Nicholas’s hazel eyes turned a vivid shade of green, mirroring the center stone in the bracelet and giving him an unearthly appearance. Mesmerized by the shimmering effect, Marie struggled to breathe.
His fangs popped out, heightening the tension. His body was big and muscular, his skin cool to the touch. Not that she was touching him, not purposely, anyway.
“Move your hair out of the way,” he said.
Like a lamb about to be slaughtered, she did what he asked, giving him a clear path to her neck.
“Thank you. That was very accommodating.”
Was he mocking her? “Don’t tease me, not now.”
When he pierced her flesh, she yipped. His bite stung, just as she’d assumed it would. He didn’t apologize, but she didn’t expect him to.
The drugged/drunk sensation pulsed through her veins quickly. The more he drank, the more stoned she got. She even got a crazy urge to tug him closer. She fought it, though. She knew better than to encourage him.
“Oh, my,” she said, her voice sloppier than she would have liked. “Is it supposed to feel this good?”
He stopped to respond. “That depends on what this means.” He licked the wound, up and down and all around. “It isn’t supposed to be a sexual high.”
“I didn’t say it was sexual.”
“So it isn’t affecting your libido?”
Yes? No? Maybe? “Quit doing that.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m doing?”
Wrong? Everything. She envisioned him tasting a woman between her legs in the same sensual manner. “You’re trying to turn me on.”
“I am not.”
“All I’m doing is feeding.”
“You’re playing. You’re having fun at my expense.” She struggled to keep her hips still, to not thrust against his.
“I can’t help it if you’re attracted to me.”
“So you’re handsome. So what? I’m going to get engaged to Keith.”
“Because of me and my magic.”
“Shut up, Nicholas. Shut up and drink.”
He took one last long naughty lick. Then he sucked as much blood from her neck as he was allowed to take. Or so she assumed. She had no idea what he was actually doing. If he drained her dry, she wouldn’t know the difference. She was stoned off her ass.
“You can’t kill me,” she said, reassuring herself that she was going to survive this and not really caring if she did.
He didn’t reply. He just kept drinking.
The euphoria continued. Every time his fangs went deeper, it hit her like a shot of tequila, with an injection of a narcotic on the side. “When my appendix burst, they gave me morphine after the surgery.”
He remained silent. Still drinking.
“I’m getting way too high,” she said. Yet she wanted him to keep going, the sensation wild and exciting.
Finally, Nicholas ceased his zealous feeding. But that didn’t help her cause. She could barely move. Her muscles had gone ridiculously lax. He sat up and retracted his fangs. His eyes returned to their natural color.
Marie tried to sit forward, but wasn’t able to manage it. Then again, she never could hold her liquor. Medication always knocked her for a loop, too. Not just morphine, but even things as mild as over-the-counter cough syrup. Was it any wonder that she couldn’t handle a gen-vamp’s bite?
“So,” he said. “Your appendix burst?”
Sluggish, she nodded.
“About three years ago.” Or was it four? No, it was three.
“Do you have a scar from the surgery?”
“Can I see it?”
Without thinking, she lifted the hem of her blouse.
“You healed nicely.” He ran a finger along the pale line.
His touch incited a series of tingling little tremors. Even in her stupor, she knew that he was taking advantage of her intoxication. “Don’t.”
“Touch me like that.”
“It’s just a scar.”
“It’s my skin.”
“I just drank your blood. What’s a little skin between friends?”