole, make sure he was alright.
He wanted to drink more.
21THE QUIET
