She was making toast. I was observing.
She moved with quick, unthinking grace—hair tied up, singing something that sounded like a battle chant disguised as modern music. I found myself close enough to feel the heat from the contraption heating her bread, to feel the heat from her.
“You’re breathing on me,” she said without turning.
“I’m observing you,” I said. “You are… captivating. And I am… ravenous.”
The dish towel hit me squarely in the chest. “You said you wouldn’t follow me!”
“I apologize.” I took one polite step back. Then another half-step forward, because I could not help it. “But you are very… efficient with bread.” I licked my lips.
She glared, muttering something aboutrestraining orders for undead men.I stared at the toaster, offended by how smug it seemed when it popped.
I forced myself to walk away and found myself fascinated by the cold box. It breathed like a living creature and smelled faintly of every sin.
Inside were countless sealed vessels, but one caught my attention—raw meat, minced into mush, still glistening, still red.
I lifted it, sniffed, and nearly sank my teeth into it before she shrieked and slapped it out of my hand.
“Do. Not. Eat. That!”
I blinked at her. “It smells of blood.”
“It’s rawturkey! You’ll die.”
I was unconvinced. Not much could kill me. “Perhaps I could drink from you instead.”
Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not! We just met!”
“True,” I said solemnly. “But our bond predates formal introductions.”
She looked like she might throw the cold box at me.
I followed her into the living quarters, where she proceeded to stare at a large, glowing box. She called itTV.I loathed it. Yet she was enthralled—legs tucked beneath her, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and “cheese toast” on the table in front of her.
I sat beside her, watchingherinstead. Her pulse beat visibly at her throat. The sound drowned out everything else.
I leaned closer, drawn by both instinct and starvation. My lips hovered near her neck.
She shoved me off the couch so hard I hit the floor.
“Bound doesn’t mean you get to nibble me like a snack whenever you want! Consent, Cristian!”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You said only if I asked, and I asked… earlier. You did not specify whether your answer mattered.”
“It matters!”
“Noted.”
She’d fallen.
I heard the impact through two walls and the rush of water. My instincts overrode manners and thought. I tore the door from its latch and entered, ready to defend.
She screamed. Loudly.
And then I stopped breathing.
Water slid down her skin in ribbons. Steam gathered in the air, blurring everything except her. Her hair clung to her shoulders; the line of her back caught the light. Her breasts were the epitome of perfection. Every inch of her burned with life.
