“I could run to the store at some point to stock up. I have credits for produce and a few other things, since I eat meat for the most part,” Dean offered, referring to the small Academy-run grocery store a few floors below us. “Can’t have her living off spaghetti and off-brand tomato sauce.”
I snorted. “No, I suppose not.” I was surprised he was offering to do anything helpful, but perhaps we could manage to put our differences aside where her wellbeing was concerned. For now.
He glanced at the closed door to the shower room. “I could go now. I could get something for dessert,” he said, already straightening up. “Think she’d like ice cream?”
“I imagine so.” I knew how to cook, but that didn’t mean I often indulged in food, let alone dessert. As much as it irritated me to admit it, he probably had better judgment in that regard.
I finished chopping the ingredients and got the sauce started after Dean went out. My thoughts kept drifting to the meeting in the headmaster’s office, and the fact that news was almost certainly going to spread. It wasn’t every day they changed room assignments, let alone in such an unconventional manner.
When the door to the bathroom opened, I looked up in spite of myself, and the sight of Bells wrapped in a towel with another around her head had more of an effect on me than I wanted to admit.
She was beautiful. The word didn’t do her justice, but there were hardly any that could. She glanced up at me under dark lashes as she rubbed at her damp black hair with the towel. Her skin was flushed from the heat of the water, and even from across the room, I caught the alluring scent of her blood.
I swallowed hard, trying to fight back the thirst I’d all but learned to ignore. Everything was more difficult where she was concerned.
“That smells delicious,” she remarked, sniffing the air. She wandered over, peeking at the sauce simmering on the stove. “You cook?”
“A bit,” I answered, trying to keep my cool even though I found her far more appetizing than anything I was capable of concocting on the stove. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“What’s the occasion?” she asked playfully, leaning back against the counter with her arms folded. I tried to keep my gaze above her shoulders.
“Housewarming, I suppose,” I said with a smirk, offering her a spoonful. “Try it.”
She hesitated, and I worried I’d overstepped my bounds, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the spoon.
“Mmh,” she murmured, her eyes widening. “That’s amazing.”
“That’s good to hear,” I chuckled. “I haven’t had much practice lately.”
“You don’t eat, do you?” she asked, tilting her head as she watched me. “I’ve only seen you in the cafeteria that one time.”
“It’s possible, I just don’t need to,” I admitted. “Not human food, anyway.”
Recognition dawned in her beautiful blue eyes, and I knew the worry that came into them all too well. I’d never taken joy in intimidating others, as most of my kind did, and I’d received no shortage of grief for it. Still, the idea of her fearing me was damn near unbearable.
“How often do you have to… you know… drink?” she asked warily.
“About once a week,” I admitted. I couldn’t lie to her even if I wanted to. Maybe that was part of imprinting. It was rare enough that there were few vampires I could ask, even if I did get along with the others.
I could tell there was something else troubling her. A question she was too afraid to ask.
“Go ahead,” I said quietly. “You can ask me anything.”
She wet her lips, her gaze flickering over me. She wasn’t quite nervous. I wasn’t sure if she realized it, but she had a spine of steel. That much had been obvious from the moment I’d met her. “Do you have to kill people?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “Not at all.”
She nodded, seeming relieved. “Who do you feed from?”
I hesitated, knowing this was dangerous subject matter. “The school has supplies on hand. I make due.”
“You mean bagged blood?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. “Does that work?”
“It takes the edge off,” I answered carefully, straining the cooked pasta in a colander. The kitchen tools weren’t in short supply, at least.
“Is that what the others do?”
I paused, reaching for the plates in the cabinet. “No,” I admitted. “Most of them feed from donors. Other students, occasionally faculty who are willing.”
