Page 63 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

If I'd been walking, I would've stopped. Abruptly. And drooled, just at the sight of his bare chest.

Oh wait, I was drooling.

Forget the business clothes. Sweats were officially the sexiest thing I'd seen him wear.

There was a shopping bin hanging from the crook of his elbow, and I felt slightly bad, because the man looked exhausted.

I reached for his basket.

Before I could grab it, he stole the pack of paper from my arm, dropped it inside the basket, and tossed both rolls of tape inside too. Plus a few more that were the nicer, name brand shit instead of the store brand (which worked perfectly fine).

I opened my mouth to tell him that was unnecessary, but he was already walking down the aisle.

Dante grabbed a massive pack of pencils, a pencil sharpener, a gigantic pack of colored Sharpies, a box of black Sharpies, and some gel pens and sticky notes to round it out.

"I don't need all of this," I said, catching up to him as he neared the self-checkout.

There weren't any employees in the store. Whichever magical being owned it had enchanted the building not to allow thieves out. It was intricate magic, definitely the spellcasters' doing. Had undoubtedly cost a small fortune, if the owner themself wasn't a spellcaster.

Dante gave me a long look before silently attempting to scan the first item.

It took him ages to find the barcode, so I hip-checked him, taking his place. He handed me the items one at a time, and I scanned them. It wasn't super efficient, but the man looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up.

After a glance at him to see if he cared how much money he was spending—he hadn't even looked at the screen—I grabbed a premade, bottled latte from the fridge nearby. He didn't bat an eye when I scanned it, too.

When we were done, he gave me his wallet, and I paid with his card while he grabbed the bags.

He still hadn't said a word when he carried them back to my car and loaded them onto the back seat for me.

"Thanks," I said, eyeing him as he leaned heavily up against the side of my new van. "Do you want me to give you a ride home?"

"No. I drove here."

"You don't look like you're in good enough shape to drive back."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I don't look like I'm in good shape?"

I gestured to his face. "For driving. Not physically. We both know you're physically perfect. You just look tired."

"Grayson talked me into training with him earlier. I haven't been in peak shape since I went to the penitentiary. Not enough blood. I pushed myself a little too hard."

I gestured to the car. "Which is a good reason to get a ride home."

"I'm fine."

I stepped closer to him, tipping my head to the side and tapping my throat.

"I don't need to—" he started, but I cut him off.

"You've been starving for more than a decade, Dante. Guzzling blood like it's going out of style will probably help you recover faster."

"I don't know. It hasn't exactly been tested." He placed his hand on my chin and slowly tipped my head back to its proper angle. "And I'm not biting my mate in a parking lot, so that's off the table."

"Why not?"

"You deserve better than that."

I rolled my eyes. "It's just a bite. We're not going to fuck. Even if we were, I've had sex in crazier places than an empty parking lot in the middle of the night."