“—I should be able to decide when and where I drink blood.”
“True.”
“Orif I drink blood.”
“Ah.” He peered at me closely, almost as if seeing me for the first time. Except he looked at me like that at least twice a week. It was nice, if odd. Nobody in the world looked at me like that. “Are you the queen of the vampires if you don't drink blood?”
“If a tree falls in the forest and no one's around, does it squick you out by sucking out a hiker's blood? Come on, it's not that big a deal. Right? I mean, you know I'm nuts about you. It's not personal. In fact, it has nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me,” he parroted.
“Look, don't be like this, okay? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have picked the next time you wanted a chomp to tell you the feed store is closed, but there's been a ton of stuff going on.” I reached out and wiped soap off his shoulders. His broad, broad shoulers.Stay focused, idiot . “You know I love everything we do in bed. And out of bed. And in the shower. And in the parlors. And—well, I adore every second of it. But I really need to do this. I still don't feel like drinking blood is part of who I am, so… so I'm not going to do it.”
“You have shampoo on your ear,” he informed me, and that was the last he'd said on the subject.
Now here we were, stalking prey for him.
Personally, I'd rather be back in the shower.
“So what's it like? Making a vampire?”
“Anticlimactic.”
“Mister? Could you give me a hand?”
“Here we go,” I muttered. Well dressed as we were, we must have looked like pigeons ready to be plucked.
She was tall, with dyed black hair. Torn stockings. Thin as a two-?by-?four. No coat, the better to see your boobs with, my dear. Her arms looked like windshield wipers.
“Yes, miss? Do you require assistance?” Sinclair let her get close.
“No,” she replied, and I heard the pop of the switchblade. “I need your wallet.”
“There are shelters and counselors available to help you,” he informed her.
Her pimp was already flanking us in order to take us by surprise (so he thought), and as he made his move I backhanded him without even looking. It was easy. He spun and crashed to the ground.
Meanwhile, Sinclair had relieved the “professional” of her knife, picked her up so her feet dangled above the cracked sidewalk, and sank his teeth into her throat. She squealed and kicked, but I knew from experience it was like trying to get free from a tree.
I felt my own fangs pop out and had to look away.
I could (maybe) give up blood; Sinclair could not. But taking blood was downright sexual for us, so we'd compromised: we'd go out together. One-?night stands only for him.
Did I like it? I did not. I fucking hated it. I should be the one he was growling over, the one in his arms. By choice, I was not. But I felt like a pimp.
He pulled free and her head lolled against his shoulder. He looked at me with a vicious gleam in his eyes, blood staining his grin. “Like some? There's plenty.”
Yes! Hand her over! No, hell with her, bite me now, and I'll bite you, and that's how it'll be for a thousand years…
“Let her go.”
He dropped her. “As you wish.” He bent, tucked a business card from the nearest shelter into her top, straightened. Licked his teeth. “Ummm. She needs more fatty acids in her diet. And less crack. Shall we go?”
I shivered. “Eric, I love you, but sometimes you give mesuch a case of the creeps.”
He smiled at me. “Good.”
Chapter 13
We took our bloodlust straight to the downtown Marriott, where Sinclair, the sneaky bastard, had booked a room. We'd barely made it through the door when we started tearing off our clothes, groping, kissing, sucking— everything but biting. And God, it was hard. It was like jerking off and not letting yourself come. Why, why, why was I doing this?
Because I would not be ruled by my fiendish blood-?lust. I was the queen; it had to count for something. I was my own person, not a slave to my hungers.
I managed to keep those coherent thoughts until Sinclair tossed me on the bed, ripped through my skirt and panties, pushed my legs apart, and stuck his tongue inside me. I wrapped my legs around his neck and rode his mouth, both of us clawing through the bedspread. Then he was rearing over me, holding me apart with trembling fingers as he rammed into me with no finesse whatsoever. I didn't hold it against him.
Elizabeth you queen you brat you darling
“Back atcha,” I groaned while he pumped and worked between my legs, while I bit my own lip so I wouldn't bite him, wouldn't eat him like the wolf ate Red Riding Hood.
Another weird queen thing: I could read Eric's mind during sex. He couldn't read mine. Yeah, that had gone over well. I'd finally told him, at the worst possible time, but the good news was, he hadn't had the worst possible reaction. We'd patched things up, but it hadn't been easy.
I can't believe I'm going along with your stupid bid for independence I should have you over my knee this minute
“Later,” I panted. “You can spank me later.”
I will you brat you lovely you darling
I yelled at the ceiling as I came, yelled and clutched at him and tried to pull him farther into myself. He slid his hands beneath my ass and pinched me viciously as he shuddered into orgasm.
“Owwwww.”
He rested his forehead on mine for a long moment.
“What was that for?” I bitched. To hell with afterglow.
“You deserve that and worse,” he said, rolling off me. “Cutting me off from my favorite blood source. Why don't you take my testicles while you're at it?”
“Stop whining. If you really minded, there wouldn't be a thingI could do about it.”
He smiled thinly, and contemplated the ruin of our clothes. “You really think so, don't you, darling?”
“What are you bitching about? You got fed, you got laid. No baby in sight. The whole night in front of us— alone.”
The smile came again, a little more real this time. “Sometimes,” he said, “you almost make sense.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes I have panties on. What'd you do, eat them? There's scraps of clothing all over the place.”
“I took the liberty of packing a bag.”
“Well, thank goodness. You didn't, uh,like that whore, did you?”
He pulled me on top of him and suddenly I was looking into his black eyes, which, since I had just been looking around for my underpants, was startling. “You know my heart and my soul,” he said quietly, tenderly. “You can read my mind, something no one else on the planet can do. There is. No. Comparison.” He shook me a little at each word to make his point. “Though I must say I find your insecurity quite charming.”
“Shut up. I'm sorry to make you drink from strange women—”
“Idon't mind,” he said silkily.
“—it's just something I have to do for myself, you know? Not drink, I mean. I know it seems dumb to you —what'd you call it? My stupid bid for independence? If I was you, I'd probably think it was dumb, too. But it just seems—this whole past year—like I've been on a ride I can't get off. This is something I can control. I'm sorry if it screws you over.” To my surprise, I suddenly felt like crying.
He hugged me to him. “Darling, don't do that. I know what it's like to be a slave to the thirst. I think what
