Carmine wasn’t a fan of how it made her feel knowing he didn’t want her. She could understand logically that it was good, but when she looked at him and felt that deep, dark pull in the pit of her stomach, she wanted something she had no name for — not to mention a hunger she couldn’t satisfy with synth and an ache in her fangs that made her want to rip them out by the roots.
And that made her irritable. His bottle sat nearly untouched in the cupholder. What right did he have to order her to drink when he wouldn’t?
“You drinkyoursynth,” she snapped back, pitifully churlish.
Atticus glowered at the road, lit by the beams of the RV’s headlights. “I have plenty of mass to burn. You don’t. Drink, Carmine.”
Never in her life had she lacked an appetite. Except for immediately after a meal, she always felt the rumblings of hunger. Like most venom neutral vampires, she struggled to keep on weight. They had higher metabolisms than most vampires. She’d read that it had something to do with their predisposition toward consuming the blood of other vampires and their unusual venom production that messed with their nutritional needs, but the research on the subject was inadequate.
Whatever the reason, brides drank nearly twice as much synth as an average vampire. Their appetites were endless, which made it a perfect target for exploitation. The best punishment for a bride was simply cutting their meals down.
Atticus seemed to know she needed more synth than him. He was constantly hounding her to drink more. To finish his bottle. To go grab another and sip as he drove.
Unfortunately, for the first time in her life, Carmine didn’t want synth. She wasn’t sure if it was all the upheaval and stress or just that she was unlucky with the brands he’d chosen, but it tasted foul. She could barely force it down, no matter how empty her stomach felt.
Complaining wasn’t going to get her anywhere. He paid for the synth, so what could she say? She knew that she ought to force it down and be grateful. But her venom gland wouldn’t stop aching, her fangs hurt, fear about her future held her by the throat, and she washungry.
She didn’t think it through before she dropped her bottle into the cupholder beside his. Agitated, stifled by the air that tasted like him and the restless need that couldn’t be named, she fumbled with her seatbelt until it unlatched. An alarm went off, presumably to alert her that she needed to put it back on, but she didn’t care.
“What are you— Carmine, sit your assdown.”One big, tattooed paw reached for her, but she was already squirming out of his reach. The vehicle slowed, the sudden change in speed making her sway and clutch the wall as she tried to make her way to the back.
“Where are you going?” Atticus barked. “Carmine, you need to be strapped in. If we got into an accident?—”
She wasn’t sure why she was so mad at him or where her temper came from. Carmine wasn’t a fighter. She was a thinker. A listener. A planner. And yet… “Are you a bad driver?”
It sounded like it came from between his teeth when he answered, “No.”
“Then don’t crash.”
“Doll, if you don’t sit your ass down, I’m gonna pull over.”
She planned on curling up in the bed and stewing on how to rid herself of her virginity, but she wasn’t about to tell him that, so she asked, “So? What’ll you do then?”
There was a moment of taut silence. Her heart raced. For a second she thought it was dread that made her blood rush, but that wasn’t right. She knew the anticipation that came just before a punishment. The fear. The swooping feeling of helplessness.
This wasn’t the same.
She kept walking, determined to keep her footing as the RV jostled over the road, but she was keenly aware of the vampire at her back. Hecoulddo anything to her. Atticus hadn’t punished her yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. A couple of trinkets from a gas station didn’t mean he was a good guy.
So why wasn’t she afraid?
Just as she reached the bed, Atticus breathed deep and said, “You’re upset.”
Well, she had nothing to say to that, did she? So she didn’t reply. Carmine pulled the covers back with some force, yanking the blankets out of the tight corners she folded every dusk, and slid rebelliously beneath the covers.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d simply gone back to bed. It never would have been allowed at the crypt. There was always some lesson to be learned, some work to be done. Taking a nap would have been seen as slovenly behavior.
Maybe that was why she was pitching a fit. She’d never sat so long in one place in her life. She didn’t have her work to occupy her. Just her thoughts, her worries, andhim.
Fuck no,he’d said.
Drink your synth,he’d ordered.
Well, if he wasn’t going to be her groom, then he could shove his orders somewhere tender.
Jerk.
“Carmine—”
