Page 51 of Blood and Trouble

“Would you read some to me?” I asked.

His laughter made my knees weak. He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “We’re taking over the world together while trying to evade a vampire ringleader. Surely, that bonds us on a level deep enough for dark and gloomy poetry.”

“Hmm,” he said. “What about you?”

“Well, I don’t write.” I moved on to cutting up bananas, strawberries, and apples for a fruit salad. “And I can barely hold a kitchen knife, so that should tell you how interesting I am.”

“No, I mean…how’d you end up here?” Now finished with the eggs, he put a pan on the stove, scooped some of the butter into it, and turned the heat to medium. “Don’t you have a whole group of minions you pay to take over the world for you?”

“Yes, well, minions can be very mercurial,” I said. “Like you saw, sometimes you need to send in the Vanderbilt bitch to set everybody straight.”

“Isn’t that Guin?” he asked.

“Who do you think I get it from?” I said. “She taught me everything I know. And we both take after our father…much good may it do us.”

“You’re not happy about that.” He raised his eyebrows as he poured some of the egg mixture into the pan, delicately pulling at the sides with a spatula.

“My father…” Memories of the Vanderbilt patriarch drifted through my mind. His angry eyes. His patronizing tone. His cold apathy. “Well, he didn’t win any Father of the Year awards. There’s a reason the Bastards and the Vanderbilts hated each other for so long, and trust me, he played his part in that.”

“I didn’t know my parents,” he said. “They died or took off before I could remember.”

I suspected I should be more grateful for the upbringing I did have, even if my father were the blueprint for the emotionally devoid patriarch.

“Lycan said you went through your transition alone,” I said. “That must have been horrible.”

“I don’t remember most of it,” he said with a grimace. “The pain, though. The pain was excruciating. I woke up a week later, certain I’d died and ended up in hell.” Poe paused, his eyes focused on nothing, one corner of his mouth pulling into a wince. “I owe my life to the Helena pack. Without them, I would have died.”

“I’m thankful they found you when they did,” I said.

“Me too.” He tilted his head toward the stove and gestured for me to come closer to him. “Here, wait until the eggs start to harden. Then we’ll add the veggies and fold it.”

I moved to stand next to him, and he flipped the spatula and handed it to me. I took it and looked down at the food, my stomach choosing that moment to let out a loud, embarrassing grumble.

“So,” I continued, trying to cover my hunger pangs, “poetry. Strategy. Omelet extraordinaire. What else do you do for the Bastards?”

He grabbed a plate and loaded it with berries before cutting up a banana. “Shovel shit, mostly.”

I giggled. “Delightful.”

“I went over your agenda for the next part of the trip,” he said, passing the plate closer to me. “I’ve got some suggestions.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “Once Lycan gets up, we can talk through them.”

He tapped a finger on the side of my breakfast. “Eat.”

“I can wait. This is almost⁠—”

“That wasn’t a request,” he said. “Your stomach’s growling loud enough to give me a migraine.”

I narrowed my eyes in protest, but he picked up a strawberry and held it out to me.

“Do I have to treat you like a pup?” He bounced the fruit closer. “Chug-a-chug-a-choo-choo!”

Grinning, I smacked his hand away, but that only instigated him. He gasped and grabbed my free arm, twisting it behind my back so my hips were pressed against the edge of the counter. His hard, scorching chest burned my back, his pelvis firm against my lower spine, trapping me between his massive body and the kitchen island.

“Open your mouth, Ava,” he growled against my ear. “Or I’ll smash this strawberry against your pretty lips until it drips down the front of your flimsy robe.”