Page 19 of Kept 3
“The Kept heal from all wounds, I told you this.”
“No, you said they couldn’t be killed by anyone except for you.”
“Josephine, think about it, I feed daily upon my Kept. If they did not heal, they would have bite marks all over them – they heal instantaneously.”
“All over them?” my voice, I know, has risen, “I thought you freaks just fanged people’s necks?”
His laughter is soft, and I know he is shaking his head at my stupidity, again.
“Josephine, there are arteries all over your body. Your neck, yes, your wrists, your inner thigh,” he adds, his voice seductive.
I stare down at my arm, the smarting is beginning to ease, and consider his last words, trying hard to ignore the tiny thrill they sent through my body.
“You can cut the crap, Nicholas. I know what you are trying to do when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Your voice low, sultry, I know you are employing some vampire magic shit again; I’ve warned you about that.”
He bursts out laughing, the sound echoing around the kitchen.
“Josephine, I told you, I don’t have any more tricks up my sleeve. If you are getting turned on by my voice, that is all on you.”
“I’m not turned on,” I snort, flipping off the tap angrily and turning to face him, my own face flaming.
“Are you not?” he murmurs, his words sending shivers down my spine.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what.”
“Stop doing that thing with your voice.”
He laughs again, harder this time.
“I’m really not doing anything,” he says, still laughing.
I take a deep breath and turn back to the oven, away from his gaze, away from the sight of him leaning on my bench, his white dress shirt slightly open at the neck, black tie carelessly hanging, undone, to the side.
“What do you even want?” I mutter, my back to him, “dinner will be at least an hour away. This is my safe place.”
He doesn’t answer, and I turn back to him. His face looks hurt if that is even possible.
“I thought to watch you work, that is all.”
“Well, I don’t work well with a blood-sucking monster leering over my shoulder,” I snark.
I see his eyes darken, jaw harden, and know I have angered him.
“I see,” he says, rising to leave, “I will not invade your privacy again.”
As he turns to leave, I feel bad, which I remind myself, is stupid, because he is my kidnapper. But still, something causes me to open my mouth, to apologise.
“If you really want to be in here, you should have come earlier, when you could have been of use,” I say quietly.
He pauses mid-step but does not turn back.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmurs, “but you should know, Josephine, I find your voice a turn-on, too.”
