Page 18 of The Hawk and the Nightingale

Amalie stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Hawk. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Hawk grasped her hand. “It’s nothing.”

Iveta rolled her eyes. “Both of you, stop. Where’s this food you promised me?”

Chapter Fourteen

Amalie - Prague, Present Day

Since Iveta refused to eat in the office, Hawk brought them down to the kitchens where Henri was in the midst of making the crew’s lunch. As was his habit, he’d prepared more than enough food for all of them. The food was delicious, but Amalie thought the best part of her meal at Hawk’s club was the wide-eyed shock across his, Peter, and Henri’s faces.

“Have these three never eaten with women before?” Iveta asked, as she jerked her head toward the three mortals.

“I’ve never seen anyone eat so much,” Hawk said. Amalie and Iveta had each eaten three roast beef sandwiches, a plate of dumplings and sauerkraut, and they were now sharing a blueberry kolache. By contrast, Hawk and Henri had only eaten one sandwich each, and Peter only had a cup of coffee and an apple.

“My mother eats like this,” Henri said. “She used to roast three chickens for dinner. One for her, two for the rest of us. Not to mention the potatoes she put out with dinner, the vegetable casseroles, and at least an entire loaf of bread. Fresh baked,” he added.

“We need a lot of nourishment when we’re healing,” Amalie explained. “Otherwise we can go for days or sometimes weeks without mortal food.”

“How do you heal?” Peter asked. When Iveta growled, he held up his hands and said, “I didn’t mean to pry!”

“You’re not prying,” Amalie said. “Iveta is just protective. Some would say overly protective,” she added, with a knowing glance toward her friend.

“My protectiveness has kept your fool ass alive all this time,” Iveta grumbled, as she speared the last dumpling with her knife and ate it directly from the blade.

“And what a fantastic ass it is,” Hawk said.

Amalie smiled at Hawk, then she focused on Peter. “It’s the blood that heals us.”

“Will only vampire blood do the trick, or will any hemoglobin do?” he asked.

“Technically, all blood heals us. Blood is life, no?”

“There at the beginning and the end,” Peter said, and Amalie nodded.

“While we could heal by drinking mortal blood, it would take a lot of blood, and be quite messy.” Amalie grinned, and added, “The victims, they tend to squirm.”

Peter laughed a bit too loudly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Am I?” Amalie countered. “Vampire blood is more concentrated than animal or even human blood. It is thicker, sweeter, and more powerful. The price of all that power—healing, our speed and strength, all of it—is exhaustion, followed by a ravenous appetite once we wake.”

“Is that why some think vampires sleep all day?” Hawk asked. “Not because you fall into a stupor while the sun’s out?”

“Yes, my brilliant one,” Amalie replied. “In reality we’re just tired.”

“And when you wake you’re ravenous for food?” Peter asked. “Not more blood, right?”

“I could go for some more blood,” Iveta said. “But this kolache is delicious.”

Henri leaned toward Iveta. “You’re scaring him.”

Iveta batted her eyelashes at the big, burly bouncer. “I know. Aren’t you scared?”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“You will.”

“If you’re all done tormenting each other,” Hawk began, casting a stern look at Henri but not Iveta, because he was no fool and wanted to stay alive for at least a few more decades, “it will be dark soon. Does anyone have more ideas on how we can lure these youngling vampires into the club?”

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