Page 24 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

I pull the T-shirt down my abdomen, and she steps into me, her hands settling on my chest, her eyes locked on mine and filled with the same trust and love she’s shown me all week. It somehow makes what I need to tell her both easier and harder.

She presses her hand over my heart and glances down at it, to where she can feel the uninterrupted beat. Her head tilts to the side, a question lingering in her eyes.

My arm winds around her waist, and I blink us to the den, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, before leading her to the couch. “Here.” I grab a clean blanket from the basket near the fireplace. “I’ll be right back.”

“I can come with you.” She sets the blanket aside and leans forward to stand.

“Relax.” I put my hands on her shoulders and gently push her back against the cushions, unfurling the blanket over her lap and tucking it around her. “Let me spoil you, piccola ballerina.”

She shakes her head, but her eyes glitter as she fights a smile, settling deeper into the cushions and tugging the blanket closer. “Fine.”

I blink myself to the small, outdated kitchen. I’ve never updated or remodeled this part of my mountain home because I’ve never needed more than basic food storage. I dart around the space, putting together a plate of fruit and cheese for my ballerina, along with a piping-hot mug of coffee topped with steamed, foamy milk, just how she likes it. Then I’m back beside her on the couch almost instantly, handing her the plate and mug faster than even I’m accustomed to.

She balances the plate on her knees and holds the mug in both hands, sipping from it even though it’s scalding hot. I pinch my lips together to hold back a scolding. I learned the hard way not to judge Imogen for her tendency to consume food and drink at temperatures too hot for even a demon.

We sit in silence as she eats. I pull her feet into my lap, needing the contact. My hands wrap around her calves, and I squeeze, massaging them much like I did the other night at my apartment when she was so tense.

She takes another sip of coffee, her eyes expectant over the rim of her mug. I swallow and take her now-empty plate, setting it on the table just as she leans forward to set her coffee there too.

Imogen jumps straight to the point. “Why is my blood different?”

“It’s different, because you are mine.”

Her mouth drops open, then she shuts it again, frowning at her fingers and fidgeting with the fringe on the blanket while the wheels in her head turn. “You’ve said that before,” she mumbles. “But I just thought…”

She looks at the fireplace. The flames flicker and dance, licking at the logs in the stone enclosure. Their movement casts an ethereal glow on her face. It reflects in her eyes, creating the illusion of a gold tint over the crystal blue.

“Do vampires have mates?” Her eyes bore into mine. She may as well be staring into my soul.

“In a way, yes,” I say. “We call them our chosen.” I reach for her hand and link our fingers together. “A vampire’s chosen is special to them, because their blood satisfies them faster and keeps them satisfied for longer. When we drink from our chosen, our hearts beat again. We can take less blood from them each time we feed, and we need to feed less frequently.”

“How do you know who this person is?”

“Unlike werewolves, our chosen isn’t picked for us by our goddess. Nyx—the goddess who created us—is very hands off. Selene claims she is too, but she still creates mate pairings for her warriors.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Pietro.”

“Your blood.” I stare at her hand in mine, then turn it palm up, trailing my fingertips over her wrist. “Your blood… calls to me.”

“My blood calls to you?”

“Yes. I know it sounds odd. I didn’t quite understand it myself until I found you, but your blood is like a magnetic song. It beckons me, pulling me closer with greater insistence as time goes on.”

She watches my fingers as they trace over her veins. “And this song you hear… it just started recently, or…?”

“I’ve known you are my chosen since the day I met you.”

Chapter Nine

Imogen

“You’ve known that long? Why didn’t you ever—”

“For several reasons. First, you knew nothing of vampires, or that this world of magical creatures existed right under your nose. And second, because you were… well, you were kind of…”

“A bitch?” I suggest.

Peter grimaces, but he doesn’t deny it.