“Where is this from?” I demand of the thrall, a thin, too thin, woman with a pasty face.
She looks at me, and I realize I’ve done the usual Brit abroad and assumed she can speak English.
I point at the food and dredge my memory for the few words of Hungarian I attempted to learn before we came out here for Grace’s wedding.
“Hová?” I point at the food.
For a moment, her furrowed brow makes me think I’ve not made any sense at all, then it smooths out.
“Gerbaud,” she says with a nod.
One of the best patisserie shops in Budapest. Of course.
“Köszönöm.”
I think I see a flicker of a smile on the thrall’s face as she withdraws. I can’t imagine the vamps ever say thank you.
I also feel bad about hitting the thrall over the head earlier. They can’t help what they are. And all of them could easily bereleased to go back to their lives, should the vampires who have them, well, in their thrall, be prepared to release them.
But what is a vampire nest without an army of thralls to attend them?
I contemplate the thought as I contemplate the food. I am starving. My appetite has been pretty impressive in the last month. The biliousness I had a month or so ago which eventually alerted me to take a test having long gone.
To take many, many tests as I refused to believe my eyes.
But since then, I’ve felt fine. Except I appear to be eating for more than two.
All of which means my stomach lets out an impressive growl, and I know I’m not going to be able to resist. But also, why should I?
I doubt it’s occurred to any vampire in history to doctor a human’s food. Plus if Dominik is looking for a meal later for himself, he’ll probably want it unadulterated. I have heard of some vamps which seek out the intoxicated in order to get a high themselves, so certainly anything within the blood can and does transfer.
If it wasn’t for the potentially fatal nature of dosing ourselves with narcotics, I’m pretty sure it would have been one of the plays in the Van Helsing Vampire Hunting book.
I pour out the tea. It’s relatively strong, and I have to hope it is decaf, or I will have instant heartburn. One of the fun side effects of being pregnant. But then I did need to get my caffeine intake under control. I pile a couple of pastries on a delicate porcelain plate and perch on the edge of an overstuffed ruby velvet chaise longue, making short work of the items I’ve chosen.
“You were hungry?” Dominik’s accented voice reaches me as he steps out of the shadows.
“Have you been watching me?” I narrow my eyes, carelessly putting my plate down and knowing crumbs spill off it onto the upholstery.
Mess drives vampires wild.
Sure enough, Dominik’s eyes flick to the plate then back at me.
“Love what you’ve done with the place.” I look around me at the dark carved wood, the heavy drapes, and the dark rugs. “Do all vampires have a particular store you use to get the same look?”
Dominik has moved much closer to me, in the silent way predators can move.
“I can’t remember a vampire nest I’ve been in where you shopped at Ikea.”
The plate goes skittering onto the floor as Dominik is next to me, his hand around my neck, my body forced back against the couch. His eyes blaze.
“Whose nest have you been in?” he growls.
“You want a list? I’ll have to check my diary,” I respond.
His grip is tight but not constricting my airway. It’s almost a caress if I didn’t know he could snap my neck without even moving a finger.
“You will not enter any other nests,” he says, voice low and menacing. “You belong to me.”
