I know he’s been dwelling on this a lot (and watching lots of vampire movies), and I want to put him out of his misery—or give him something to look forward to.
‘Hmm ... So I’d suck your neck to the point of death, then give you my blood to drink. Once you transitioned and woke up, we’d make love and feed from each other. The transition will be a bit uncomfortable. But afterwards ... Well, let’s just say it’s an extremely pleasurable experience—ten times better than human sex,’ I say nonchalantly, inspecting my newly painted purple nails.
There’s a long silence.
I glance up to see that Damian’s pupils are dilated, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip. I can scent his arousal from here.
I smile to myself.
It doesn’t take much to get him going, and I’m not complaining. But I won’t be turning him tonight. I want to enjoy him as a human a little bit longer.
Chapter 32
Florence | Paris, 1921
After the Chad incident, I start keeping company with Sadie Bouffant. She told me her original name was Sadie Smith, but since she’s been working as a high-class prostitute in Paris, she thought she needed a fancier surname. Being with Sadie is a lot more fun than staying home alone, plus she’s skilled at enticing good-looking Americans to drop their trousers.
Of course, Alexander is livid that I’m out most nights and makes a lot of threats to keep me inside. But as he’s not willing to stop his ‘diversions’, I don’t care what he says anymore. I’m having too much fun being footloose and fancy-free. Besides, Sadie’s right: I can’t rely on Alexander as my food source forever. I need to learn how to feed sustainably if I want to be independent.
However, one night, he loses his cool completely when I’m getting dressed to go out dancing.
‘I forbid you to go anywhere with that whore!’ he howls, ripping at the bedsheets with his nails.
I ignore him. ‘Sadie’s not a whore,’ I lie, putting on dark-purple lipstick, my new favourite colour.
‘She is aliteralwhore! A Covent Garden prostitute from the 1750s!’
I narrow my eyes, suspicious at the specific decade he’s used.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I asked around. She’s not the sort of company you should be keeping!’
Rip, rip, rip go the bedsheets as Alexander works himself into a frenzy.
I roll my eyes at his childish tantrum and search for my beaded purse instead.I’m sure I hung it up in the wardrobe ... Ah, there it is.
‘Florence, are you listening to me?’
I sigh and face him. ‘I don’t care what Sadie does for a living, Alexander. She’s my friend, and I like her. She’s fun.’
‘But you haveme. I’m fun!’ he yowls, the bedsheets now completely shredded into ribbons.
Yes, I have you in some capacity—when you can be bothered.But honestly, it’s not enough.
***
‘You should leave him,’ says Sadie when I get to the cluband complain about Alexander. We’re sucking on a couple of ‘special’ Bloody Marys, thanks to Sadie’s hip flask.
I toy with my chin-length bobbed hair, which is the reason for my latest fight with Alexander. He likes my hair long and was furious that I cut it off.
‘He said if I leave, he’ll find me and snap my neck.’
‘Having one’s neck snapped is better than living in prison,’ Sadie counters.
‘I’m here with you now, aren’t I?’
‘Until Alexander binds you to the bedpost.’
