Dax remained silent until she lowered the bag.
Her eyes were clearer, although anger and embarrassment still lived behind them.
“That should take the worst edge off,” he said.
Veya looked at the partly emptied bag.
“It feels like giving in.”
“It is feeding, not surrender.”
“To you, maybe.”
“To every vampire in this compound.”
She took another measured drink before setting the bag in her lap.
Dax allowed several quiet seconds to pass.
“Now that you’ve stopped trying to starve yourself out of principle, tell me something normal.”
Her eyebrows drew together.
“What?”
“What was your coffee order?”
Veya stared at him as if the question were absurd.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to determine how unbearable you were before the transition.”
“I wasn’t unbearable.”
“You say that with the confidence of someone who sent coffee back when it wasn’t made correctly.”
Her expression shifted between irritation and reluctant amusement.
“Black. No sugar.”
Dax’s brows rose.
“That is worse than I expected.”
“It is coffee. It doesn’t need dessert poured into it.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The unbearable part.”
A small sound escaped her, closer to a laugh than anything Dax had heard from the east wing since her arrival.
It vanished quickly, but not before he caught it.
Veya looked down at the bag again.
