Page 31 of Bitten & Burned
I leaned forward, taking a small bite from the end of the pastry.
“Take a bigger one than that, Rowena,” Anton grinned. “You barely got anything at all. I want your honest opinion.”
I leaned forward again and took a bigger bite. Flavors flooded my tongue. Tart and sweet, they married beautifully on a flaky, buttery pastry. It all blended, making me moan as I chewed and swallowed.
“Really?” Anton asked, his eyebrows raising playfully. “And on the first try, too.”
I leaned back. “It’s good,” I said, realizing there was no way to save this, but I preferred to try rather than not.
He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to make note of that. ‘It’s good,’ such high praise. I prefer the first reaction.” He popped the rest of the pastry into his mouth and chewed.
“Oh, wow. Sometimes I surprise myself,” he said, swallowing. “Now, that’s enough dessert, you get more if you’re a good girl and eat your breakfast. Would you like eggs? An omelette? Au fromage et… champignons?”
I frowned slightly.
“Mushrooms. And cheese,” he repeated.
“I know what fromage is, Anton,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, you didn’t knowchampignons,so you realize I must cover my bases.”
“Just saymushrooms.”
“Why, whenchampignonsis a much more beautiful word?And now you know what they are? Although you haven’t said you want them yet. Do you?”
I nodded. “And ketchup.”
“Ketch—ketchup?” He looked alarmed. “Ketchup is… You do not need ketchup for this dish.”
“I know, but I like ketchup on my eggs.”
He made a face, shaking his head. “That sounds positively vile.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” I said with a laugh. “Besides, Vael makes me eggs with ketchup. No complaints.”
“Yes, well, no offense to your scholar, but he does not have the refined palate I do. He prefers a Cabernet over all other red wines. No matter what you are drinking it with. He has no taste for fine cuisine… well…” He looked at me, his eyes heated. “Perhapssometaste.”
“Anton…” I said, smirking as I leaned back. “You flirt too much.”
“Bah, I flirt the perfect amount,” he countered, licking the rest of the pastry from his fingers. “Keeps you blushing, your face turns a beautiful shade of pink I don’t see anywhere else.” He took another cherry and popped it in his mouth.
It was alarming, the first time I’d seen a vampire eat human food. I had naively thought, alongside most others, that vampires had to drink only blood. Until I’d spent a few nights with Vael.
I’d woken up once to him stirring sugar into a teacup. Taking a bite of a jam-slathered piece of toast, he’d looked at me, mid-bite, and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the crumbs.” As if that was what had me looking so alarmed. It wasn’t that he was eating in bed; it was that he was eating at all.
He’d explained to me later that vampires do eat human food. In fact, sometimes, they crave it. But it provides nothing. No sustenance, no satisfaction, only scratching an itch or a food craving. He wasn’t sure what happened to it, because there were a few other human functions vampires did not partake in, if you catch my drift, but only that it allowed them to seamlessly blend intolive society, not outing themselves as cursed so quickly. Wine, however, seemed to give the same effects as it had while living, if a bit muted.
I watched now, as Anton lifted a teacup to his lips, sipping at the rim before returning it to the saucer.
He’d just poured my omelette into the pan alongside the sauteed mushrooms. He sprinkled cheese, then shook the pan to fold the omelette. Minutes later, he’d plated it, skipping the garnish in favor of sliding me the ketchup bottle beside the plate.
“Gods, I don’t know if I can watch this,” he said, watching anyway as I dribbled ketchup over the entire omelet before tucking into it. “Vile woman,” he teased.
“Try some.”
He wrinkled his nose, but opened his mouth, and I fed him some. He chewed, swallowed, and sighed. “It’s not bad. Don’t tell anyone you heard me say that.”
I finished my omelette and accepted a cup of tea. Earl Grey. I added my own cream and sugar, and Anton watched as if he were memorizing it.
