My cheeks burn.
“We also have an acute sense of smell,” he adds.
I blink. “Like blood?”
Silas fights a smirk. “Yeah, like blood. Or like when you were with Prez earlier.”
I frown. “What do you me— Oh my God!” I gasp, horrified.
They all chuckle as I slap my hands over my face.
“I don’t think I want to know anymore,” I mumble behind my fingers, peeking through them.
“It’s fine. When the Fang Bangers come, the scent is overpowering,” Diesel shrugs.
I drop my hands, confused. “Fang Bangers?”
“Club whores,” Marko answers. “It’s what we call them. We allow them in on the first of every month.”
I shift uncomfortably, my mind traitorously offering up images of Lucian with one of them. Or more than one.
I subtly shake my head. I have no right to think of him as mine. I’m his captive, for crying out loud.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Do you… kill them after you’ve—” I pause, flustered. “You know.” I gesture vaguely.
“After we’ve fucked them?” Silas asks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“No. They don’t know what we are. They just want to be biker whores,” Hex says with a shrug.
“I restrict it. I don’t want them seeing too much,” Lucian adds, his gaze never leaving me the entire time.
“I think that’s it… for now,” I say softly, clutching the whiskey bottle like it’s a lifeline.
“Leave us,” Lucian orders.
They vanish within a second, blurring out of the room. The sudden speed of it takes me by surprise.
Lucian remains where he is, standing at the foot of the bed, his amber eyes fixed on me.
“I’m tired,” I lie.
I’m not tired. I still have a million questions I want to ask, but I’m overwhelmed, and knowing that they’re not only an outlaw biker gang but also bloodthirsty vampires who could rip my throat out in a split second has me treading very, very carefully.
He moves around to his side of the bed and climbs in. I don’t move. He gently takes the whiskey bottle from my hand and sets it on the nightstand.
I want to protest and drink more, maybe enough to pass out. At least then the questions ricocheting around my skull would shut up.
“Lie down,” he orders. His voice is gentle, but there’s an unmistakable edge of authority to it.
I do as I’m told.
Is this the moment he sucks my blood and makes me his? Is that how it works? Maybe I just laid down because he has mind control. I’ve seen movies. They have that.
Maybe I’m attracted to him because he told me to be.
He pulls me to him. I let him, but my body stays rigid with uncertainty, unsure what he wants or what’s going to happen.
I end up with my cheek resting against his chest. His fingers thread through my hair, combing in a slow, soothing motion.
