Page 38 of The Firebrand
“It’s illegal to take human blood without consent. Unless survival depends on it. Second, while your kind are tasty, I find Aeternals more satisfying—for the total experience. Succubus, nymph, ylve. Most shifters are a little gamey. Females.”
“Homophobic?”
Rein maintained a disinterested pose but grinned, the tips of his fangs showing. “Yes, Braelyn, I enjoy a female snack with a sex chaser. Fair warning, I like to trap my donors under me.”
Braelyn cleared her throat, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Can you survive on animal blood?”
“In a pinch. But there’s the whole sex thing. Not into bestiality.”
“Without permission, you don’t feed?”
Rein straightened, indicating with a wave of his hand that the permission rule was iffy. “Vampires are very persuasive. Consent is easy.”
If this were a live-action cartoon, Rein was the grinning cat, licking its lips when it cornered the mouse. Braelyn, the crazy rodent, was gaga over the feline’s full, soft mouth.
He broke eye contact, hitching up his pants. “About dinner. I have lamb and salad. How’s that?”
Exhale.
“I love lamb. Any mint jelly?”
“The cabinet over there.” Rein stuck his head into a zero-clearance stainless steel fridge, tossing out a tomato, some leafy greens, an avocado, broccoli, and carrots. “Salad. Your job. The knives are in the drawer behind you. The bowls in the upper corner cabinet. Here’s a cutting board. Get busy.”
Neatly stacked cans caught Braelyn’s attention. “Where does all this stuff come from?”
Thank goodness he didn’t alphabetize them, because that would just be creepy.
“The grocery store. Where do you get yours?”
“Ass. I mean, some labels are familiar. Some not.”
“We import stuff from you, but ylves, along with other Aeternals, grow and process most of our agricultural goods. We even export food products to Earth.”
“What else do you make on Scath?”
“Cars. You’ve seen some. There’s a Tonkawa motorcycle factory here in Covenkirk. Lots of horsepower. Demons in Knife’s Edge get grapes from the ylves, turning them into wine, a cab called Lucifer’s Forge, named after a desert in that region. Speaking of, grab a bottle up there.” He pointed to a rack on the wall. “But I’m not up on trade. That’s the Ministry of Prosperity’s biz. Mine’s death.”
Braelyn, busy chopping a tomato to toss into the salad, set down the knife to find the wine. She completed her tasks, including getting out dishes and flatware, while mulling over what Rein had said.
They ate at the counter, Rein answering most of thelater-listquestions. When finished, he pushed his plate aside, rolled the Cabernet around in a glass and watched the sheets of deep red fluid while he eyed Braelyn.
Intent on shoveling food into her mouth, she hadn’t looked up. When she did, she noticed Rein tracking her moves—fork up, chew, fork down—she stopped. “Wha-a-at? I’m hungry.”
“You enjoy eating. Why are you so skinny?”
She thought about that while she fingered the edge of her empty plate. “I’m not skinny. I’m trim. Besides, usually I’m not hungry.”
Not since the symptoms had reappeared. I guess being kidnapped and taken to another realm fixes headaches in addition to a listless appetite.
Taking a sip of wine, Rein dropped a bomb. “You’ll crash in my bed tonight.”
“Where will you be?” Braelyn gripped the stem of a half-finished cab.
“Keeping your feet toasty.”
Braelyn’s stool clattered to the floor when she leaped up. “I don’t think so.”
“Doesn’t matter what you think. Elisabeta’s in the condo.”
