Page 60 of The Witch They Crave

"You want to, but it's fine." He takes a sip, unhurried, sets it back down. "It's natural. Don't perform tolerance on my behalf."

"I'm not—" I stop. Pick up my water glass. "Does it bother you? Doing that in front of someone who isn't."

"Isn't what?"

"A vampire.”

He considers it like it's a real question. "No. Should it?"

"Most people would find it at least a little strange. Sitting across from someone while they drink—" I gesture at the glass.

"Most people I socialize with would partake along with me." He tilts his head. "Does it bother you?"

"I'm trying to decide."

That earns a small smile. "Let me know when you have."

I avoid talking to him as he sips, savoring the dark liquid like it really is wine. Tasting the depth of flavor. Can he taste the blood type? The gender of the human it was drawn from?

Does he have… preferences?

My food arrives by the time I’ve worked myself out of an appetite but I force myself to eat anyways. It's extraordinary, which I resent. I eat for a minute in silence, trying to work out my angle. I need to get him to talk and keep him talking. I told Kage I would put my listening skills to good use, try to find out as much as I could. I can’t do that if we both sit here in silence.

"So," I say. "What is this actually for?"

"Dinner."

"Leopold."

His eyes come back to me, amused. “You may call me Leo if you prefer.”

I breathe in deep. "You don't strike me as someone who does things without a reason."

"I don't." He picks up the glass again. "And yet here we are, and you're eating what I hope is the best meal you've had in some time, and I'm enjoying your company. Sometimes the reason is that simple."

"Nothing about you is that simple, Leopold."

"What a flattering thing to say." He doesn't look flattered. He looks pleased, which is different and more dangerous. "You want to know what I'm after."

"I want to know why the dinner. Why the—" I stop myself just short of saying date and he catches it, the slight shift at the corner of his mouth.

"Why the date?" he offers.

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you almost said."

Heat crawls up my throat. I take a bite of food and chew and absolutely do not look at him. "I want to understand what you want from me. Beyond the obvious."

"And what's the obvious?"

"The magic. The optics. The—" I gesture between us, at the room, at whatever performance this is meant to be.

"All true," he says. "And also not the whole picture." He sets the glass down. "I find you interesting, Calypso. That isn't strategic. I'm simply old enough not to waste time pretending otherwise."

I look at the glass. The dark residue at the rim. If I pretend it’s beet juice, I can almost ignore it.

"Can I ask you something?"