“Hmm.” Mirabeau almost asked why she didn’t ask someone else, but then realized the only other female usually at the enforcer house was Sam, who was also a newly turned life mate likely to get distracted when she went in search of the answer. Mirabeau herself was probably the first unmated female immortal Stephanie had been around long enough to ask the questions.
“Right,” she said calmly, moving back to sit on the bed again, determined to answer any questions she could. “You’ll grow so long as you continue to feed regularly. Once you reach your peak adult condition, you’ll stop aging and look somewhere between twenty-five and thirty forever.”
Stephanie considered that. “How often is regularly?”
Mirabeau hesitated, then said, “It’s best to feed in small bouts about every three hours until you’re about twenty-five.”
“Like a baby,” she said with disgust.
“Basically, yes,” Mirabeau said with amusement, then noted the girl’s pallor, and asked, “When did you last eat?”
Stephanie grimaced, but reluctantly admitted, “Before we left for the wedding.”
Mirabeau glanced at the clock. It was almost two o’clock now. Well past time the girl fed again.
“Lucian said there was blood in the SUV,” Stephanie said helpfully. “We can feed before we leave in the morning.”
Mirabeau was silent. Lucian had told her that as well as he’d ushered her to the secret panel in the church. The SUV would be the easiest source of blood at the moment, especially since Stephanie had no fangs. The simplest thing would be to head out as soon as Tiny had finished his shower, retrieve the SUV, feed, and head out of the city. It was probably the safest thing to do as well.
“No,” Stephanie protested at once, reading her thoughts. “You said we could nap. Surely I can wait a couple of hours? I’ll have twice my usual dosage when we get to the SUV.” The wheedling tone of voice and the fact that she called it dosage suggested the girl usually had trouble feeding. Mirabeau supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Raised as a mortal, the girl was no doubt having trouble getting past the fact that she was having to drink blood at all. She probably resisted it and had to be urged to drink the stuff. Mirabeau suspected she would resist less now that she knew it was necessary for her body to mature properly. No girl wanted to be flat-chested forever.
“Okay, I did say you could nap before we left,” she said soothingly. “I’ll run over and pick up the SUV while Tiny showers. You can have some blood, we’ll all nap, and head out in the morning as planned.”
Mirabeau started for the door, but paused before she reached it as she recalled where she’d put the keys Lucian had given her. Without a purse on hand or a pocket in the bridesmaid’s dress, she’d merely tucked them into her bra. It was a handy-dandy little naturally made pocket she occasionally utilized in a pinch. However, the bra was now on the floor in the bathroom where Tiny was showering.
“So wait until he’s done with his shower,” Stephanie suggested, then held up the package in her hand. “You can give me my tattoo while we wait.”
Mirabeau returned to the bed and sat down. “So which one do you want?”
“The heart,” Stephanie said, handing her the tattoos.
Mirabeau took them from her, frowning when she saw the jagged line across it where some of the tattoo had been scratched away.
“I altered it a little,” Stephanie said quietly. “It seemed more suitable.”
Mirabeau stared at the heart, realizing that once applied it would look broken, just as the girl’s heart was at the moment, and as her own had been since she was seventeen. She just hoped Dani’s presence and the fact that her family hadn’t died might help Stephanie heal faster than she had…or hadn’t, as the case may be, she acknowledged unhappily.
Chapter Eight
Tiny shut off the water and stepped out of the shower with a pleased sigh. It was extremely nice to feel clean again. While he hadn’t taken a tumble in the sewer as Mirabeau had, his clothes and even his skin had carried the stink of those tunnels by the time they’d gotten out of them. It had been a relief to strip off the clothes and even more of a relief to be able to wash away whatever stench had clung to him. He was looking forward to pulling on clean clothes, even if they were tourist wear. Clean tourist wear beat a smelly Armani suit any day, though he’d enjoyed the designer suit before his stint in the sewers and regretted the loss of the expensive item.
The thought of those clean clothes on his mind, Tiny quickly toweled off, wrapped the wet towel around his waist, and headed out of the bathroom. He stepped into the bedroom on a cloud of steam, but stopped abruptly when he spotted Mirabeau pacing its length. She whirled midpace at his arrival, relief covering her face.