Page 44 of Blood Lovers

“I’m hot? Really?”

“Come on. Look at you. You’re all lumberjack-y and shit. You waltz over to me in the middle of a storm, when I’m in the middle of a new-home-stress breakdown, and offer to save me?” I sigh. “You know what, Ryet?”

“Tell me. I’m dying over here.”

“There is a one-hundred-percent chance that I go inside that cabin with you.”

“Really?” His eyebrows shoot up.

“For reals. I’m in. But I would just like to apologize up front for falling asleep during sex. I’ve pretty much been up for ten days and the moment you put food in my belly, I’m gonna pass out on your floor.”

He puts on the most serious face ever. “Then we should definitely have sex first, Syrsee.”

And then he gets out of my truck, walks around to my side, opens my door, and offers me his hand.

I am the dumbest girl alive when I take it and let him lead me inside his cabin.

But I don’t care.

This shit-show of a trip—hell, this shit-show of a life—is finally, finally in its closing act.

And everything from now on is gonna be bliss.

CHAPTER TWELVE - RYET

I hate him, but I crave him.

I close the cabin’s door and then turn to face her, pressing my back against it.

Probably the wrong signal to send, because she lifts an eyebrow at me. And then there’s this moment when she has to make up her mind—is he a serial killer?

But it’s the next moment that kills me and make me grin. Because I can practically read her mind and her mind is saying, If he is, do I really care?

She smiles back, then casually looks around and blows out a breath. “Wow. This place is a total dump.”

Any doubts I had about this night vanish.

She’s fun.

I don’t have a lot of sexual needs. With humans, that is. Every once in a while I meet one who’s interesting. But for the most part, I don’t think about sex a whole lot. I think about blood more than sex, and I only rarely think about blood when Paul’s not around.

But this one?

Yeah. I’m in.

“Complete dump,” I agree, stepping away from the door and walking to the center of the pathetic cabin. “It’s actually the nicest one on the lot, too.”

We both snicker. Then her eyes wander over to the bed. “Wait. Is that a Magic Fingers bed?” She covers her face to stifle a laugh and then points to the ancient TV sitting atop the corner dresser. “Please tell me that thing is wired for non-stop porn.”

My laugh is immediate. “Ya know, I don’t even know if it works. But if it’ll make you happy, let’s check it out.”

I walk over to it, reach for the knob, and I’m just about to turn it on when I look over my shoulder and find Syrsee holding her pressed-together hands up to her chin like she’s praying. But she’s not just hoping for non-stop porn, the tips of her fingers are moving back and forth in a tiny clap.

It stops me dead for a moment.

And she sees it. Because she tilts her head and asks, “What?”

“You’re delightful.”