“Quin, you can’t just say something smells like lumberjack and leave it at that. What’s lumberjack odour?”
“Chopped wood,” Quin said, sure of his answer.
“That doesnotsmell like wood.”
Quin put the candle back down. “I quite like it, whatever it is.” He settled himself on the sofa. He was about to ask if Kit wanted some music on when his eyes caught on something that stopped him dead. The sleeves of Kit’s grey cashmere jumper had pulled up, revealing stark red marks all around Kit’s wrists.
The marks looked like the imprint of someone’s hands. Quin opened his mouth to—ask? Demand that Kit tell him who did it? Plead for Kit to open up to him? He wasn’t even sure. All he felt was his face flushing with anger and a deep-seated need for action.
Kit got there first, however, yanking his sleeves back down to cover the marks. “Don’t. Or I’ll leave.”
“Just tell me one thing,” Quin said, mentally crossing his fingers that Kit would consider at least answering this question.
Kit’s jaw clenched, staying silent.
It was as close to an agreement as Quin would get. “Do you need to feed more? To heal?”
Kit seemed thrown, no doubt thinking that Quin was going to ask about the marks despite his preemptive refusal to speak of them. “I…could do with more blood,” Kit said slowly. It was like even admitting to that tiny weakness tore something from his soul.
Quin nodded. “Can I help with that?”
Kit’s brows drew together. “How?”
“I have plenty of blood to spare.”
“You would let me feed on you?” Kit asked, his eyes dilating.
“Of course.” That Quin managed to sound casual about the offer was a small miracle.
Kit didn’t look convinced, but his sharp fangs poked out from under his top lip. Even the glimpse of them had Quin’s temperature rising.
“You must bite strangers all the time,” Quin reasoned. “Wouldn’t it be nicer with someone you know?”
“And here I thought kids were taught not to bite other kids,” Kit said.
“Not in my neck of the woods. So, throat or wrist?”
Kit gritted his teeth. “I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Including the word ‘yet’ there implies to me you will, in fact, agree,” Quin pointed out.
Kit glared at him before speeding across the room, stopping in front of him. “It can hurt.”
Quin flashed his own teeth at Kit. “I don’t think you’ll let me get hurt.” He held out his wrist, exposing the thin skin on the underside, blue veins standing out, stark and vulnerable.
“I’ve never fed from a werewolf before,” Kit lisped, fangs now dominating his mouth. Quin probably shouldn’t find the sight cute, but he couldn’t see Kit as anything but unthreatening.
“It’s no different to feeding from a human,” Quin assured him, before thinking about it harder. “At least, I don’tthinkit is. The curse is magic, so I don’t know how it affects my blood.”
“So, I just have to suck it and see?” Even though Kit was still making noises about refusing, he eyed up Quin’s wrist with interest.
Quin raised one eyebrow in challenge. After a few beats in which he could practically see the cogs turning in Kit’s mind, Kit seemed to reach a conclusion. He snatched Quin’s wrist and sank his fangs into his flesh.
The pain of being bitten quickly morphed into pleasure when Kit looked up through his pale lashes and their eyes met. Quin hadn’t met anyone with eyes like Kit’s before—that deep purple-blue of the sky right before dusk on a clear summer night. He wondered if they’d been so otherworldly before he became a vampire, or if they’d always been that way. Kit’s claws pressed lightly into Quin’s skin, reminding him that no matter the pretty exterior, Kit could rip Quin to shreds.
Despite his strength, Kit was gentle as he sucked Quin’s blood. He took his time over it, savouring it in a way that Quin never could with his favourite meals. It gratified Quin to know that his very blood was going to sustain Kit. And Quin couldn’t help but find the notion of something of his ownlivinginside of Kit utterly erotic.
Quin wished he could reach out and cradle Kit’s head as he fed. He just knew that those blond curls would be feather soft. He placed his spare hand on the arm of the sofa and pressedhis fingers into the material, lest he overstep and act upon his desires.
