Page 48 of Bleed

“Don’t worry,” I add with a wink. “I was talking to the car.”

Something that looks suspiciously like amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth before he backs out of the parking space.

I’ve never ridden in a car this nice. Never even been within touching distance of one. I’ve only ever admired them from the sidewalk as they zipped past, wondering what it’d feel like to sit behind the wheel with that much raw power at your fingertips.

Elliott shifts into drive, pulling out of the garage and onto the street. The ride is smooth; effortless. Every bit as thrilling as I imagined. I soak up every second of it, listening to the engine purr through each shift and running my fingertips over the interior.

Beside me, Elliott navigates the city streets with practiced ease. Every few minutes, his gaze flicks my way– not long enough to be obvious, but just long enough for me to catch it. His dark eyes linger on the exposed column of my throat before darting back to the road, his pupils flaring.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I trail my fingertips absentmindedly over my pulse point, testing his response. His grip immediately tightens on the steering wheel, his expression pinching like he’s in actual pain.

“If you’re hungry, you can bite me,” I finally offer, hoping I don’t sound half as desperate as I feel.

“No I can’t,” he replies quietly.

“Um, yeah you can.” A little laugh slips out. “I’m giving you permission. Not that you need it, considering I signed a contract to be your donor and all.”

His lips press into a thin line. For a second, I wonder if he’s gonna take me up on it, but then he gives a small shake of his head, dousing what little hope I had.

“I haven’t fed from a live source in decades.”

I whip my gaze on him, mouth dropping open. “Seriously?”

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring through the windshield, his hands tightening on the wheel.

“Well,” I say after a beat, “that seems wildly inconvenient.”

“It is.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The city lights sweep across his face as we pass beneath a streetlamp, carving his profile from shadow. I swear the man’s so beautiful it hurts.

“Okay, but why?” I finally ask. “You literally employ me as a blood source.”

“And as a research assistant,” he murmurs.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”

I stare at him.

He stares at the road.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything he’s not saying.

Fine. If he refuses to answer that question, maybe I’ll have better luck with another one.

“How old are you, anyways?” I ask, tilting my head.

“It’s rude to ask a vampire’s age,” he grumbles.

“And to drink their wine, apparently, but clearly I don’t ascribe to rules of etiquette.”

His mouth twitches– not quite a smile, but close enough. He flicks me a sideways glance. “One hundred and twenty-four.”

I gape at him. “Holy shit.”

His jaw flexes. “There’s nothing holy about immortality.”