Page 123 of Immortal Bastard

She shifted and punched the pillow, trying to find a more comfortable position. Without the distraction of sound, her mind continued to wander. Thoughts of work and the life she abandoned intruded, but it was mostly her concerns about Christian that kept her awake.

How could she be this tired and unable to sleep? She didn’t think it was normal for immortals to feel this lethargic. Or maybe it was. She was still trying to sort the facts from fiction and figure out how this whole super-human species thing worked.

The longer she lay in silence the more pronounced the hollow ache inside of her became. Her stomach was full, but her body still wasn’t satisfied. She knew what it needed, but she wasn’t willing to go there. She shifted again, dislodging the blankets and upsetting the whole bed.

“Delilah.”

“Sorry.” She huffed. “I can’t sleep.”

“Would you like me to help you?”

“No.” She didn’t like when he did that glamour thing to her because it took away her control. Shouldn’t she be able to do things like that to herself? What good was this new body if she couldn’t control it? “Is it normal to feel this weak?”

He pulled her body back to him, once again holding her tightly in his arms. “No.” He didn’t go into detail because there was no need.

They both knew she needed blood, but he’d promised to let her decide when she would feed. The thought still repulsed her enough that any sense of appetite disappeared. It was more like a hankering.

It made Delilah think of one of her clients who got pregnant and said she started craving dirt. Actual dirt. Turned out, eating dirt was a symptom of a nutrient deficiency and that was her body’s way of obtaining the minerals the baby needed.

But why did it have to be blood? Dirt she could eat.

She must have exhausted herself because she bolted out of sleep, startled awake by something. A sharp knock had her jackknifing out of bed. She scanned the room with bleary eyes.

“Christian?” He was gone. Sunlight spilled into the room, leaking past every crack in the closed curtains.

Downstairs, pintura.

When the knocking sounded again, she frowned, touching his side of the bed and finding it cool. What time was it?

“Good morning, Sister Abigail.” Christian’s voice carried from downstairs, and Delilah’s attention jerked to the door. Who the hell was Sister Abigail? And why was she visiting Christian at the butt crack of dawn?

“Good morning, Brother Christian. My father sent me to deliver the notes from the meeting you missed. He assumed you’d want them.”

“Thank you.”

“I also have some fresh bread for you.”

This was the bread source. Recalling how pretty the woman was from Christian’s memories, Delilah scrambled out of bed.

“That’s very kind of you. You look well.”

“I am well, indeed, thank you.”

Delilah rifled through the drawers. Shirt, shirt, shirt, shirt. She was fresh out of dresses.

Snapping the drawer shut, she shoved her legs into a pair of Christian’s pants, hiking them all the way past her boobs so she wouldn’t trip. She rushed out of the room to see the woman Christian thought looked so well.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me to say congratulations on your goddeslieb.”

“Not at all.”

The woman’s voice softened and Delilah detected an edge of disappointment. “I’m happy for you. You’ve waited a long time for your pare to come.”

“Your time will come as well, Abby.”

Now it was Abby?

A burst of reassurance hit Delilah, but rather than comfort her it annoyed her, like a light spritzing rain that ruined hair with frizz. She imagined gathering up all his reassurance and flinging it back at him on a medieval catapult.

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