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Sassy Ever After: Sassy Switch (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Tina Donahue (1)


 

Roman Young held one opinion on immortality. It sucked. Big Time.

Bummed by an endless future he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want, he gulped whiskey faster than he’d ever guzzled water. The booze had the same effect on him. Rather than a pleasant buzz he’d come to expect as a human, he now experienced nada, zilch, zero.

Only blood would ease his craving.

I am so screwed.

Battling an unbearable urge to sink his fangs into the other patrons at this strip club, he lifted his glass to signal the server for more booze. Maybe downing several gallons would allow him to sleep and forget how he’d gotten into this mess. One minute, he’d been card counting at a Vegas casino. In the next…

He didn’t want to remember those awful moments.

Since being turned, he feared leaving the city. If he was going to change his shitty existence, he had to find the vamp who’d done this to him and get her to fix it somehow, or start drinking blood.

His stomach cramped, wanting plasma.

No fucking way. He wouldn’t doom anyone else the way he’d been.

He craned his neck, but his attacker wasn’t lurking anywhere in the dimly lit room. Acrid smoke from too many cigarettes hovered above tonight’s crowd, many patrons sweating badly given the oppressive summer heat even air-conditioning couldn’t tame. Paranormals, tense from lust, faced the empty stage where a stripper would soon perform.

A curvy human server delivered a beer to a wolf shifter then bumped her hip against his arm. He flashed a toothy grin. She curled on his lap, cupped his face, and brought his mouth to hers. He groaned. She whimpered. Both reactions competed against music blasting from the sound system. The server and shifter indulged in each other like sex-starved adolescents, groping, kissing, rattling the table and his chair.

Roman rubbed his eyes, impatient for another drink. He prayed the booze would bring even momentary relief to ease the gnawing emptiness in his gut.

The hammering bass cut off, replaced by noises from spectators breathing, clearing their throats, or mumbling conversations.

An earsplitting squeal pierced the other sounds. Feedback from the DJ’s microphone. His chuckle followed. “Sorry about that. Are you ready for our show?”

The wolf shifter hauled the server onto his table, settled between her legs, then pinned her with his size, weight, and desire.

Roman twisted in his chair, his glass lifted for another employee to fill.

Lush musical strains flowed through the room, Alicia Keys’ “Fallin’.

Lights blinked off, casting the place in an inky darkness similar to being blind. As a vampire, he could still detect shapes, everything a grayish shade.

A spotlight flashed and bathed the stage.

He faced the amber glow.

The stripper’s back was to the audience, her ash-blonde hair dangling above her ass, her form vaguely concealed by gossamer fabric strips that shimmered gold in the light.

Alicia hit a plaintive note in her song.

The stripper eased her arm upward in time to the music, a panel from her costume gripped in her hand. She flung the fabric.

The thing landed on Roman’s shoulder.

Her rich, seductive fragrance enveloped him.

He reeled. Not from the flowery scent, but her natural fragrance, a thousand times sexier, marking her as a witch…and something more. Someone whose blood was special, at least to him.

She pitched another panel. The material flew past and landed on the necking wolf shifter and server.

They didn’t notice.

Roman leaned against his table, desperate to get closer to the stripper.

She glided across the stage, her remaining panels quivering with each step then separating briefly to reveal her shapely thighs and calves. Sparkly gold polish covered her toenails, the color matching her spike heel sandals.

More flowery scents and her unique fragrances wafted closer.

He gripped his chair.

She turned a fast circle, ditching her panels. They flew right and left.

Patrons jumped to their feet to catch them. A vampire and dragon shifter fought over one they’d both snagged.

A bouncer plowed into the scene and used his bulk to separate them. The dragon shifter tottered back and bumped into Roman.

He scooted away, turned to the stage, but couldn’t move farther. Not even the promise of being human again could have made him budge.

She’d removed every panel covering her, leaving delicate gold chains hugging her breasts, ass, and mound, her body curvaceous like JLo’s or Kim Kardashian’s. The twinkling jewelry swayed to and fro, momentarily exposing her tight, pink nipples and shaved pussy.

He grinned hard enough to make his cheeks hurt—the first time he’d done so since being turned.

The music swelled.

She gripped the pole center stage and slithered up and down it.

Hundred dollar bills thrown by the crowd rained on her. Paras and humans kept whooping their approval at her show.

Roman couldn’t manage a sound.

She danced on the pole as if she’d been born on it, bending her voluptuous figure in seemingly impossible ways.

Perhaps magic helped her become uber supple.

Her gyrations sent her hair flying in every direction and kept hiding her face from him.

Fuck that. Turn to me…look at me.

She spun around the pole, her thighs and calves gripping it, her head thrown back.

He pushed up to see as much as he could.

Alicia and the music hit a high note.

The stripper spun away from the pole, turned several tight circles, then dropped to the stage face down.

The spotlight snapped off.

No. No.

Roman swore.

Others joined in, their shouted oaths drowning out the remaining music.

The spotlight flipped back on and highlighted the stripper, her head still lowered.

Everyone fell quiet.

A second passed. Then another. Another.

Roman squirmed in his chair and drummed his table.

She raised her face.

He stilled. Everything surrounding him went quiet. Colors dimmed. Only she existed.

Her delicate features seemed too ethereal for a witch, but better suited for a fae. Her plush lips contradicted the notion. They’d been made for pleasure.

Something stirred within him. If he’d still been alive, he would have wagered his heart had quickened.

Her gaze remained lowered.

That wouldn’t do. Look at me. See me.

He shouldn’t be feeling what he did. He’d promised himself not to give in to his basest urges, but her presence, scent, and blood captivated him.

With one sniff, he could tell someone’s blood type. How, he didn’t know. He’d asked Aria, a daywalker from Blue Creek, to settle the mystery. She couldn’t. Her vampire cohorts were different than the one who’d made his life a mess.

The stripper was AB positive, the same as him. The only blood capable of satisfying his oppressive hunger. Not even O, the universal donor, could do the trick. A and B had no effect on him either, similar to booze. They’d be wasted plasma.

“Hey, babe!” A tiger shifter rushed the stage.

The bouncer caught him before he reached it.

He struggled against the burly guy’s hold on his neck. “Let go!” He shouted at her, “You busy later?”

Several patrons laughed. Others hollered to get her attention and ask for a date.

She glanced up.

Roman stared.

Sooty lashes ringed her dark-green eyes. The vibrant color complemented her creamy complexion. A small mole decorated her right cheek.

He liked that.

She scanned the crowd, her gaze nearing him.

He tensed and hoped she wouldn’t merely look past.

She did.

Shit. He drooped.

She paused then glanced back and met his eyes. Hell, she fucking held them.

A current similar to an electric shock tore through him. An exceedingly pleasant feeling that warmed his insides and curled his toes. He wasn’t certain whether she’d done something magic to produce what he experienced or if his feelings resulted from her natural allure. Either way, it didn’t matter. He was ready for more.

A request for a date rose to his lips. But he gritted his teeth to keep quiet. He’d sworn not to seek blood no matter his pain, and, by God, he was going to remain firm. He might be a vampire now, but he was still a man and had to hold on to his integrity.

He’d chew off his balls before he hurt her. Pleasing her was the only thing he wanted.

She stood and left the stage, taking away temptation.

He should have been relieved, but wasn’t, since hooking up with her, ever, for a simple good time was definitely not in the cards. He slouched in his chair.

The DJ’s microphone squealed again. He tapped it. “Next show’s in thirty. Hang tight.”

Time to go. Staying here wasn’t getting Roman anywhere. The vamp he sought wasn’t around and probably wouldn’t be. He should scour the other clubs as he’d done these last weeks. Or haunt the area where she’d turned him. Maybe she frequented the spot to blindside humans, liking the desolate street along with its scant vehicle and foot traffic.

If only he hadn’t fled the casino that night. If only he’d been smarter and faced the proverbial music. He’d be nursing his wounds now or doing prison time rather than slogging through an empty eternity.

The thought drained his strength, not allowing him to stand much less walk.

A pretty mortal server rushed up and spied his empty glass. “Want another?”

“Bring the whole bottle. Wait. Make it two.”

“You got it.” She winked and trotted away.

“Bad night?”

A female had spoken. She was so close she had to be addressing him, her voice smoky yet oddly caring.

Couldn’t be his original server. She’d barely glanced his way when he’d ordered and was still necking with the wolf shifter now.

Something glinted in his peripheral vision…delicate chains barely covering ample breasts and a baby-smooth mound.

Her.

Holy shit. He lifted his face and struggled for words. Gold flecks enhanced the green in her eyes. In the faint light, her lips shone as though she’d licked them because she was as hungry as he was.

Curiosity registered on her lovely features, followed by confusion, and something deeper…possibly lust. “Is it?”

He didn’t understand her question. “Is it what? Sorry, I’m not following.”

The server delivered two Johnnie Walker bottles, one red, the other black. “Enjoy.” She left.

The stripper leaned close. “Is it a bad night for you?”

He chuckled, surprised he could given his circumstances. She did that to him. Made him feel comfortable, maybe even hopeful, rather than pained. “I’ll manage.”

“Uh-huh.” She eased his hair off his forehead.

His scalp tingled and his cock shot to attention, ready to boogie. He made a strangled noise, part groan, part sigh. “Ah…”

“Shhh.” She caressed his cheek. “Relax. When was the last time you slept?”

He couldn’t recall. A full night’s rest seemed to have eluded him for years. “I’m guessing weeks.”

“Is that when you were turned?” She stroked the puncture marks on his neck.

His head fell back. “Yeah.”

“Having a hard time adjusting?”

A lie wouldn’t do. She’d know, would say “uh-huh” to his boast about enduring his new existence, then might touch him somewhere else and he’d shoot his wad in his jeans. He hadn’t been the best human or man, but he’d never suffered from premature ejaculation and wasn’t going to start now. “I’m trying, but it’s shitting hard, you know?” He laughed then tensed at how unglued he sounded. “Sorry. Stupid question. You wouldn’t have a clue.”

“I might. I’m Wren Lark, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Roman Young. Wren…” He smiled. “That’s cute. Lark is too. I like both.”

“Thanks. Let me help.”

She’d lost him again. “With what?”

“The trouble you’re having. Adjusting, as you said.”

He blinked. She couldn’t be offering to use her magic to get his quarry to reverse what she’d done to him. After the shit he’d been through, that would be too easy. Still, he yearned for a good outcome. “How?”

“This.” She snuggled on his lap and lowered her mouth to his.

Every nerve ending he owned fired wildly. His hair stood on end. Her lips were soft and warm, her breath sweet, calling to mind cinnamon and sugar, baked goods on a Sunday morning, spring days, fragrant breezes.

He cupped her head. God, even her hair was silky, like her skin.

She made a pleased sound and eased her tongue into his mouth.

Lights flashed beneath his closed lids. He suckled her tongue as deep as he could, letting it play with his. She tasted fresh and clean but witchy, too, for lack of a better word. Some magical and mysterious flavor he couldn’t quite place.

Maybe it was their shared blood type.

Stop it. He didn’t want to consider his ever-present desire to feed. At this moment, and for the first time in weeks, carnal hunger was his sole focus. He kissed her deep, hard, and long, the way a woman should be enjoyed. Tenderness would come after the main event, once he’d known her orally and vaginally, if she allowed it. To start things off, though, burgeoning lust was all that mattered.

A wanting, feminine sound poured from her, saying she liked his moves.

Appreciative, he eased her closer, stunned at how good tonight was unfolding. Who would have guessed? Not him by a long shot.

She melted into his embrace and clung tight, digging her nails into his tee, clawing the soft cotton and his shoulders.

No biggie. She could flay him to bone for all he cared. as long as she remained where she was until time ended and made him forget everything bad.

 

*****

 

Roman’s lips were softer than Wren would have guessed. Warmer, too, considering he was a vamp. And his scent… Wow. Something fresh, clean, and aquatic. Partly cologne. Mainly him. Excitement bubbled up. She didn’t deny it. His bristly cheeks made her pussy cream. She liked his size. He was a large man, six-three if he was an inch, pure muscle, no fat, lean and hard. As a tall woman, she appreciated that. Made her feel feminine and small, someone a man could cherish and care for.

Yeah, sure. She’d given up the notion long ago thanks to the warlocks she’d known. Each one a dick, thinking only of himself.

The pain and longing in Roman’s eyes had touched her in ways she understood better than he knew—the reason she was sucking his tongue into her mouth and rubbing her ass against his stiffened cock.

She trembled at how hard he was when she shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like her to behave as she was doing, especially at work, but he was a kindred soul, hating eternity as much as she did.

He dipped her to the right and cradled her breast.

Pleasure she hadn’t known for far too long rolled through her, warming the area between her legs and tightening her nipples. They peaked further beneath his skilled touch. She guessed him to be in his early thirties, and that he hadn’t been a virgin for a long, long time.

Whoever had turned him and stole his joy should be shot. He hadn’t a say in what he’d become any more than she had being born a witch. By human standards, she was only twenty-seven and already bored shitless by each new, never-ending day. Magic was cool when it was a fresh experience, mainly during her toddler years. Afterward, every spell was the same old, same old. She could conjure any material thing she wanted, which left nothing to strive for. She could put a spell on a man to love her, but his devotion wouldn’t be real. She could concoct a potion to fill her with whatever knowledge she sought then get a high-powered job she didn’t deserve. Magic wasn’t awesome, it was a curse she avoided as much as she could. She stripped at night to pay her bills the mortal way and filled her daylight hours mentoring troubled teen girls, teaching them to respect themselves and demand the same from others, especially guys. Not to fall for the first goon who gave them an empty compliment, trying to get into their panties. Wren had been there and done that. Those girls deserved better. So did she.

Roman pulled his mouth from hers and sucked her earlobe.

She giggled at how it tickled, liking that.

He pressed his lips to her neck, promptly froze, then reclaimed her mouth.

What do you know, a truly nice guy. He hadn’t tried to sink his fangs into her.

Although aroused by his gallantry, she warned herself his blood-sucking might come later. He was a stranger and male, which usually meant a quick “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” then the guy disappearing into the night without a backward glance.

He loosened his grip and held her gently, stroking rather than squeezing her boob.

Delight welled up, quickening her pulse. Tenderness for him followed. A dangerous emotion. She fought her feelings as a necessity. She’d never been good with guys. When she’d been in Blue Creek, Barb Wolfe, the area’s premier shifter-matchmaker had encouraged Wren to attend a scenting ceremony in the hopes a shifter would desire her and she’d adore him.

Didn’t happen. None even glanced her way.

The following week, she left her strip job at the Naked Wolfe and came here to start over. New surroundings. Different faces. Maybe something good would happen.

Roman buried his face in her hair and hugged her tight enough to snatch her breath, but not nearly enough to harm.

He was hurting. His shoulders were so tight they must have ached. He dug his fingers into her hip. She guessed to fight his vampire urges.

Hating the agony he was going through, she eased back and cupped his face.

Embarrassment swept his features. He didn’t open his eyes.

She wouldn’t complain. This gave her a chance to indulge in his potent masculinity. Despite being a vamp, his skin was still bronze, his hair a dark-chestnut color. He wore his locks shaggy and longish, past his ears. His eyebrows and stubble were nearly black, his features rough and virile. If he’d once modeled in men’s fragrance ads or for guys’ underwear lines, she wouldn’t have been surprised. “Tell me.”

His lids snapped open.

His irises were a light grey flecked with blue, his lashes nearly as long and dark as hers after she applied mascara. Nice. “Go on.”

He gave her a wary look. “About what?”

“Your pain… How you resisted biting my neck a few secs ago, okay?” There, she’d cleared the air. They could relax.

His legs tensed beneath her, and his shoulders tightened. “What?”

She thumbed the cleft in his chin and stroked his bristly throat. “I know you’re struggling.” She pressed her mouth to his ear. “My guess is, everyone here sees it, too.” She straightened. “You’re not hiding anything, so you can chill. How did this happen?”

He scanned the room, avoiding her gaze. “This what?”

“How you were turned.” She stroked his puncture marks. “Has it been a month yet?”

“Five weeks.” He screwed up his mouth. “Forever. An eternity.”

“Who did it?”

He gestured frantically. “I don’t know. I asked this daywalker I heard of who it was, but she hadn’t a clue. Said a rogue vampire had probably attacked me.”

“You talked to Aria?”

Surprise crossed his face. “Yeah. You know her?”

“I lived in Blue Creek for a while and got to know the locals and the other paras they knew.” Wren frowned. “Did you used to live around there?”

“No.” He slumped against his chair, bringing her with him, and stroked her back. “I grew up in LA, but after MIT, I—”

“Wait.” She rested her hand on his broad chest. “You’re talking about the school?”

He nodded. “Got a degree in applied mathematics and everything. Then I got a job at RAND, which I loathed. Counting cards was more fun, until it wasn’t.” He hung his head.

Poor baby. “You lost big time?”

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound like his voice. “I wish. I won too frequently.” He lifted his face.

Anguish darkened his eyes.

To avoid staring and making him uncomfortable, she stroked his arm then eased up his sleeve. The tribal tat on his biceps sported thick black swirls. Her mouth watered. “I don’t understand.”

“Who could when it comes to this?” His sweeping gesture took in the room. Vamps, shifters in every variety, demons, and other paras crowded the space. “I never realized this world existed until the night I got turned.”

His prolonged sigh said he wished he hadn’t. Curious, she had to know more. “Did your transformation happen at a casino?” She made a face. “In the men’s room?”

“What?” He leaned away as best he could. “No. Nothing like that happened. I was at an off-the-strip spot, one real gamblers go to, making my magic, if you will. Nothing flashy. Only beginners or fools would behave that way. I’d win a game then lose three more. Not too much to cut into my pot, though. I was up thirty grand when the pit boss started shooting daggers at me. I pretended not to notice and lost five grand to play nice.” He shoved back his hair. “Wasn’t enough. Two goons strode up and stood directly behind me. Everyone at the table kept glancing at them, except me. I played dumb.”

“Would it have been better if you’d acknowledged their presence?”

He lifted his shoulders. “I’m a pretty good actor when I’m counting. You know, being cool, not breaking a sweat. They freaked me out. My buddies in the business mentioned a counter who got beat up really bad. The goons put him in the hospital for months. He might never walk the same as he had before. Since I didn’t want to end up in a wheelchair, I did the stupidest thing I could do.”

“You confessed?”

He laughed louder than earlier, making his black T-shirt ripple over his sculpted abs. “I wish.” He sobered. “I rammed my chair into one of the goons behind me and bolted. Unfortunately, I knocked an old lady into the slots on my way out, but despite her screams, she was okay. I checked on her later, after I’d turned. Anyway, I ran outside, hopped on my Harley, and sped off.”

Call her crazy, but what he’d said didn’t sound bad. “The goons followed you in a Hummer and hauled out their assault rifles?”

“Nope.” He ran his hand down his face. “At least, not that I know of. I was too afraid to look back. I took off at high speed and raced down street after street, trying to lose traffic. Once I did, I should have slowed down, but the adrenaline was pumping hard. I accelerated, took a curve too fast, and wiped out.”

Wren clutched her throat. “Oh my God, how hurt were you?”

“Critically.” His gaze turned inward, and his face paled. The way he should look as a vampire rather than his heathy glow. “I was near death when it happened.”

She shook her head. “When what happened?”

The same haunted look filled his eyes. “A woman I’d never seen before strolled up and regarded me. She had long hair like yours, but hers was bright red, the kind you see on kids when they dye their hair to drive their parents nuts. Her face was better than gorgeous, more like unbelievable it was so perfect. As if she’d been Photoshopped in real life. No moles, wrinkles, or pores, yet her complexion was really pale. She wore a black leather top, jeans, and boots similar to a dominatrix. I thought I was hallucinating or had ended up in Hell. I recall whispering ‘Who are you?’”

He shivered. “She leaned close and smiled, exposing her fangs. I would have gagged if I’d had the strength. Running would have been good, too, but I was totally fucked. I think I’d severed my spine. I couldn’t get anything to move. She eased my head to the side and said, ‘I’ll take care of you. I’ll save you.’” He made a face. “The next thing I knew she was sucking on my neck, her lips icy. She smelled awful, too, the same as rotting flesh. Damn, it was the grossest thing I’ve ever experienced with a beautiful woman.

“Then everything went black. When I woke up, I was sitting on the shoulder, my bike in a ditch. Although my clothes were torn and bloody, I was in one piece, no pain. Color me confused. I twisted around, trying to determine where I was and what had happened. That’s when I saw her again.” He bared his teeth. “She was leaning against a car, watching me. I asked, ‘What happened? Did I run into you?’ She laughed. This shrill, creepy sound. ‘No, I ran into you,’ she said. Then explained how I was near death but she’d saved me from dying by turning me into a fucking vampire. Her good deed for the day. I mean, she was actually proud of what she’d done, like she was a freaking Girl Scout or something for giving me eternal goddamn life.”

Wren understood his pain.

His eyes widened. “The more she talked, the more I shouted ‘what?’ She gave me an indulgent look, as you would to a moron, then said, ‘You’re welcome,’ and took off.”

“She morphed into a bat?”

“No, she ran at supersonic speed, turning into a blur. I don’t think she can shift.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. It was the one cool thing I could think of in being a vampire. At least I’d be able to fly.” He groaned. “I can’t even do that.”

He’d been beyond fucked. Wren stroked his shirt collar. “Is that why you contacted Aria? You’re hoping to find the vamp who turned you so she can undo this?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Can your turning be undone?”

He looked sick. “Aria doesn’t see how.”

Wren kneaded his shoulder, trying to help him relax. “Have you been craving blood the whole time?”

“Ah…not exactly.” He glanced at her throat then away, shame registering on his handsome features. “The hunger didn’t start until twenty-four hours after I was turned. My cravings were mild, at first, but have grown worse each day. That’s why I’m here tonight and at other places like this, hoping to find the nitwit who did this to me.”

Wren offered a sympathetic nod. “In the meantime, have you considered getting a familiar?”

“A what?”

He was a newbie at this. “It’s a human servant who gets blood for you to feed. After serving you for years, or decades—the time period depends upon the vampire—you turn the familiar as a reward.”

“What? The fuck I will.” He eased her away from him. “I don’t want to turn anyone. I don’t want anyone murdered to feed me, not even crappy people. Every time my fangs sprout, I’ve been pulling them out.”

Ew. “How quickly have they grown back?”

“Instantly. That’s why I’m suffering without plasma.”

“Could be it’s not such a bad thing. Aria says drinking blood from the source ages a vampire. Avoiding the stuff is wise.”

“For her. Blood won’t age me. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. One of the perks in being a vampire, I guess. Even without gulping plasma, I’m slowly becoming susceptible to sunlight. I’m not a daywalker like Aria is. Nothing about us is similar. She comes from a different line than the thing that drained me.”

“What if you can’t find her ever?”

“Aw, shit.” He ground his fists into his eyes.

Too bad there weren’t psychotherapists for paras who needed help as much as the average Joe. Possibly more. Humans foolishly believed having powers made everything better. Wrong. Magic and supernatural capabilities screwed up the natural world where people were meant to be born and die. During their stay on Earth, they were supposed to live a full life while they could and attain wealth or position the normal way—either by earning the privilege or screwing over people as many one-percenters had.

Wren wouldn’t wish her heritage on anyone. Roman’s either. Quality in one’s days was far more important than quantity. “If you want, I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows who this vamp is. Give you a heads-up on where to find her.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

His astonishment made her smile, her reaction puzzling. She wasn’t usually this laid back with guys. Her armor was always up. “Why so stunned? I like you.” She wiggled her butt against his stiffened rod. “I kissed you, didn’t I?”

“Hell, yeah.” He wagged his eyebrows. “And I kissed back.”

“That you did.” She pecked his mouth. “I don’t want anyone suffering. Being immortal, I know what you’re going through.”

“Not entirely. The…ah…blood I have to have is kind of unique, as far as vamps go.”

She considered the notion. “It has to be from women alone?”

“Uh-uh. Men will do in a pinch.”

“The subject has to be young?”

He slanted her a look. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘victim,’ not subject. And no. Young, old, or middle-aged is good, or rather, it will work as long as they’re alive.”

Sounded as if he had a wide field concerning choice, not something rare as he’d claimed. “You prefer a para’s blood rather than a human’s?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had either.” He curled his upper lip. “Nor will I, especially if they’d have to die to satisfy me. I’m not killing anyone. Ever. Let me finish, please.” He pressed his fingers lightly against her lips. “Unlike other vampires, I need a certain blood type to satisfy my cravings. AB positive, to be exact. Nothing else will do.”

Wow, he hadn’t been kidding. That was uncommon. “How many of those types are walking around?”

“Last I googled, three percent of the US population has it.”

Like him and her. She figured he’d smelled her type, a vampire talent he owned. “How can you be sure the other types won’t work?”

“I. Just. Know. Don’t ask me how.”

She rested her hand on his flat belly. Even with the tee between them, she could still appreciate his rock-hard flesh, warm to the touch rather than deathly cold. His internal heat and still having a healthy complexion might be normal, a gift from the vamp who’d turned him. “How badly are you hurting now?”

“Not much.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Your kiss helped a lot.”

She beamed at the sweet compliment. Way better and arousing than a line. If only guys understood the most powerful aphrodisiacs for women were loyalty, trust, and honesty. “Want to keep going?” She touched her nose to his. “I don’t mind.”

His chuckle shook his shoulders. “Actually, I had another thought.”

She’d never jumped into bed with guys she just met. As a rule, she expected them to buy her drinks, or dinner, or take her to a show first. But what the hell. Roman was hotter than sin yet also sweet. The whole enchilada. “Me, too. My place or yours?”

Bewilderment crossed his face. “What? Wait. Are you inviting me home?”

“I think I have to.” She traced his tat, loving the macho design. “Vamps can’t enter anyone’s place unless they’re invited in first by the owner. That’s a rule.”

“Seriously?” He shook his head. “More shit to deal with. No. I wasn’t talking about that, although I don’t mind going to your place, eventually.”

“Eventually? You want to have a drink first? Maybe dinner? Catch a show? Wait. Can you eat?”

“Yeah. Steak tartare and stuff like that doesn’t bother me, though I have been craving substantial garlic on it.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought vamps were repelled by garlic.”

“Not this one. Religious symbols have zip effect on me, too. The only things that turn me off are low calorie beer and chick flicks.”

She struggled not to smile.

He looked worried again. “That’s not what I was referring to when I said eventually.”

Rather than guess what he’d meant, she opted for being direct. “Whatever you’re thinking about must be godawful given how tense you are. Make that tenser than when I was on stage.”

“You were great.” He grinned but sobered fast.

“Thanks. You were saying?”

“I need to ask you something before we leave here and go wherever we’re going.”

Suddenly, she didn’t want him to quiz her on anything and hoped what he wanted to know wasn’t too bad. “If you’re worried that I’m married, I’m not. Never been close. Currently, I’m free. No warlocks to deal with, okay? And I don’t have kids.”

“Me either. On any of those fronts.” He rubbed his mouth. “What I have to ask is more personal.”

“I’m twenty-seven in human years. You?”

“Thirty-one. That’s not what I wanted to know.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not telling you how much I weigh.”

He snickered. “I already figured as much. And I wouldn’t ask.” He held up his hands in appeasement.

She didn’t soften. “Go on. Ask your question.”

He tapped his feet, shifted his weight easily despite her being on his lap, and glanced at everyone in the room except her.

Now, she was more curious than worried and eased his face to hers to keep him from looking away. “What?”

He blew out a sigh. “Would you consider being my blood slave?”

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