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Her stomach cramped viciously, and she rubbed it. A lot of food. Please God let the refrigerator have a ton of food. “Conall, aren’t you hungry?”
He tore his eyes from Raoul, saw the strain on her face, and nodded once. Conall gave Raoul a look that said he wasn’t finished talking to him. Only then did he move toward her.
Sighing and completely forgetting about his clothes, or lack thereof, Vivienne rushed down the stairs.
***
Conall looked on in admiration and amazement as Vivienne polished off two bowls worth of spaghetti and meatballs, two tall glasses of fruit punch, two Twinkies—Eli bought those things like they would run out at the supermarkets—and an apple, all in the span of an hour. Although tall, she weighed little to nothing, and the amount of eating she’d just done was impressive, even for one of his kind. A little burp escaped her and she excused herself, placing a hand to her lips as she sat back in the chair and rubbed her slightly extended belly.
Satisfied, she lifted her gaze to his and smiled. The smile faded when her eyes lowered to his barely touched plate.
“I thought you were hungry.”
He blinked. Of course he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten for as many hours as she, because Raoul and Zahira had schemed to get him into Vivienne’s bedroom, only to lock him inside. It was however, more fascinating to watch her eat, than to focus on his own food. Plus, he’d been trained to keep hunger at bay centuries ago. Half a day without food was nothing compared to the weeks of starvation he’d faced in the past.
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” he asked softly, indicating the empty bowls and Twinkie wrappers on the table. The sarcasm didn’t go over her head.
A smile split her lips, and she patted her belly. “For now.”
When shock registered on his face, Vivienne chuckled, then sobered. “Do you know why I fainted?”
His eyes held hers for long seconds before he answered, “No.” He paused, fixing her with an intense stare. “It may have something to do with your powers.”
***
She nodded, taking it all in stride. In cases like these, where things couldn’t be explained, she looked to the one person who would more than likely have the answer. Her mother. From the moment that she’d arrived at Cedar Creek, she’d been calling her mother about any and everything “new” that her body did. Every feeling, great or small, was followed by a phone call to Evelyn. Being that it was after midnight, she’d wait until the morning to make said call.
Conall grabbed the glass of water next to his plate and drank. She watched his throat work, fascinated in a way that slightly embarrassed her because all he was doing was drinking! He shouldn’t be able to make drinking water look sexy.
The glass lowered and she blinked, swallowing to relieve the sudden dryness in her throat. It wasn’t her fault! He was naked, she reminded herself. Yes, and a naked man drinking water, a very attractive naked man drinking water, was a sexy thing to behold.
When she refocused on his face, his dark brow was lifted, and his eyes were switching to that intense midnight blue color that always came before he pounced on her.
“What’s a blood rite?” she rushed out, feeling heat assault her face as she looked anywhere but his. “Samia wants a blood rite, and I think it’s about time I knew what that meant.”
He blinked and she saw his eyes switch back to their original color: brilliant blue.
“She won’t get it.” His voice was final, and from the set of his lips, she knew he didn’t feel like elaborating.
“Conall,” she began, irritated at her lack of knowledge about things that concerned her. “You told me once what it meant, but I thought you were in a cult, remember? Please explain it to me again.”
The man stared at her long and hard, as if willing her to drop the topic, but Vivienne only crossed her arms before her chest, and returned his stare steadily. He blew out a breath, and finally said, “A blood rite is a refereed fight. If a were feels wronged by another, he may seek justice by blood. Essentially, he calls out his opponent, a date and time are set, and the two fight to first blood, or depending on the severity of the offense, to the death.”
“First blood?” she queried softly.
“Yes. Whoever draws blood first claims victory. With most blood rites, first blood is claimed easily, and the fight is quick.”
“And Samia wants a blood rite against me to claim first blood?”
His eyes narrowed, and she felt him probing around in her mind. She purposely cleared it, a trick she’d mastered only recently.
