He grunted. “Where did your friend go?”
“She, um, got an offer from a regular client,” I told him.
He was inspecting the hinges on the door, but at the admission, he turned study me.
“I see,” he murmured. He huffed out a sharp breath. “I’d imagine that happens often.”
“Why?” I asked.
“How much blood do you think an average Kylorr drinks a week? Or from moon wind to moon wind cycle? In an entire year?” he asked.
“A lot, I suppose,” I said, smiling. My father had very rarely drunk blood. He’d subsisted on food mostly, unless we’d come across adyaanin our travels at major ports. But those had been far and few in between. I’d never minded. But considering it was a faux pas to drink from a family member unless the circumstances were absolutely dire, it had usually beenmeto track down thedyaansfor him.Or I’d ask around for willing givers if I’d seen my father getting too weak or tired or slower than usual.
“Yes,” he said. “So when a Kylorr finds a source of blood they enjoy better than all the others, they usually do whatever they can tokeepit. To secure it. Think of it like eating bread all your life and then having a meal prepared by a talented culinarian. It’s difficult to go back.”
There was a nudge of tension between us at the words. Because I knew that my scent alone enticed him. That he wanted me, my blood.
“Is it really like that though?” I asked, fascinated. My father and I had never talked about this. It wasn’t even until we’d reached Krynn that I’d realized how much he’d been denying himself. I wondered if it was because he’d been half-Kylorr, if perhaps he hadn’t needed the nourishment from blood as much. “Most Kylorr don’t seem that picky about their givers.”
“But they have preferences,” he replied.
“Do you?” I asked, the question out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Of course I do,” he answered cooly, assessing me carefully.
What would that be like?
Had I envisioned being a blood giver for Kythel?
Yes.
I knew that the act of feeding was not a sexual experience—unless it was between lovers or mates. Males and females alike, of varying ages, of varying appearances all worked as givers at thedyaan.
Still…
I had envisioned what it would be like to have him feed from me. To feel his hot breath against the sensitive flesh of my neck or my wrist. To feel his heavy weight against me, pinning me. I’d watched Kylorr feed before. Sometimes they went mindless with the act. Not violent. Rather,focused. Every fiber of their being was consumed with feeding, and so, often, they wrapped their wings around the blood giver, to ensure they would get their fill.
The fantasy was…intriguing.
“At your keep?” I asked, picking at a hole in my trousers. “Or at RaanaDyaan?”
“I prefer to keep my feedings at adyaan,” he answered. “Not in my own keep, unless I send for a giver from the villages.”
“Why?”
Kythel reached forward, turning his attention back to the door. I watched with parted lips as he raised the heavy metal of it with ease, hooking it back on its hinges. With a mighty pull, he jerked it down into place, and I heard the reverberating pound of the metal as it clicked. He tinkered with something on the hinge, then checked to make sure it swung.
When he closed it, it fit perfectly into place, though it creaked when he opened it once more.
“Because when you’re aKyzaireof the Kaalium,” he answered, “people get strange. They always want something from you. Then they begin to expect things from you—promises you never made. It’s easier to keep every facet of my life carefully confined. Even though I have preferences for my givers, I never drink from one more than three times.”
Three times?
Had he only wanted to drink from me three times?
Walking to the door, I touched the metal, the beautiful swirling design it made.
“Thank you,” I said.
