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“Right. Anyway, I’ve got something else to ask you.”
“Go right ahead.”
It was embarrassing as hell, but if he wanted answers to his problem, he had to get over it.
“You know how Nightwalkers are supposed to have a betrothed? Is that like a fated mate?”
That was his biggest concern. It didn’t make sense to him, even if his body kept insisting that Tabitha should be his. He only had one example to go on, and it made him think that it wasn’t like that for his kind of Para. When Julian Koenig tried to make Shea his, she was already bonding to Colt. He was her mate, not Julian, yet he was able to start the blood exchanges with her anyway.
And Adam had already taken some of the slayer’s blood.
So what did that mean for him?
He had no fucking clue, and he only hoped that Deb did.
Interest lit up her bright blue eyes. “Did you meet someone?”
“I might’ve,” he hedged, careful to stare at the bridge of her nose instead of the power in her gaze. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him spilling his guts in no time. “How do I know if she’s my betrothed?”
“Well, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? Turned vamps like you are a little bit different, sweetie. Even though you’re firmly Para now, there’s still that stubborn part of you that clings to humanity. Not just you, either. All Nightwalkers. It’s why I enjoy some blood wine, but I won’t go nutsy without it. The thirst doesn’t bother me. I don’t need it to survive. You do, since you’re technically dead and all.”
“Thanks, Deb,” he said flatly, watching her take another sip from her goblet. “Just in case I forgot, kudos on the reminder.”
“Don’t be an ass,” she shot back, a throaty laugh blunting the harsh—well, harsh for Deb—language. “You came to me with a question. Let me answer it.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s better. You wanted to know if there’s a fated bond between a Nightwalker and a betrothed. It’s not so simple as that. Take the shifters. Poor beasts can’t even get it up until they meet their mate. Then they have to fumble around like virgins since they have no clue what they’re really doing. At least you had a full life before you were turned, you delicious little snack, you.”
; Another sip, and if this had been the first time he went to Deb for answers, he would’ve thought she was tipsy from her blood wine. Nope. That was just Deb.
“With vamps, it’s different, like I said. When your little pecker starts a-peeping, it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s your betrothed. Then again, it might. You can’t begin to bond to your betrothed unless there’s some kind of attraction… but you won’t know until the first blood exchange whether she could be the one.”
Adam went still. “What… what do you mean by that?”
She shrugged, her ample chest moving like a wave with the over-the-top motion. “You might want to fuck her, yes? And you might feel the thirst. But when both of those senses overcome you… she won’t just be a flash in the pan. The blood tells. When you taste someone special and want that taste again and again, it could be a good donor for you… or it could be your betrothed.”
Deb was a Dayborn. She couldn’t lie.
Shit.
“And that’s it?”
“Heavens no! It takes three blood exchanges. Vamp to partner has to be one, then partner to vamp. Third one is anything goes, so long as there’s a little action involved.” Debbie waggled her eyebrows. Adam nearly dropped his head in his hands. “That’s the important part,” she added. “The final exchange only counts if there’s blood and seed being exchanged. So if you can’t control your fangs, wrap it up, sweetie. Okay? Then you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
That was easy for Deb to say. She was a born vampire with more than two hundred years under her belt. And, somehow, in all that time, she’d avoided finding her betrothed.
After the way he lost control around the pretty, little slayer, Adam wasn’t sure if he had.
Shoving his untouched goblet away from him, he frowned. “You know, this would be so much easier if I was still a human.”
Back when he was still human, if he was attracted to a woman, he could make a move, see if she wanted to get to know him better. No ever-lasting bonds involved. No fate. No blood. Just attraction and some pleasure.
And then Rafe ripped out his throat, turned him into this monster, and he was having fucking tea-time with a Dayborn who was almost seven times his age while getting a safe sex lesson!
Yeah. Easy was an understatement.
