I finally sit up, glowering at the smug jackass. "All right, what sick, twisted demon thing did you just make me pledge to do?"
"Only murder heaps of cute little puppies, of course," he rolls his eyes, kicking aside the blood-covered spike now lying on the road. "Don't be stupid—if I want something sick and twisted done, I can do it myself. Only thing you promised is to help me track down and win over the woman I love."
My head rears back before I get to my feet, sure I misheard him.
"Love?You're kidding. You're a fucking demon."
"Half-demon," he clarifies again, going back to fueling his bike. "By the way, you look like a used tampon on legs. You on some kinda blood spree or something?"
I glance down at my stained shirt, hands, arms, and the splatters on my pants. The lingering scent sends a pang of pure hunger down my throat. I swallow hard as my head pounds, my attention drifting to this guy's neck.
I wonder what demon blood tastes like.
He notices where I'm looking. To my surprise, he barks out a laugh and holds out his wrist. "Try if you want."
I pause. "You're not serious."
"The fuck I'm not. I'm not scared of a bite. Just don't forget, since you made that infernal pledge, if you come anywhere close to killing me, your soul'll immediately be cut up into pieces and scattered through all the hells of the Beyond to burn for all time."
Fair warning, I guess.
I should really ignore this offer since it's coming from a half-demon who just coerced me into his little side quest by turning me into a thrall-ke-bab.
But thirst is making my insides scrape together, empty and desperate, and searing my throat. It feels like I've been left out to dry in a desert for days. My fucked-up, newly freed thrall brain seems blissfully unaware of the fact that I drank almosttwo gallons from the last guy I took out earlier today before my stomach started sending it right back up.
The ache in my mouth worsens. I take a step toward the half-demon, then one back. "No. Just tell me where this so-called lady love of yours is, and let's get this over with."
He shuts the gas cap to his motorcycle, locking it in place before looking me over. Stripping off one of his biker gloves, the half-demon doesn't hesitate before biting his own wrist hard enough to draw blood.
The scent hits me immediately. My body reacts viscerally, muscles clenching with such desperation to feed that my vision turns hazy, zeroing in on the blood now trickling over his wrist.
"What're you waiting for?" he asks, holding out his wrist. "You'll be more helpful to me if you're not fucking ravenous."
Any semblance of control I was clinging to snaps. Suddenly, I'm standing right in front of the half-demon, my fangs sinking into his wrist.
Finally.
For a fleeting second, the thirst ripping my mind and stomach apart ebbs as hot, rich, metallic-tasting blood courses down my throat to fill the hollowness inside me. I swallow more, gripping his arm tightly as the feeding frenzy builds.
The half-demon exhales in a short puff of surprise. "Hells. I've heard demons and monsters say pleasure feeding's almost a guaranteed thing with vamps. Didn't realize it'd be likethis.Not bad at all."
That's one decent thing about being what I am. Thrall or vampire, if I'm draining the life out of someone, they're usually enjoying it so much they forget about the pain. Not that I care if this asshole is in pain or not—I'm just so relieved to get a reprieve from the thirst razing my body for even the briefest moment that I ignore him completely.
Until a few seconds later, when he places his other hand on my shoulder. "You've got your fill."
I'm still starving,but I try to make myself stop. I really do.
I justcan't.
Trying to pull away for one second feels like trying to hold your breath for longer than a couple of minutes—I need blood like I need oxygen at that point.
The half-demon sighs. Abruptly, pain pierces through one of my hands that still grips his arm. I lurch back in surprise, hissing when I see that one of his earrings has been turned into a needle-like piece of metal now stabbed straight through the middle of my palm.
"Stop stabbing me," I snarl, my voice not sounding much like mine right after feeding.
"Why? It works, doesn't it?" he shrugs.
Making another motion with his hand, the needle zips back out of my hand. It reshapes itself in his ear, going back to looking like any of his other piercings. He must wear those strategically, in case he needs metal in a pinch.
