“How sick?” I asked.
“Dead sick.”
“Aren’t I dead already?”
“We both know the dead do not speak, laugh, and…” he bent his head and kissed me with a sweeping tongue, “make love like a frisky ferret.”
“Hey now!” I smacked his beefy arm, which was tattooed with vines and odd symbols—like charms on a bracelet—snaking up from his wrist to his shoulder. The other arm was the same. He still wouldn’t tell me what the designs meant, which made me think the answer was unpleasant. “Don’t make fun of my sex noises!” And for the record, it had been more of a shriek, like a fan belt slipping.Eeeee…
“Who could make fun of those?” He grinned, flashing a bit of fang and two small dimples hiding beneath his dark stubble.
“In my defense, I’ve never felt anything that incredible.”
“Of course you haven’t,” he said arrogantly, trailing his fingertip over my jawline. “It took five centuries of practice to refine such skills in the bedroom.”
I didn’tlikethinking about his age, but Ihatedthinking about all the women he must’ve gone through over the years. A girl like me, who’d onlyhad one lover—him—used to dream about my “one true love.” You know, eyes locking across a crowded room, and your heart just knowing you were meant to be. Kind of like Cinderella. My first encounter with Stark had been more likeLittle Red Riding Hood. I guessed I got my fairytale after all. Just not the one I’d expected.
He went on, “But let us not become sidetracked by my endless masterful tricks in the bedroom. Masie, you must drink—”
“Well, now you’ve got me all curious because I’ve only seen a handful of your tricks. What’re you holdin’ back?”
“If you wish to find out, you will do as I ask and drink,” he growled, grabbing the bottle and placing it in my hand.
He wanted to play it that way, huh? Well, I could fight dirty, too.
I gazed into Stark’s now moss-green eyes, preparing to say that he couldn’t have me again until he stopped pushing the moonshine, but the intense look on his face caught my attention.
It reminded me of the night we’d met, when I’d been waiting tables at the Flaming Rooster. Stark came in, drawn to my scent because it reminded him of his first love, Anna. Queen Anna. If only I’d known what was to come next. So many sad, terrible things, like my friend Deedee being murdered right outside the Rooster and her attacker coming after me, too. I’dfought for my life that night and would’ve died if Stark hadn’t shown up. Bottom line: I was sitting here, alive-ish, because of him.
My stubbornness took a small step back, making way for more serious thoughts. “Tell me the truth. Is there any possibility I’ll turn back?” Seemed a little unfair to have gone through so much to stay alive, only to end up like this.
“One cannot be un-vampired, Masie. It is a one-way ride. Now drink,” he ordered.
“Just-just gimme a sec, okay? I’m not ready.” My insides were turning into knots.
“Becoming a vampire is like parenthood. No one is ever ready,” he argued.
How would he know?
Stark added sternly, “The sooner you accept the situation, the easier it will be to shepherd you through the transition.”
“Okay, but you’re not helping with that tone.” It was making me feel cornered instead of strong and calm, ready for the leap.
Stark stood, still fully naked, his irritation written all over his handsome face. “My tone is a reflection of my desire to keep you safe, which you will be if you follow a few simple rules: do not wander into the sun no matter how enticing it looks; do not tell anyone you are a vampire until you have mastered your defenses; and, thirdly, the most vital of all, do as I say.”
I narrowed my eyes defiantly. I was a nice girl.Loyal, too. But I wasn’t his obedient pet. He knew that.
Noticing the poison darts shooting from my face, he added, “Please? You are…worrying me.”
I appreciated his attempt to soften the pitch. It showed he cared, showed he loved me.
My knots began to untangle.Ugh.Why was I fighting him on this? I had no reason to doubt Stark after he’d saved my life multiple times.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “I guess I have to do something to stop the hangry viper slitherin’ in my stomach, but can you please tell me when all this will be over?” He’d been annoyingly vague about the process of turning. “When will I actually get to enjoy this? Where are my fangs? When will I start running really fast like you—”
Quicker than my eyes could register, he was sitting next to me again, forcing the upturned bottle into my mouth. The liquid slid past my tongue, coating the back of my throat with a sweet, creamy concoction. It reminded me of a strawberry milkshake.
This stuff is…yummy!I dropped the sheet, grabbed the bottle with both hands, and chugged, my body flooding with euphoria.Even better than the buttermilk fried chicken at the Rooster!And that was saying a lot. Our chicken was second to none. Perfectly crispy. Never too greasy. Tons of spices and heat.
