Page 55 of Blood Lovers

“That’s why I don’t come in person. I just want her to pop that child out so I can take him somewhere else. I will not be playing house with this one for the next decade. She’s not my type. Perhaps I should give the boy back to Hutch? It is his child, after all.”

“Who the fuck is Hutch?”

“My current favorite slave. He’s so pretty, Ryet. Not as pretty as you, but my God. I could look at him all day.”

“Yeah, well. Isabella’s pretty too.”

“She is.” He chuckles. “But only on the outside. Which I can deal with.”

“You’re not dealing with her, Paul. You’re hiding like a fucking coward while I deal with her for you.”

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?”

“Obviously.”

This is the point in the conversation when I realize that we’re actually having a conversation. I want to ignore him, but I can’t. Because the truth is, I fucking love him. And if someone came after him, I would kill for him. Die for him, if that was even possible.

I can’t decide if this is some kind of vampire magic he’s working or if it’s just his natural charm. I don’t have a big enough sample size to make that determination, so these feelings and talks are nothing but confusion on my end. Because no matter what he does to me, after a couple minutes of talking, I’m back in his corner. It feels like a trick. Like abuse.

Like Stockholm syndrome.

Of course, I know it’s the blood bond between us.

Blood lovers. That’s what he calls it.

I hate him, but I crave him.

I want to be rid of him, but I also want him next to me.

I want to feed on him and sometimes I dream about him feeding on me. Not just the little accidental drips, either. But fully latched on and sucking the blood out of me in rivers. And even though I try my best to not love the taste of him, I love the fucking taste of him. And if he were to bare his neck to me, I’d suck on him all night.

This thing between us is forever. And he’s here to remind me of that.

He sighs. “How are you feeling?”

“What?”

“Are you feeling OK?”

“You know, you’re the second person to ask me that today.”

“Really?” His eyebrow goes up. “Who was the first?”

“The guy at the church down the road.”

“What were you doing in church?”

“I was in the food bank. I have a woman in my bed and she was hungry.”

Paul smiles coyly. “Well, look at you. Settling in.”

“We fucked. That’s all.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Is that all?”

“So far. Are we done here? I’d like to get back to her.”

He and I have locked eyes. Not even blinking. Like we are in battle and our weapons are words. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”