Page 11 of Bloody Temptations

My second question is how he manages such a wickedly powerful blush for a vampire? Maybe it’s a superpower. Not that us vamps have those.

“Uh-er-I-nooo.” He manages to scoff eventually, dragging out the no with an eye roll.

The exaggerated “no” highlights his accent. I didn’t catch it last time over the music, but it’s easier to hear tonight. I wonder where he’s from? Finn fidgets with the paper coaster in front of him while trying not to squirm on his stool. I pump my eyebrows at him, needling him a little more, smirking while I step back and gather what I need for his cocktail.

“That,” I say, pouring in the blood and booze and ice without even thinking about it. It’s all muscle memory at this point. “Is total bullshit. You definitely came here to see me.”

I slam on the lid of the cocktail shaker and drown out his protests with the ice on metal. His eyes—still with the extra intense red iris ring of a baby vamp—watch my biceps as they clench and flex.

When his tongue darts out and his fang bites into his lower lip I decide to put on a bit of a show, spinning the shaker in the air and tossing it behind my back in a series of tricks it took Nikolo and I ages to perfect.

I’ve always enjoyed being watched and Finn seems to really enjoy watching, but my show ponying ways are interrupted when a group joins us at the bar.

Sometimes being this dazzling has its drawbacks. Like when the group, a bunch of semi-regulars in slick suits—who never tip as well as they pretend to—start crowding around Finn, boxing him out of his own live performance.

It kills the moment between us and I’m forced to leave him to go and do my job, leaving him to nurse his drink at the bar. His eyes never leave me, though. He thinks he’s being sneaky, but he’s anything but. His eyes dart away and his ears turn pink whenever I catch him.

I really fucking like it.

Too many cocktails—all with too many ingredients—later, I succeed in working my way back to him. This time with the very handy excuse of having to unload the glasses.

“So, if it isn’t me, what brought you back here tonight?”

Finn toys with the stem of his glass to avoid eye contact while he considers my question.

“I guess it’s nice to be somewhere where being a vamp isn’t weird.” His eyes snap to me, extra wide and panicked. “I don’t mean—I mean—not that being a vamp is weird or like—”

I decide to take pity on the poor guy, reaching out to capture his hand in mine before he knocks himself unconscious—a real risk with the way he’s flailing it about.

Finn’s panicked gaze flicks down to where we’re joined, his body frozen mid motion. Was he a rabbit before he turned? He sure is sketchy like a rabbit shifter I used to know.

He doesn’t pull out of my grip, so I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I get it.”

And seriously, I do. I also really don’t want to let go of his hand. Especially when his throat bobs with an exaggerated swallow, and his pupils widen. All the tiny little things that make my teeth ache to pierce that delicate skin. But the touch has gone from “casual reassurance” to “dude, you’re at work” so I prise my fingers off him.

Like the moment was a glamour cast over us, it breaks with the contact. Finn clears his throat and wriggles uncomfortably on his stool. Me? I’m just grateful I’ve got the bar between us to hide the semi making my jeans uncomfortable.

“Your friends seemed cool when you were here last,” I offer to keep the conversation rolling. There are only so many glasses to stack away and all too soon I’m going to have to leave him here and go do my actual job again.

Finn swallows the mouthful of his drink, delicately reaching up to wipe away a hint of blood at the corner of his lips.

“Uh, yeah. They are cool. I really only know one of them-we work together. They were his friends, but they were cool. Really accepting. Not everyone is, you know?”

I certainly do. We’ve made a lot of strides to stamp out the inter-being bigotry over the years, but vampires seem to be the last bastion of hatred. Even before I turned, I never understood what society's issues with vamps are. Obviously, I didn’t have any problems, since I worked at a vamp bar and all. It’s all just never made sense to me.

I mean, it could be the whole “us consuming their blood” thing. Before bottled blood, that was obviously a bit of an issue. But nowadays it’s not exactly a problem is it? And never mind the fact that for some of us, the alternative to turning was death.

I don’t say any of that, though—my hunger to find out more about Finn is too strong. “What do you do for work?”

Finn grimaces. “I,” he says dramatically, draining the last of his drink, “answer phones for Osneau Roadside Assist.”

“Not the career of your dreams I take it?”

Finn snorts derisively. “No. But it’s what I’m able to do. So I do what I must.”

The alcohol has loosened his tongue, and there is a definite story there. I’m itching to find out more, but I’ve officially run out of glasses.

“If you had a choice, what would you be doing?” I buy myself some time by wiping down the bar area, even though it’s already clean and I can feel my shift manager’s eyes boring into me.

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