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My eyes went wide, and I glanced down at the body of the man I’d drank from. One of the other things I knew of vampire society—mating rituals. A vampire brought his intended mate food. To accept, they had to share from the same body, then afterward, they consummated the bond and marked each other. Without realizing it, I’d begun the ritual with him.
“Why the hell would you do that?” I snapped at him.
“What a strange question,” he said flatly. “Why does any vampire mate?”
“Love!”
At that, he laughed outright. “You are very young and naïve.”
“You are old and crazy!”
“Perfect, we shall balance each other.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me closer. His body was pressed against mine, and I could feel him through his clothes.
But I ignored him, standing firm and cold against him. “Unless you plan on forcing me here on the forest floor, I’m not mating with you.”
“Do I look like a brute to you?”
“You tricked me to get this far.”
“I saved your life to get this far.”
I glared. “Do you plan to let me go, Mr. Thorbørn?”
“Only if you swear that you shall help find out what happened to me.”
“Why should I do that?”
“To get me out of your hair, of course.” He picked a few leaves from my hair. “Who knows if I could have someone I already intended to be with who makes me forget my current desire for you.”
I glared even harder before pushing him away and turning around.
“At the very least, you owe me for saving your life,” he added.
I pointed my finger directly in his face. “That’s the only reason I’m helping you.”
He grinned. “How kind of you, Ms. Monroe.”
He was sneaky. I felt like he was going to pull another trick, and at the same time, there was something about him.
God, I really hoped this was not how my love story began, with a naked vampire suffering from amnesia and dead witches in northern Virginia.
Chapter 2
Theseus followed behind me, making sure to leave a little distance between us. I wasn’t sure if it was for my sake, or if he wanted to just keep an eye on me. But I had a feeling it was the latter. We were both covered in dirt as he and I had to bury the dead witches. I couldn’t even think of what he suggested instead of burying them. Apparently, his way was to guarantee they were never found. But I couldn’t do it. He didn’t press, and he went along with my preference. I hoped that if I lived as long as he had, I was never so cavalier about humans. It felt like we’d spent hours in the forest when we finally reached the abandoned side of the road where my black, vintage 1956, oval window, Volkswagen beetle—that I’d named, Nightingbug—sat waiting patiently.
I glanced back and caught him as he ran to the driver’s side.
“You are not driving my car!” I snapped.
“I was not planning to do so.” He opened the car door and held it open to the red seats.
It took me a second to realize he was doing it for me. And the calmness that radiated off him felt a bit like arrogance. Feeling a tad stupid now, I moved to open his door for him as well. The corner of his mouth twitched up.
“Yes, but now who will sit first, stubborn one?” he questioned, amused.
“I’m not stubborn,” I stubbornly said, making him more amused. Biting my tongue, I moved around the car and took a seat first, closing the door myself.
I didn’t even have to wait for him before I started the car. He was already in and seated beside me. “Put on your seat belt.”
