The Vampire's Mail Order Bride(61)
“Why? Will it turn me into a vampire?”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Well, how would I know? You haven’t explained that part to me.”
“It takes three bites on consecutive nights to turn a mortal into a vampire. Two to make a rook. One has no effect.”
“Which explains why the world isn’t overrun with you fanged types.”
“Yes.” Her leg still blocked his path. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Will it hurt? I’m not afraid. Just curious.”
“I’m not biting you.”
She made a face, her voice carrying a teasing tone. “Is it because your fangs aren’t sharp enough?”
“You know my fangs are perfectly—you can’t prod me into this, Delaney.”
She leaned in, close enough to kiss. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to stop?”
Terrified. “Delaney, I’m not doing this.”
“Then what?”
How did he explain the spell her blood would weave over him? The way he would come to crave her more and more. The way he would be unable to think of anything but drinking from her until she had nothing left to offer. If he didn’t physically exhaust her first. Then turning her would be the only way to save her. “Because of the risk involved.”
“I already know. I might not survive the turning.”
“Not that risk.”
She jerked back. “There’s another?”
“Yes, but I don’t wish to discuss it.” She’d only push harder if she knew the details.
She wrinkled her nose. Disgustingly cute. “No secrets, remember?”
He said nothing, just stared at her.
She huffed out a breath and let her leg swing down. “Fine. Go get your gross old bagged-up blood. That is what’s in there, right?”
Relief surged through him. “Yes. Gross old bagged-up blood.” Which would now forever pale against the knowledge of what he could have had.
Still, he barely managed not to laugh as he brushed past her. He put his back to her and bent to open the cold storage unit.
The tinny scrape of metal on metal reached his ears. Then Delaney’s voice.
“Ow! Crap.”
The sweet metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils. He straightened and turned to see what she’d done, but he already knew.
Blood spilled from her hand.
She held it out in front of her. “I didn’t know that little blade was that sharp.”
His gaze fixed to the slice across her palm. “It’s a scalpel.”
She lifted her hand, examining her wound. “Why on earth do you need a scalpel?”
Tissue samples, but that wasn’t important now. Unable to control his growing hunger any longer, he felt his fangs punch through his gums.
She lifted her eyes to his and held her hand out to him. “We should do something about this.”
Need fogged his thoughts. Blood dripped onto the floor. “You did that on purpose.”
“Yes and no. I only meant to nick myself, not cause arterial damage.”
“There’s no artery there,” he muttered. Somehow he was standing next to her.
“You won’t even have to bite me now.” Her voice held innocence, but determination edged her gaze.
Upstairs, the kitchen door opened and closed, accompanied by familiar footsteps. The pungent aroma of Thai food wafted down. His rook had returned.
With a staggering amount of control, Hugh shouted for the man. “Stanhill. Bring the first aid kit immediately.”
“Hugh,” Delaney pleaded.
“No. Don’t press me on this again.”
As Stanhill started down the stairs, Hugh strode up them and away from Delaney. Another second and he’d succumb. “Bandage her hand. I’ll be in my quarters. I did not yet feed.”
Stanhill raised a brow. “Understood.”
Hugh retreated to his room, his restraint tested nearly to the breaking point. He closed the door and bolted it, realizing the foolishness of that action even as he did it. A powerful, aged vampire, and he was locking himself away from a mortal.
He closed his eyes. He’d never been so affected by a woman this way before. There was no doubt in his mind that Delaney would want to be turned into a vampire. Especially now that she’d professed her love for him.
He loved her as well, which only strengthened his refusal to turn her. But she would talk him into it somehow, like she’d talked him into letting her be bait for those thugs at Howlers. He would never be able to refuse her. Not when he already knew he would kill for her.
And he could see only one way out, one way to preserve her life. She had to leave.
To keep her alive, he had to break her heart.
“You can’t force him, miss.” Stanhill dabbed the slice on her palm with a cotton pad dampened with something that stung.