Page 54 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
He clears his throat. “Trouble.”
I squint at his joke and raise an eyebrow. “I’m serious, what do I taste like?”
“Copper is the heaviest note in any human’s blood. From there, there are a variety of flavors and behaviors which impact the taste.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the lecture, but do you mind getting to the point?”
He smiles. “Cinnamon, cardamom, and cherries.”
“Huh,” I say, fiddling with the rolled-up silverware. “So, good?”
Why do I care if he thinks I taste good? I take back what I said earlier, this is by far the strangest conversation I’ve ever been a part of.
“You could say that,” he says in deflection, watching the waitress fumble with the door.
She finally gets it open, bringing a platter full of food and Grayson’s drink with her.
Steam rolls off my dish; it smells delicious. I pick up one of the breadsticks and take a bite of it while she places Grayson’s plate down. A pool of blood surrounds the barely warmed meat. The blood tonic he ordered is a light red color, much lighter than a vial of blood, but not quite pink.
The waitress scurries out of the room once more. I ignore Grayson and eat my pasta, carefully avoiding glancing at him in case the whole blood thing makes me lose my appetite. I’m starving and it’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent Italian dish.
Grayson sips on his drink, and the sound draws my eyes to his mouth. The drink stains his lips red and he wipes away an errant drip on his cloth napkin. He notices me watching and scoots the drink toward me.
“Would you like to try it?”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I say and continue eating.
He shrugs and starts to eat his bloody meal. The meat’s still raw enough I wouldn’t be surprised if it got up and started tap-dancing. This is why people become vegetarians.
No, not the thought of tap-dancing meat, the realization that meat is disgusting. I’ve never been grossed out by steak, but right now, my stomach begins to sour. Grayson hums in appreciation.
“Damnit.” I drop my fork and sit back. At least he waited until I was mostly full before he started.
“I can feel your judgement, Demi. This is my nature, you can’t fault me for it.”
Like hell I can’t.
Watching him chew his food is too much for me, so I settle on watching the patrons. A woman throws her head back and laughs, the gesture so care-free. Her date is laughing as well. I scowl at them.
Do they realize where they are?
Then I catch the pointed tip of one of her fangs. I narrow my eyes and carefully inspect the rest of the patrons. Most of them are ridiculously beautiful; I see flashes of fangs occasionally. This restaurant is full of bloodsuckers.
No wonder the waitress is so skittish. I’d be a wreck if I had to work here knowing who I was serving.
“Are you full?” Grayson’s voice is ripe with concern.
“Full enough.” I look at his plate, which is empty now. “You?”
He nods and swallows the last of his drink, sighing in appreciation.
“What does that taste like?”
“The tonic is bitter and overrides most of the flavor. This blood is a bit sour, slightly spoiled by drug use.”
“Why do you drink it if it’s gross?”
He smiles. “I didn’t say it was gross.”
