Page 32 of The Vampire's Thirst
“I’m starving.” She uncurled from the chair, her skirt falling to cover her bare feet. “I’ll start dinner. You need anything?”
“Nope.”
Dax swung his legs onto an arm of the couch, resting his head on the other. The whiskey and logs on the fire warmed him while Chiara banged around in the kitchen, singing a tune he didn’t recognize. With eyelids closed, he allowed her voice to slide over him as it soothed his tense muscles, his nerves. Having nodded off for a bit, he awoke to the scents of roast beef, carrots, and potatoes. Biscuits. Pie. Apple, he was sure. His nostrils flared. Apple with cinnamon.This was nice.A house in the woods. A beautiful female. Nobody to chase or kill.
Wait. Hell no.
Domesticity was not his gig. He shot upright, his feet thumping onto the floor.
Do not let your guard down, vampire. A mate or picket fence is not your future.
“Dinner’s on the table.” In the doorway, Chiara blew an unruly lock of hair from her cheek while dusting flour off her apron.
A sharp pain struck his groin. He wanted her. Here. Now. She was enticing with wild black curls to her waist, a long gypsy skirt which hid her legs, and creamy shoulders bared by a peasant blouse.
The female’s bright orchid eyes latched onto him. Definitely a witch. Why didn’t she have an aura? She was human through and through. Did she learn the craft from a book? Still. The peepers.
“Have these always been the same color, kid?” Dax circled his eye with a finger.
She hesitated, her lips drawing into a pout. “You may call me Chiara. I’m not a kid. I’m a full-grown woman. And no. How did you guess?”
What would make a human’s eyes…?Oh hell no.Not another one. He tossed back his drink, wishing he could mainline the stuff. Suddenly, feeding from Chiara didn’t seem to be a good idea. She had witch peepers. Cast spells. Had no knowledge of Scath. Was human. As if he hadn’t had enough bad luck in his life.
Fuck.
If not careful, he could be like the other besotted Firebrands. Mated to a Blood Coven descendant. Impossible. He was black-hearted, too corrupt. No more feeding from her. Even from the wrist. That kind of stupidity could lead to a connection he didn’t want.
In the next second, the dilemma of the little witch rocketed to the backseat. Dax bolted upright as he angled an ear toward an unwelcome sound.
“You haven’t answered…”
He raised a hand. “Shut up.”
She stuttered. “W-h-a…”
He whispered, “I said ‘shut the fuck up.’” He rushed to the window, pulling back the drape just a crack. Though the sun had barely set, the thick woods were draped in darkness. Thanks to vampire vision, Dax could see as clearly as if it were day. “No more time. To the car now.”
Grabbing her hand, he yanked her into the kitchen. “Forget dinner. Keys? Wheels?”
Chiara’s feet skittered on the floor when she planted them to prevent Dax from tugging her along. “The barn.”
He halted, giving her elbow a firm yank. “Now, little witch. Assholes coming.”
Chiara pointed to keys dangling from a hook. Dax snagged them and his boots while she plucked a raggedy monkey from the counter, her coat from the back of a chair, and stepped into shoes. He resumed dragging her. When the wolfhounds blocked the way, she kneeled and slung her arms around Ivan. “You’re the leader. Take the boys to Ernest’s.”
After he and Chiara raced across the yard, Dax jerked open the barn doors. When he sighted the car, he moaned. “A Prius? Really? They’ll outrun us.”
As she went for the driver’s door, he pushed her away. “No.” The keys twirled around his finger.
Chiara grumbled while she slid into the passenger’s side. Dax folded himself behind the wheel, chin to his chest and knees scrunched under the steering column. She chuckled, rapidly shoving a fist over her mouth. Then she straightened and pulled her skirt in, slamming the door.
As he punched the gas, the car crunched gravel, rolling along the driveway. “Real funny, huh?” Dax slammed on the brakes, skidding, while he turned the wheel sharply to swing onto the road.
They sailed off with Chiara lurching forward and then to the side, glaring at the driver.
The dogs darted in front of the piece-of-shit Prius before turning off to head through the woods, Dax assumed toward Ernest’s place, whoever he was.
“Which way to Missoula?” He fixed his pupils on the rearview mirror as three Aeternals charged down the road after them. A satyr sprinted forward, making good time. He was fast, arms churning and legs chewing up the rock.
