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The untamed portion of their species had no qualms about feeding from the vein of humans whenever hunger struck. But no matter what god one prayed to or what law or order they followed, every immortal needed one thing—blood.
Now that she was immortal, she would never survive without blood or protein. Their biological makeup, immortality, and rapid healing cells demanded certain sources of fuel.
“Delilah,” he said calmly, choosing his words carefully. “We’re Amish. Our lives are sustained by the animals on the farm.”
Her face twitched with disgust and her complexion paled. “That’s barbaric.”
It wasn’t barbaric. They treated their livestock extremely well compared to modern American agricultural standards. In Europe, there were no such restrictions on immortals. Their kind simply fed off the hoof, drinking from human victims whenever hunger struck. Here, mates fed from each other, while the males doubled their blood intake, feeding from the animals whenever necessary, but never taking a life in exchange for blood.
Yes, they ate meat. But most of their kind relied on feeding, hardly consuming half the animal protein some diets required. They did not take any living creature’s life lightly, and all of God’s creations were treated with great respect and honor.
The Order forbade them to consume human blood due to its potency. Exceptions were only made in emergency cases. Humans carried a mix of dangerous synthetics and antibiotics in their blood, therefore, their adrenaline could hit like a drug. Immortals often became addicted to the intense flavor and intoxicating rush, sometimes accidentally draining donors to the point of death. The Order believed in a much more tempered way of survival.
She stared at the table, sandwich untouched. Her hunger gnawed at him. She’d barely taken his blood earlier and needed sustenance. It was his duty to keep her safe and healthy above all else.
He carried her plate to the sink and dumped the sandwich into the rubbish bin. In the pantry, he retrieved a jar of homemade peanut butter and jam from the last berry harvest.
“Do you prefer grape or berry?”
She glanced over her shoulder. The glassy sheen in her eyes gave him pause. He placed the jars on the dry sink and crossed the room, crouching at her side.
“Tell me how to make this easier for you. I can’t bear the sight of tears in your eyes. I’d much prefer your sharp tongue and disdain if it’s a choice between my pain and yours.”
“Grape,” she rasped.
He waited, hoping she’d say more, but nodded when she remained silent. Perhaps her tears were of relief. A small battle won, when she learned she had options and would not have to abandon all of her values. Did she also realize he would do anything to prevent her a moment's suffering?
He rose to prepare her another sandwich. Maybe there were ways around the vegetarian issue after all.
This time, when he placed it in front of her, she attacked it with ravenous zeal. In less than a minute, only crumbs remained. He poured her a glass of milk to wash it down.
He ached for her acceptance, desperately wanting her approval in a way he’d never desired anyone’s approval before. It felt very good to please her.
She glanced at the glass then met his stare. “Do you have any juice?”
Thrilled her guard was lowering, and they were speaking in civilized tones, he pulled a jar of cider down from the shelf and filled a glass for her. She drank heavily, guzzling half the offering and washing down the sandwich. She must have been starving indeed.
When she finished, she leaned back in the chair and patted her flat belly. The press of her decorated nipples showed through the material of her shift and he found himself recalling how the metal gauges felt in his mouth.
“Would you like a bath?”
Her gaze snapped to his face and she scowled, their alliance gone without a trace. “Alone?”
That hadn’t been what he’d offered, but he supposed he hadn’t fully expressed his desires. She clearly wasn’t suffering the attraction he’d been combatting in that moment.
“Yes, alone. Of course.”
She nodded.
“Follow me.” He didn’t want her to run away again, so he held out his hand. She looked at the offering and walked past him.
“Where?”
He sighed. So much for their alliance. “The bedroom.”
He set a kettle over the fire and she watched him work as she waited quietly on the edge of the bed. There were methods for heated tubs using coal and copper wire, but he hadn’t had time to build such amenities. It was a choice between an indoor latrine or a self-heating tub, and he thought she’d appreciate the latrine more, especially during the colder months.
“Eventually, we’ll have a faster system,” he said, pouring another kettle of steaming water into the copper tub. He stirred in some fragrant oils to help her relax and placed a towel on a chair beside the basin, with a hunk of soap for washing.
