Carefully, Roger tightened his grip on Kit’s hair and used his other arm to hold Kit in place.
Then he sank his fangs into them.
Kit’s gasp was a faint sound under the thunderous taste of fresh, hot, wonderful blood filling Roger’s mouth. He sealed his mouth around the bite and swallowed his first mouthful. More poured in after the first, and he eagerly drank it down. Kit melted against him and mewed with desire. They latched an arm around Roger’s shoulders while they rolled their hips downward.
Feeding from a shifter required more work than drinking from a human. Kit’s healing ability began to close the wound, and Roger neededmore. He bit harder, sinking his fangs in deeper, and held Kit tightly as they squirmed. Their lust sweetened their blood, and warmth filled Roger’s core and oozed through him. Each crunch and suck and swallow coaxed Roger’s predatory urges from the pit he locked them away in. Hunting was part of a vampire’s nature and a part he didn’t indulge often enough. He moaned.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” a voice demanded.
Someone yanked on Kit, trying to take them from Roger’s grip. They cried, a mix of pain and surprise. Roger growled and continued to feed. Kit washis, and he wasn’t about to give up his prize. He hadn’t taken too much yet. He could have more.
“Let go,” someone shouted. And there was the stronger smell of fur, like an animal’s dander kicking up. An electric buzz tainted the high Roger was coasting toward.
With a primal hiss, Roger looked up at whoever dared to interfere with his meal. A man and a woman who bore striking resemblances to the person in his arms were standing in the living room. The man looked pissed while the woman paled and her eyes widened.
Their parents. Forcefully, Roger blinked and dragged his thoughts away from the wonderful scent of the blood mere centimeters from his lips. The taste of Kit lingered on his tongue.
“In our house!” Kit’s father shouted. Both he and Kit’s mother emanated a sharp fear that left a tang on Roger’s lips.
The fear mixed with the blood in his system and became a heady undertow, one that threatened to intoxicate Roger. His hunger piqued instead of becoming sated. He longed to grab Kit’s father, rip open a vein, and drink him dry.No. I’m not like that. I won’t.
In the distant past, he had indulged like that. Killed whole families with his sire, drained a brothel with Quinn and a few others another time. But the shell he had encased his emotions in had begun to crack, and Kit had slid through one of them. He couldn’t bring Kit suffering. That wasn’t right.
Roger released his hold on Kit and leaned back against the couch.
Kit took the opportunity to spring off the couch and face their father. “Dad!”
Kit’s father—Mr. Mahoney, Roger assumed since that was Kit’s last name—pointed his finger at Kit. “It’s one thing selling your blood off at the donor house, but inviting one into our home?”
“It’s not the first time,” Kit snapped. “I’ve had him over like a dozen times.”
“What?” Mr. Mahoney flushed a bright red. His anger was rooted in a deep fear, a familiar acidic burr bristling against Roger’s awareness. It was the fear for another.
And utterly ridiculous in the present situation. As subtly as Roger could, he wiped any lingering blood from his lips. There was more than he anticipated, but licking it off his fingers in present company would be unseemly. “Continuing at the donor house didn’t make sense, and I saw no reason to make Kit move into Nell’s mansion when they could enjoy the comforts of their own room for a little while longer.”
Mr. Mahoney frowned and looked between Kit and Roger with increasing confusion.
“Kit,” Mrs. Mahoney said slowly, uncertainty in her voice. She pointed at the collar resting on the couch. “What is that?”
In a swift, entirely obvious move, Kit snatched the collar from the couch and hid it behind their back. “Nothing.”
Their father reached for it. Both relied on supernatural speed—Kit to keep it away from Mr. Mahoney and Mr. Mahoney in an attempt to take it from them. A human might have had trouble seeing the quick movements, but Roger could track them.
When Mr. Mahoney grabbed Kit’s arm and roughly yanked on them, Roger zipped around to seize Mr. Mahoney’s hand. As fast as shifters were, he was faster. He pulled Mr. Mahoney’s hand free of Kit’s arm and twisted sharply. Force and momentum demanded too much of Mr. Mahoney’s wrist, and it popped. Roger thought he might have heard a crack as well.
With a howl, Mr. Mahoney backed away and held his injured wrist to his chest.
“Roger!” Kit exclaimed.
Roger snapped his head to the side to look at Kit over his shoulder. Cold enveloped him, and he said sternly, “Quiet.”
Kit sucked in a deep breath and swallowed whatever they intended to say. Their eyes were wide. A desire emanated from them like a light caress, and it tangled with a buzzing fear, a mixture Roger had long ago learned meant a need to understand.
Mrs. Mahoney had put a hand to her mouth during the scuffle, but she dropped it as she went to her husband’s side. She put her arm on his shoulders and leaned into him. “Why did you do that!”
“I had a point to make.” Roger turned his full attention back to Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney. “Kit has chosen to becomemine, which means they are under my protection.”
“No fucking way are they going with you,” Mr. Mahoney snarled.
