“You’re hungry?”
“And my head hurts.”
“If you want to feed, you only need to ask.”
“I’m asking.” He glares at me.
“I need to eat first. I have to make blood in my body in order to give it to you,” I say.
“I can feed?” Linton’s eyes are wide, and I suspect the concept of replacing what he’s already taken has gone missing in the literal red mist of being offered a second round.
“After I have,” I say sternly.
Linton does what can only be described as a mothman skip of delight, or at the very least, a flinch which could be interpreted as pleasure. Or he could be bilious, given he’s been complaining of a headache.
“Then you need to eat, my Kaitlyn,” he says, and he gestures to the stairs.
I follow Max down and back into the little nook we were in last night where the sideboard is groaning with food.
“Help yourself. There’s more if you want it,” Max says.
Looking at what’s out, it would be death by breakfast if I ate it all. Linton stares at it.
“What’s this?” Linton pokes at a pancake stack with a clawed finger.
“If you’re not going to eat it, don’t touch.” I slap his hand away, and for a second he holds it as if I’ve stabbed him.
Then he’s back, inspecting the food in the way I found him inspecting my sticky bun back at the bakery. I take a plate and pile it up, his red eyes following my every move, then I take a seat and start to eat.
Linton sits opposite me. He watches every forkful, from plate to mouth.
It is disconcerting.
“Would you like to try some?” I say eventually.
Linton licks his lips.
“You look…good…when you eat,” he says. “But it is not for me.”
“You can taste it, though? Can’t you?”
I hold out a forkful with a piece of bacon speared on the end.
Linton narrows his eyes and inspects it carefully, his nose wrinkling as he gets closer. Then he puts out his dark tongue and touches it against the bacon. It slides back into his mouth, and I have a very odd feeling in my core.
He sits back and smacks his lips.
“Salty. Like skin,” he pronounces. “Blood is sweeter.” His eyes blaze. “Your blood is sweeter than anything, my Kaitlyn.”
LINTON
Idon’t just want to feed, I want to feedfrom her.
The desire is overwhelming, made worse by the offering she made to me, the taste of what she eats, the salty meaty crunchy stuff she has been enjoying. It tasted like skin after a battle, my skin and others’. It tasted like I could bite into flesh and take whatever I needed, like in the old days when the Yeavering fed Bluecaps and no one hated us.
Not that there are many left to hate. The war in the Night Lands meant no breeding, and no breeding meant no Bluecaps.
I could be the last one, for all I know. Although all I want right now is a drop of my Kaitlyn’s blood to fizz on my tongue and make me feel alive again.
