Page 73 of Blood Bound (Blood Mafia 3)

Chapter Fifteen

Mateo

It’s going to be a battle, I can already tell. From the hard set of her jaw to the furrow in her brow, she makes it more than clear she isn’t interested in this conversation. She chose to stay though, so I’ll work with the time I’ve been given.

“How are your parents?”

Demi’s eyes haze with red. “They’re fine.” She shifts on the love seat, curling her fingers into fists.

I frown. “Why are you upset about that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you gave my father your blood?”

Ah. I see.

“Would you rather he be sent to a hospital where we can’t monitor him? Where Nix would be free to come and take him to use against you?”

The red deepens in her eyes. “No,” she admits, grinding her jaw as she speaks.

I lean forward, curious to see if she’ll attack me. If she does, it means she still cares. When she stops reacting, I’ll be really worried because it’ll mean she’s stopped giving a damn.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I didn’t do it to piss you off. I did it to help.” I hold my hands up in an attempt to show I’m not a threat.

She nods. “I understand, thank you.”

I pick up my drink and sip, then I notice her scowl. “I need blood to survive, Demetria. Would you rather feed me?”

Shaking her head, she huffs. “No.”

“Then let me finish this so you can stop scowling at me for drinking blood—which I need to survive but you won’t provide.”

She crosses her arms and watches me drink. The emotions she’s experiencing flash down the bond: jealousy, frustration, longing, and shame.

She’s ashamed because she’s jealous about me drinking another’s blood.

“It’s natural with the bond to feel possessive.” I set the glass on the coffee table and place my arms on the back of the couch.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Her eyes flit over me, taking in every inch of me before she lifts that angry gaze to meet mine.

Right, she’s not going to give me an inch to work with.

Time for the hard talk.

“I’d like to explain about your father and what happened.”

“And how you decided lying to me was the solution to that problem?”

I run my hand over my neck, then place it over my mouth.

The red has faded from her eyes.

All I see is hurt.

Her ire is fueled by hurt, as it often is for most people. I did that to her. Staring down the mess I’ve made, I remove my hand and stretch it across the back of the couch again.

“Nix sired me nearly three-hundred-and-fifty years ago. Do you know why?”

“You know I don’t.”

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