Given that Harris was also under a strong compulsion to always be perfectly honest with me, I knew he believed that to be true.
Such a small thing, really. He’d get over it.
“But youarephysically attracted to me?”
“You’re such an asshole,” Harris muttered. He, at least, had more fight in him than the late, unlamented Jerry Winslow. At last, grudgingly, he said, “Yeah. I am. A little.”
“Huh. Well, you’re right—it wouldn’t work. It might be fun, though.” I paused, considering. “Have you ever slept with a guy before?”
“No.”
“I could teach you. I’m sure you’d be pretty good at it.”
“Absolutely not.”
I grinned, my gaze landing on the young blonde woman lying on the floor of Winslow’s basement. Her eyes were closed—unconscious from the cocktail of sedatives he’d slipped her—but she was still breathing.
How nice for her.
“Have you ever realized you might enjoy having sex with another man?” I asked, refocusing on the more important topics at hand. I arched an eyebrow, a smirk forming on my lips. “Before this conversation, that is?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
That was a loaded question if there ever was one. Though, truly, there was nothing wrong with me at all. Because none of this mattered. The only thing that did matter was that I was no longer hungry, and the predatory drive that compelled me to watch the light fade from my victim’s eyes was now satisfied—for the moment, at least.
“Detective,” I admonished. “Remember, we’re being honest. And I’m really not hearing a no.”
Harris let out a long breath. “Since we’re apparently having three a.m. real talk and I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, then yeah—I guess, in the back of my head, I might’ve known that sleeping with a guy would be okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Fine. Better than okay. Are you happy?”
“You should be thanking me, you know. I’ve just helped you set aside years of repression and discover your own latent bisexual tendencies. I may have saved you thousands in therapy bills. Or, at the very least, you’re still young enough to go out and enjoy all the options life has in store for you. You’re quite welcome.”
He sighed, clearly exasperated. “I’m not sure that mind-fucking me into oblivion counts as something I should thank you for.”
“Be honest with me—”
“Do I ever have a choice?”
I snorted. After our first meeting, I’d used my hypnotic gift to plant a powerful suggestion deep in his psyche: he must always be entirely honest in all interactions with me. He mayhave been my unwilling partner in crime, but he was my partner nonetheless. And I wouldn’t tolerate lies from those close to me. That part was entirely non-negotiable.
“No,” I replied shortly.
“You said we’re being honest. You know I’m telling you the truth. But how do I know you’re not a compulsive liar? How can I believe anything you’ve ever told me is true? How can I trust that?”
I frowned, puzzled by his ridiculous question. I was a ruthless, unrepentant killer—but never a liar. Still, I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you honestly care?”
“About whether I can trust the psychopathic vampire who murders people on a regular basis? Gee, yeah, I guess I do.”
He might’ve been compelled to be honest, but that didn’t stop him from injecting as much sarcasm as possible into his replies.
“I’ve never lied to you. Not even once,” I told him, straightening my spine and leaning into the phone’s tiny speaker. It was imperative he understood this. I lacked mercy and compassion, but never honesty. “I will always be honest with you. Always.”
My words had the benefit of being so true that I was certain he could hear their veracity in my voice.
“Okay, fine.” He let out a long breath. He sounded relieved when he added, “I believe you.”
