Callahan shifts untrusting eyes to D’etre. Of all of us he’s the only one who hasn’t met D’etre. For the last decade he’s been off wherever doing whatever. I had barely gotten to know him before he left, but Asier has told me stories about them.
“The only bloodsucker who’s ever bitten me was Varian,” he muses. Then walking towards them he says, “Don’t worry devil boy, I’m just lending my blood to the little vampire so she doesn’t go into bloodlust and kill us all.”
“So over-fucking-dramatic,” she mumbles. D’etre chuckles at it but Callahan continues glaring at him.
“At least put some fucking pants on. Vampires can’t turn anyone but they still have venom in their fangs.”
Glancing back at me, D’etre raises a brow but I only stare at them. Shaking his head the demigod disappears leaving only a few light wisps of smoke before reappearing with a pair of slacks on.
“Happy, devil boy?” Callahan almost snarls but the vampire whimpers again and he has no choice but to yield.
D’etre takes her quickly and then heads to the couch. Her hands are already latching onto his neck as her nose traces up his chest.
“Gods,” she mumbles.
D’etre chuckles as he sits in one of the reading chairs and positions her with her knees on either side of his hips. “Not quite, poison flower.” She hums as her tongue replaces her nose and D’etre’s hands tighten on her hips. “Fucking gods.”
She hums as she digs her nails into his shoulders and opens her mouth wider to reveal her fangs. But before she pricks D’etre’s skin she tenses. Her body vibrating with tension as she pulls back and lays her forehead in the crook of his neck.
She whimpers again and I swear to all that is holy if she does it again I’m snapping her neck.
“You – you don’t h-have to,” she stutters out. Her voice cracking as her body continues to shake.
D’etre widens his eyes as he looks over at me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Callahan with the same expression pointed at her. That should be impossible. She’s too newly turned and too close to a bloodlust to still stop when the points of her fangs were a hairs breath from ademigodsblood.
Taking one of his hands, D’etre runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck and pulls her head back. Tilting her head, he positions her back as she was with her fangs nearly touching his neck.
“I consent, poison flower,” he murmurs. “I give my blood freely.”
She hesitates for a second longer before slowly sinking her pearly fangs into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. For some reason I hold my breath as I watch her take her first pull of his blood. And then her body relaxes into him and she groans.
Callahan doesn’t hesitate as he storms out of the room and down a hall. D’etre removes his hand from her head and places it back on her hip as he gets more comfortable in the chair. I can see the exact moment her venom begins to affect him but he keeps her sat above his dick and keeps his hands firmly on her hips.
“You gonna babysit me all night?” he calls. His pupils have swallowed up the entirety of his eye making the color a true black. Despite being a holy demigod, his eyes are a shade lighter than true darkness.
“I’m going to make sure she doesn’t suck you dry,” I state, to which he chuckles.
“If you’re so jealous about it why didn’t you offer up your blood?”
The corner of my lip pulls up as I round the couch and sit adjacent to them. “I am not jealous, and no one ever drinks my blood.”
He clicks his tongue as she shifts in the chair. “I forgot. Blood demons with their morals and souls and blood sharing. You know it’s not the same. You wouldn’t be drinking her blood. . . “ His eyes spark as he trails off. If only he’d be discreet about it. “Ah, but you want to.”
“I do not.”
He chuckles again. “I don’t blame you. I’ve also tasted blue belladon before, and she’s dripping in it. I’m almost envious you have fangs and I don’t. I wonder if her blood would taste as sweet.”
Ripping her mouth away from him, two trails of blood drip down her chin. There’s a sneer on her face as she glares at him.
“Try to lick even a drop of my blood and I’ll rip your heart out before shoving it down your throat,” she threatens, and it sounds like she means it.
Pushing at his chest, she shoves off him and stumbles before righting herself on her own two feet. Using the back of her hand she wipes her mouth, smearing her lipstick, and backs away from both of us. She doesn’t look as bad as she did before, but she still looks unsteady.
Shaking her head, her body tightens and she straights her back to glare at us.
“I said a fucking blood bag,” she grits.
“And I gave you one.”
