She tried to put distance between them.
“Can you tell me what you are afraid of?”
She stared at him apprehensively and then shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“All right. Try this.” He rolled up his right cuff and bit into his wrist. The sharp fangs tore the skin and nicked the vein. Blood welled up in a crimson stream. He held his wrist out to her.
She stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Is my starchy bluestocking going to take me to task or is she going to have a meal before I ruin the sheets?” he asked.
“It just feels—a little intimate,” she forced out.
He said gently, “We’re married, and you spent all day with your face pressed to my shoulder. Your cheek has my shirt creases imprinted in it.”
Narrowing her eyes to slits, she took hold of his wrist, and with a slight twist to her mouth, licked the blood off.
Hot zings of sensation traveled from his wrists up his arm.
“Oh,” she said, in a puzzled but not-disgusted tone.
“What?”
“It’s not awful.”
“Is it usually?” he asked, voice gravely.
“Metallic and coppery. This is…” She took a longer sip from his wrist, her eyes flashing ruby once more. “Like a warm honey. With a sting of fire to it. I wonder if that is what a bee tastes?” She licked the blood from her lips.
“You don’t have to worry about hurting me, Jenny,” Kendrick said. “Take your fill.”
She met his eyes, a spark of wonder dawning. Then she lifted his wrist to her mouth and drank, fully absorbed. Her teeth in his skin sent a shock down his spine. Her eyes met his, and he smiled, pleased.
Genevieve had forgotten what it had felt like to be hungry, and to be fed.
She had forced herself to feed regularly, militantly, and always from those who could spare it. But she had never fed for pleasure from the tacky, metallic taste. She had never drunkjoyfully.
Why did Kendrick taste like all the sweetness of honey and all the spice of a Christmas wine? And why did she like it so much?
Her stomach felt pleasantly full, and she reluctantly let go of his wrist, licking the blood from her lips. She held out her wrist to him.
“I’m not hungry,” he said gently, misreading her gesture.
“No,” she said, “we need to complete the blood exchange.”Even if there’s a part of me that shakes for reasons I can’t remember.
“Are you sure?”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you think I don’t know my own mind?”
“I would never presume that, Jenny,” he said with a smile before taking her hand in his.
If she’d had a beating heart, it would have pounded. As it was, all was silent as he lifted her wrist to his mouth.Mirroring what he did for me…?Her swallow lodged halfway down her throat.
She barely felt his teeth break the skin on the inside of her wrist. But she felt him drink. His mouth was cool on her skin, but sparks traveled up her arm to flood her body. Her lungs had forgotten she didn’t need to breathe; they were a mite unsteady. Kendrick didn’t take his fill from her—she hadn’t had a proper meal in longer than he—but he took several long pulls, his eyes flashing gold as he met her gaze over her wrist.
If the touch of his mouth was like embers, the feel of his gaze was like lightning.
For the first time in years, she felt warm enough to flush.
