Page 31 of Taste of Death

And I wasn’t necessarily talking about just blood.

I could also see her hesitation, the nervous swallow and the furrow in her brow, and knew acting on those instincts would be a bad move.

“I’ll get a glass for you to drink from.”

I left her side to round the counter and bring a glass down from the cupboard. She was no longer starving and wouldn’t need a huge amount, so I settled for a half-pint and went looking for an appropriate knife.

When I turned, searching in the island drawers, a distinct scent hit my nose. Feminine and musky, a little sweet, and coming from directly across the island. The scent was distantly familiar. I recognized it but couldn’t quite place it. When it finally hit me, I nearly stabbed myself in the palm with the knife I’d found.

Amy was aroused.

By… me?

I whipped around, turning my back to her without daring a glance in her direction. My heart kicked up a furious beat in my chest and I knew she could hear it, which only made the situation worse.

She couldn’t be feeling that way toward me. Maybe she was… just horny in general?

Whichever the case, I focused all of my willpower on not turning around for another lungful of that sweet perfume. That would become a slippery slope to running my nose along her neck, which would lead to tasting her blood. And that opened all kinds of doors that would intertwine hunger and sexual cravings in all kinds of messy ways.

Especially since she made it clear we were only friends.

And she was technically part of an enemy clan.

Rational thoughts and resisting my urges did nothing to calm down my cock, which thickened and pressed almost painfully against my zipper.

I liked Amy, but I had no delusions about this becoming any deeper. She was lost and needed a friend who wouldn’t take advantage of her.

Even if she became comfortable enough to feed skin-to-skin, and deeper feelings grew, I was on the verge of creating an heir with Inessa of Carpe Noctem. Amy deserved better than a guy who would leave to actively impregnate someone else.

But I was getting far, far ahead of myself.

I slashed the knife across the inside of my forearm, cutting deeper than necessary. The quick flash of pain cleared my head and deflated my erection, thank Temkra. My pulse slowed as I held the wound over the glass, my self-control returning. When the bleeding slowed and I turned around, Amy was frowning.

“What?” I set the glass on the island and pressed a clean dish towel to my forearm.

“I just hate that you have to do that.” She drew the glass of blood closer and lifted it to her lips.

“Do what?”

“Hurt yourself.” She swallowed a deep drink and pointed at the glass. “So that I can have this.”

I shook my head. Her concern for my wellbeing was as strange as it was satisfying. This woman had a talent for making me feel all kinds of warm, unfamiliar things.

“I told you it’s not very painful. And I don’t mind.”

“Still, I don’t like it.” She drained the glass in two more large gulps and set it on the counter. “But thank you for your blood, Novak.”

My response was automatic, which should have worried me. But the Vampiric phrase flowed like water out of my mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Amy smiled, as if the sounds of the Vampiric language pleased her, even if she didn’t understand the words. “What does that mean?”

“It means, feeding you is a pleasure.” I grabbed the glass and took it to the sink. The English version sounded like it was trying too hard, so I felt compelled to add, “It’s just something we say after giving blood. It’s polite.”

“Oh.” She lingered at the far end of the counter, even though Jo and Lourna waited for her in the foyer. “What’s that other word you’ve used a few times?”

“Which one?” I asked, even though I knew perfectly well.

“Akra? Am I saying it right?”

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