Page 150 of Immortal Bastard

“How could she be? You’re blameless. Females cannot interfere with Council Law.”

“Ew. You have no idea how gross that just sounded.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

She dropped her chin. “You literally do.” Rolling her eyes, she got back to her point. “Look, you’re mine, so I have to answer for your actions. If you report her, she’ll know any backlash came from you because you were the only elder at that dinner. Then she’ll call me out, and I’ll have to explain that you didn’t mean to be a dick but it’s your duty. Don’t put me in that position.”

“That’s five.” He lifted her chin. “And she should know that you have no say over such things.”

“But I—”

He silenced her with a soul-spinning kiss.

“Um,” she said dazedly, unsure what she’d been saying a moment ago. “What was that for?”

“You called me yours.”

“Oh. Well, you are, right?”

He grinned and kissed her again. “Irrevocably.”

“Then please try not to be a dick to my friends.”

“Six. And I’ll do my best.”

She sucked in a breath, shocked he actually conceded. “Really? You won’t tell on her?”

“Not this time. But a good friend would remind her that a female’s clothing is an expression of faith.” He poured water from the pitcher into a bowl and washed his face like he did every morning.

“Yeah, I’ll jump right on that.” Sorting through her clothing options, she considered a bright blue gown she hadn’t worn yet. “This color’s pretty.”

Christian glanced over his shoulder and stilled.

She looked down at the blue dress then back at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple making a slow glide under the damp skin of his throat. “That’s your wedding dress.”

She looked at the plain gown again. “It is?”

He nodded. “Amish believe blue is symbolic of life’s most important moments. When a female gives her life to her husband, she wears a blue gown. The gown is only worn again when she gives her life to her maker.”

“You mean when I die? That’s sort of creepy.”

“Not all Amish traditions apply to us immortals.”

“Right. Because we don’t die.”

“No race is without tragedy.” He crossed the room and closed his hand over hers. “Your safety is everything to me, pintura.”

Such familiar statements filled her with a sense of security. “I know.” He released her hand and returned to the dresser. “Um, out of pure curiosity, how do you kill a vampire?”

He stilled as he pulled on his shirt. “Are you researching for future endeavors, pintura?”

“No, I just figure it’s something I should know. I mean, can I die if someone shoots me with a silver bullet or if I accidentally stab myself with a wooden stake?”

Barn raisings could be treacherous—all those splinters flying around willy-nilly.

He chuckled. “First, you’re immortal. Being vampire means something very different. Second, those things would hurt, but they would not end an immortal life.”

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