The wildest part to me was how freakin’ excited Scotty had been about the whole vampire-thing. Like, he’d been stoked. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Didn’t he realize I’d have to drink someone’s blood? Like, pierce their skin with these sharp, hideous fangs and take what wasn’t mine just to survive.
That was the part I hated the most. The asshole who had stripped my humanity and turned me into this monster, had also put me in a position where I’d have to cross someone else’s boundaries to take what didn’t belong to me. I hated it. Hated myself. Maybe it would be better for everyone if I took a walk into the sun.
The sound of my front door opening drew my attention, and I almost wished I didn’t have to deal with Lysandro tonight. I appreciated everything he was doing for me, but I’d love to have one night without listening to his endless lectures. He was like a broken record, going round and round every night.
My thoughts quieted as the door snicked shut, competing with the thump, thump, thump of a beating heart. I quickly reached up, reassuring myself that my chain was in place, and clutched the amulet. I’d woken up hungry tonight, and I didn’t want to accidently attack whoever this was.
Even with the cloaking magic, my suspicions about my visitor were confirmed when the scents of fresh sourdough bread, cedar, and old books invaded my nose. Had he always smelled like baked goodness? I supposed it was from helping Harry and Buck in the kitchen and serving the food at the manor.
Even before being changed and my senses heightened, I’d noticed that all witches carried the earthy aroma of cedar—not that Scotty was a witch, but he had the underlying scent of those he spent time with. But the intriguing scent of old books; that was surprising. I’d spent a lot of time surreptitiously watchinghim when I stayed at the manor, and I couldn’t recall a time where he’d had a book in his hand.
Scotty appeared with a black leather satchel over his shoulder. He hesitated at the entrance into the room like he wasn’t sure he was welcome.
“Why do you smell like old books?” I blurted.
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “I come into your house unannounced, and the first thing you do is ask me a question that makes no sense.” He shook his head. “Figures.”
Now that he put it that way. “How did you get into my house?”
“Lysandro gave me the code. Duh.” Reaching for my phone to text Lysandro and give him a piece of my mind, Scotty said, “And don’t call and bitch at him. He sent me with nourishment.” He held the bag up by the straps. “I brought your dinner.”
“Why didn’t he come?”
Scotty snorted. “Are you pouting?”
“No,” I said, hearing the petulance in my own voice. It wasn’t that I cared he didn’t come if he sent his blood, but…I’d grown accustomed to his visits. He usually stayed for several hours, and while he spent most of that time lecturing me, it helped with my loneliness. I guessed this is what I got for dreading him coming tonight.
Scotty would drop the bag and leave, and I’d be stuck here by myself all night with nothing to do and no one to talk to. The mere thought of it depressed me.
“Ugh. You are pouting.” He moved toward the chair he’d been in last night, tossing the bag at my feet as he passed by.
I looked back and forth between him and the satchel several times. “What are you doing?”
“Lysandro said he usually hangs out with you for a bit, so I figured I would, too.” He glanced around the house. “It can’t be much fun sitting in this big, empty place by yourself.”
“No, it’s not,” I admitted, staring at the bag at my feet.
“Sooo…” He trailed off.
My gaze bounced to him. “What?”
He gestured at the bag, holding the elixir of life. “Are you going to drink that or what?”
“Uh.” My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips. I needed the blood, my body craved it, and knowing it was right there, ready for me, made me want to shred through the leather and consume the coppery liquid, but… “I’ve never actually prepared it for myself before.”
Scotty’s face went blank. “What does that mean?”
“Well, uh”—I pointed over to the bar where the goblet sat on the counter—“Lysandro usually drains it from his wrist into that.”
“Okay,” he said, drawing it out. “What about before Lysandro started giving you his?”
“Delaney mixed a blood bag and sangria in the goblet, and I drank it.” I shrugged.
He sighed deeply. “So you don’t know how to prepare your own food?”
Embarrassed, I averted my eyes. “I, uh, guess not.”
“Ego. It’s in a thermos. You don’t even need the cup. And why is it such an elaborate one? A goblet, for fuck’s sake. Just open the thermos and drink right out of the top. Or pour it into the cup on top. Whatever floats your boat.”
