Page 48 of Auctioned for Her Blood
His eyes widen. “What kind of memories?”
I smile. “Of reading the Harry Potter books.”
Grinning, he nods, but I’m not sure he believes my explanation.
But no way am I offering more right now. I’m not sure that I trust my memories of childhood—of my mother’s abilities, the way she disappeared—and even if I did trust my own mind, I’m not ready to share any of that with Ryker, with anyone. Secrecy was something mother pounded into me as hard as my fear of the dark. I’ve already told both Ryker and Zuben too much.
“How can I convince you?” Ryker asks.
I draw a thready breath. “Convince me to do what?” Does he have some crazy sex act in mind? “I’ll try anything.”
He smiles and his tongue flicks out. “Convince you that I’m a vampire.”
“Oh, right.” I lick my lips. I’m finding it hard to focus on anything beyond having him inside me again.What is wrong with me?
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, hoping to get the topic back to sex. “And anyway, since you claim everything I know about vampires is fake news, how can you prove to me that you are one?”
His eyes brighten. “I have an idea.”
I blink and he’s gone. Or did I even blink?
“Where did…?” I glance around the room, trying to figure out where he went, and then he reappears beside me.
“How…?”
“Vampires can move very quickly.” He grins. “Faster than the human eye can detect.”
He’s holding a knife!
I press away from him, scrambling back.
He leaps away, landing across the room.
“Ember!” He lifts both arms in surrender, dropping the knife to the floor. “I mean you no harm. I promise.”
My heart is pounding so fast and hard I can barely hear, barely breathe. “Why?” I point toward the knife.
One hand still up in surrender, Ryker slowly crouches, maintaining eye contact with me as he picks up the knife. “I’m going to show you my vampiric ability to heal.”
“What?” My eyes flit back and forth between the flash of the knife’s blade as it picks up the light, and the rise and fall of his six pack of abs, maybe eight. How did I not notice them before? Clearly I had the wrong angle when he was driving inside me.
My insides pulse, ignoring my fear, or maybe because of it.
He steps back further, and I marvel at his abs’ definition, how the muscles change shape as he moves. Then the blade moves.
He slashes his forearm.
A gash opens, so deep I see bone.
Blood flows from the wound, and shock traps a scream in my throat.
Dropping the knife, he holds his arm toward me, and his skin knits together, his wound closing like a film screened in reverse. He picks his discarded shirt off the floor and wipes his arm, then holds it toward me. There’s no evidence of the knife’s work.
“See?” he says. “See how quickly I heal? Can a human do that?”
I stare at his arm, at his whole gorgeously, powerful body, and my mouth is dry all the way down my throat.Is it true?
My mind’s racing, but through fog I can’t begin to form any words.
