I walked right up to the kitchen door and made sure she couldn’t see me standing there. I watched as she twirled and twerked her way through the kitchen, making what looked like a peanut butter and jelly…and pickle sandwich. I hoped to God that I was wrong because I wasn’t in the mood to vomit.
Dancing her way back to the couch, she flopped down and started munching on small pieces of the sandwich she had made. She flipped through the channels a few times, and settled on a reality television show—women bitching about their husbands, by all appearances. Popping open a beer and taking a drink, she let out a rousing belch before giggling at her show.
This woman was going to make my eyes roll into the back of my head.
I watched her a few minutes.
Haley texted while half paying attention to the show. She would be the perfect go-between as soon as I could get her Thralled to me. My lips twitched, starting to enjoy her childish silliness with the pickles and the beers. She kept waving the small gherkin pickle and snickering madly.
It took only a small push from my power to get her under the start of Thrall. A very simple mind, more occupied with her shoes and beer. I envied the simplicity to some degree.
Stand. Come open the door for me.
Without hesitation, she put the plate, the phone, and the remote on the table and headed to the back door. Flicking the lock open, she pulled it open fluidly and seemed to smile at me.
“Good girl,” I praised. “Are you ready to play my game?”
“Of course. I like games.”
I leered. “Excellent. This game is lots of fun. First, we need to have snack time, and then I’m going to explain to you exactly what we’re going to do.”
I stepped close to her curvy body and wrapped my right hand around the nape of her neck. With a sharp glance into her eyes, calling my power to the front and capturing her gaze with the burning of Thrall, she collapsed in my arms limp as a rope.
I sat her down on a white and black checkered kitchen chair.
With a gentle touch, I tipped her head back, letting my fangs drop.
As I pierced the skin above her vein, I saw Nial in the tree watching me, his attention focused on my teeth. I sank my fangs deeper into her soft flesh, sealing my lips around the openings, evaluating him. He wasn’t looking at her. His heady gaze was all for me.
After the first mouthful of her hot, sweet blood, I didn’t care if he was watching. I didn’t care if he whipped out his dick and started jerking it. Mouthful after mouthful of fresh, clean, live blood slipped down my throat and warmed my entire being, down my chest and flowing out to my tense limbs. It was magnificent, feeding on a human that hadn’t been captive, unwilling, or used a thousand times by other vampires. Her soft, honeyed taste spread through every part of my body, revitalizing me, reconnecting me to the world around me.
The soft little thing’s memories slipped through.
Fun, silly sex she and Ginter often had, the garden parties she loved, the car she drove too fast, almost with reckless abandon. The friends she had, the courses in college, the charities she helped, high school, losing her virginity, her first kiss, her grammar school sweetheart.
I pulled back, allowing the flow to slow and close down.
If I went further, I would kill her, and that was not the plan. The plan was Thrall and control for the next day or so. There was nothing offensive about this girl. She was perfect for my plan. With a lick of my tongue over each puncture wound, the magic in my saliva sealed her skin.
I took a moment to lick the last of her blood from my teeth.
Exquisite. Innocence always tasted so scandalously delightful.
I lifted my own wrist and slashed a vein there. Holding it against her lips, I let a few drops slip down, onto her tongue and down her throat. Just a bit, just enough to hold the Thrall lightly and know all that she heard and saw. I could influence her actions and questions. There were ways she could get Ginter to talk and react that no one else could.
I sealed my wrist and carried her over to the couch.
Haley would be out for a while—an hour or two.
I leaned down to her ear and planted some suggestions. “You’re curious about Timothy’s money. Where does it come from? Who handles it? Who is he beholden to? I want you to find out who he associates with, who would bring him down if they had the chance. What would destroy his reputation.”
She opened her mouth and let out a breath. “Samson.”
Ooh, she already knew things?
I searched her memories that I’d shared from her—and sure enough, there was a gentleman there named Samson. He was handsome, tall and had tried to rape her after trying to bargain with Ginter for a night with her. Disgusting human.
He needed a visit.
