Selena had told him how her mother used to bake lemon cake for her father—his all-time favorite—but after her mother died, her father couldn’t find the recipe, and he feared his wife had never written it down. Selena had been determined to make her father the same lemon cake, so when she was old enough, she tried recipe after recipe.
“Although having tasted yours,” he said, “I can’t see how any other cake could come close to being as good.”
She paused for a moment, chewing the inside of her lip. Then, without a word, she opened the refrigerator and soon set a plate down in front of him filled with several confections, including a thin slice of lemon cake.
He glanced at her, both shocked at the kind gesture and yet, not really surprised. She’d always had this thing about feeding people. Said it fed her spirit. Guess that hadn’t changed.
“Go on. Eat,” she said. “And then you’re going to leave.”
And you’re coming with me.
He wasted no time digging in. Although he’d fed from a human when he’d stopped for gas in Boise and sated his appetite, he would never in a million years pass up a dessert that Selena made.
“So. Damn. Good,” he said through mouthfuls of cake. “Even better than I remembered.” It literally melted in his mouth. The perfect combination of tart and sweet. He was basically having a mouth orgasm right now.
Selena didn’t look at him as she tidied up the kitchen, although he did catch the hint of a smile a few times.
“How are your parents?” she asked. “I heard they moved out of the area.”
He didn’t look up. “Don’t know. We don’t keep in contact. How about your father?”
She studied him a moment before answering. “He’s fine.”
“Tell him…I said hello.” He’d always liked her father, though he didn’t want to think about how the man felt about him now. After Mateo’s sudden departure, he had to be on the man’s shit list.
He finished the lemon cake and wasted no time wolfing down a small, raspberry-filled pastry and a caramel nut bar. “Delicious.”
Then he reached for the chocolate truffle.
It was large. Bigger than a golf ball. He should’ve eaten it in two bites. Maybe three. But no, he had to pop the whole goddamn thing into his mouth at once. But as soon as he bit down, he knew he was in trouble.
“What the fuck!” He spit it out, his hand flying up to cover his emerging fangs. He jumped to the sink and began rinsing the taste from his mouth.
“You…don’t like it?” she said from behind. “It’s a chocolate truffle. With rum.”
Like hell it was. He coughed and choked, trying to ignore the sudden and powerful call of her blood, but all he could think about was sinking his fangs into the tender skin of her neck. Then swallowing. And swallowing. And swallowing.
“You okay?” She touched his back and he flinched.
“No. Get away!” His voice was raw and frayed, and his willpower began to unravel.
He wished he could implant a suggestion to make her barricade herself in her office, but that would mean getting closer to her, and there was no way he trusted himself enough to do that.
That truffle—that delicious fucking truffle—was made with Sweet. And now that he’d had a taste, his dark nature wanted more.
