Page 73 of The Biting Bargain

And I can go back to mine.

I have no reason to stay. The latest turn of events has set things straight.

I clear my throat, looking quickly at the floor, at the windowsill, at my hands, anywhere but at his scowl.

"I..." I mutter and turn on my heel to march out of the room as fast as I can before he sees the one, suspicious tear in my eye that will give me away. But his hand on my wrist holds me back.

"Did I tell you to leave?" he says in a low voice, towering over me, eyes dark as a storm, but his hand cupping mine gently.

I shake my head, not letting go of his eyes.

"I want you to stay." He steps closer, his body like a wall of warmth in front of me, and all I want is to sink into it. "Please," he adds.

"To what end?" I murmur.

He steps even closer, leaning down to me, one hand cupping my cheek, and he kisses me. And it's soft as a summer rain and laced with despair. And the tender spot in my heart aches so much, with joy and with pity and with fear. For I know full well what my heart wants will just pull me into another abyss.

"Stay," he murmurs after a while, his lips brushing mine, and I nod slowly.

"Okay," I murmur back, and then I kiss him, and he gives that deep hum when his tongue slides against mine, and my mind is spiraling out with bliss and...

My stomach growls.

A long, drawn out, embarrassing wail, like a goat dying somewhere. Vincent breaks away from me, glaring at me.

"Why don't you say a thing if you're hungry?" he growls, probably afraid I'm going to faint on him again.

I raise my shoulders with a helpless grin. "Forgot?"

He growls dismissively, rolling his eyes and grabbing my hand as he me along with him.

ChapterThirty-Three

Vincent

I watchher eat five sandwiches and a bag of chips. The chef could have made her anything — filet mignon, a gratin, a fucking pheasant — but she wanted a tuna sandwich and grilled cheese and those damn vinegar chips that taste like feet. But at least she looks happy sitting across from me on the sprawling lawn chair, propping her elbows on the glass table and munching.

Awfully cute.

I could eat her up, that's how freaking cute she is.

After everything that's happened, Polly craved some fresh air. So I had dinner brought to the park, at the very end of my vast estates, where there is a small patio lined by pine trees. The valley spreads out at our feet, and somewhere in the blackness the lights of the city twinkle in the gloom. Above our heads, the trees whisper in the night breeze.

And the moon is in the sky like a flashlight.

Strange that I'm sitting here, my perfectly normal self, the moonlight soft and milky tingling on my skin. And nothing happens. I still can't believe it.

"Aren't you eating?" asks Polly, reaching for the last sandwich on her plate.

I blink, snapping out of my thoughts. She points at the sandwich and I shake my head. She shrugs and takes a bite.

"I've never seen you eat before," she says, chewing.

We’ve talked about this before, an eternity ago in that restaurant, when she was destroying that pizza. I shrug my shoulders. "Because I usually don't."

"But vampires eat," she points out. "I've seen it on TV."

I scoff. It was probably another one of her pathetic soap operas, but she's not wrong. "Rarely," I admit. "We prefer our natural diet."

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