Page 20 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

Cabin. Ha. My lips twitch at that thought. It’s more like a small mansion than a cabin. Sweeping staircases, high vaulted ceilings, crown molding, marble floors…

A chill runs through me from the cold seeping in through the window. I take the last sip of my coffee just as Peter drapes a wool blanket around my shoulders.

I smile at him. “Thank you.”

“You should move closer to the fire.” He jerks his chin towards the center of the wall, where a fire crackles and blazes in the stone fireplace.

“I will in a minute.”

He plucks my mug from my hand. “Would you like some more coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

When he bends down and kisses me, I stroke his cheek, my fingertips lingering on his skin as he pulls away. I furrow my brow and scan his face, but he turns away and goes into the kitchen before I can say anything.

I follow his path though, sighing as he disappears from sight. His eyes are dull, rimmed with dark shadows, and his face is pinched. A general malaise hangs about him, growing more pronounced as time passes.

He thinks I haven’t noticed, but I have. He thinks he’s hiding his weakness from me, but he’s not.

I stretch my legs in front of me, pointing my feet and flexing them in an alternating rhythm to warm them up. Peter canceled rehearsal until further notice, so no one has to drive on the dangerous and icy roads. But that doesn’t mean I can slack. I did a full ballet barre workout yesterday—between two very intense, passionate moments in bed with Peter—and I intend to do the same today.

But not until I give Peter what he needs.

He comes back into the den with two steaming mugs of coffee and goes straight to the couch, setting them on the table in front of him, ensuring I leave the window seat and move closer to the fire’s warmth. Not that I mind, since it means I get to be closer to him.

I cross the room, the plush rug cushioning my feet. Though it’s a small mansion, this home of his is more lived in. It’s cozier and less modern than his penthouse apartment. Maybe it’s because the decor seems pieced together by his hand over the years, whereas the apartment’s interior was clearly designed by a paid professional. Whatever the reason, I love this room best, with its massive fireplace, overstuffed couch, and large window seat overlooking the mountains and forest.

Peter pats his thigh when I reach him. I settle into his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. The blanket slips from my shoulders, and I lower my lips to his, my hands resting on his bare chest.

But I don’t kiss him. Instead, I hover right above his mouth, my tongue wetting my lips as my warm breath fans over his. He inhales through his nose. His throat tightens and his eyes close. When they open again, they’re no longer brown, but red. A faded, almost pinkish red, but red all the same.

“When was the last time you fed?” I ask, sliding my hands to his face.

“I had breakfast with you not even an hour ago,” he says.

I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

His jaw clenches. “I fed recently enough.”

I raise a brow.

He sighs, turning to kiss my palm. “But I utilized a lot more of my powers than I’m used to for the amount of blood I drank, and I am growing weak. As you obviously noticed.”

“How do you usually get blood?”

“I have an arrangement with the Crescent Lake doctor and the hospital in town. They provide me with blood bags, and I provide them with monetary donations.”

“Do you have any blood bags here?”

He shakes his head. “I brought some basic food items before the wedding, hoping you’d agree to join me here afterward. But I didn’t account for a storm and didn’t think I’d need any blood.”

I move my hands to the front of his shirt I’m wearing, popping one button open. “And you’re too weak to blink somewhere to get some?”

He nods. His eyes flick to my hands, then my neck, where I’m sure he can sense my quickening pulse.

“Then feed from me.” I undo the next button, my fingertips trailing along the edge of the fabric.

Yesterday, he was so adamant about not feeding from me that I expect him to pull my hands away, to grab them and stop me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he slides his palms up my thighs, his fingertips playing with the hem of my underwear on each ass cheek, caressing and teasing my skin.