“Do you want food or not?”
She wanted to tell him to shove his offer up his ass. Thankfully she wasn’t stubborn enough to cut off her nose to spite her face. She needed to keep up her energy if she was going to find a way out of the dungeons.
And fuel if she was going to risk using her secret mojo.
“I’m starving.”
“I suppose you nibble lettuce like most females?”
“A double bacon cheeseburger with loaded potato skins and a chocolate shake,” she ordered. “Oh, and one of those deep-fried apple pies.”
He snorted. “Is that all?”
“You can throw in a few Buffalo wings with blue cheese dipping sauce.”
His gaze briefly lowered to her tiny frame, which barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. For a fleeting second his gaze lingered and his eyes flared, as if he’d just been hit by an unpleasant sensation. Then, with an obvious effort, he was shaking off his strange reaction.
“Your funeral,” he muttered.
Sally rolled her eyes. “I hang around with deranged curs and megalomaniac vampires, not to mention evil deities; I doubt it’s cholesterol that’s going to put me in my grave.”
Again that glorious indifference to her expected life span. “It will be at least half an hour. The chef here only cooks vegetarian, so they’ll have to order out.”
“Vegetarian?” She blinked, wondering if it was some sort of inside joke. “I thought the Anasso’s mate was a pure-blooded Were?”
“She is.”
“And she . . .” Sally gave a shake of her head. “Never mind. I’ve clearly stumbled into a madhouse.”
“That about sums it up,” he said, so low that she barely caught the words.
She frowned. “If that’s how you feel, then why are you here?” “Because my king commands it.”
Hmmm. A stewing mutiny?
“And you’re always an obedient little soldier?”
Easily seeing through her attempt at “divide and conquer,” the vampire turned to leave. “I’ll return with the food.”
“Wait.”
He muttered a low curse, glancing over his shoulder. “What now?”
“How long am I going to be held a prisoner?”
“That’s up to Styx.”
“You can’t just leave me trapped down here.”
“Watch me.”
He walked away, exposing the most delectable butt she’d ever seen encased in denims. She swallowed a groan at the desire that flared through her, pretending she was leaning her head through the bars to yell at the bastard and not to admire his fine backside.
“You’re a cold-blooded and heartless bastard, leech.”
“Roke.”
She frowned as his disembodied voice floated through the air. “What?”
“My name is Roke, not leech.”
Roke walked away despite the annoying urge to turn around and release Sally Grace from the barren cell.
Dammit, what was wrong with him?
Okay, the female was pretty. Astonishingly pretty. He’d known that from the moment he’d caught sight of her in the dungeon’s monitor. So what? Weren’t there thousands of women who were far more beautiful? Certainly they were all more charming.
The spiteful little witch had the tongue of a shrew and the temperament of a rattlesnake.
Then why did he have to force his feet to carry him out of the dungeons?
It had to be because she managed to look so pale and young and defenseless, he grimly reassured himself, grimacing as he entered the marble hallway. There was a part of him that was an instinctive protector of the weak. Perhaps it was natural to be bothered by the sight of such a small, fragile creature locked in the cells that were a level beneath the original dungeons and devised for only the most dangerous of Styx’s enemies.
A nice explanation.
Unfortunately it didn’t explain why he’d been so fascinated by the warm scent of peaches that seemed to cling to her skin. Soap? Perfume?
Or the jolt of arousal that had slammed into him when he’d allowed his gaze to trail down to her slender body, which was curved in all the right places.
He growled low in his throat. He didn’t want to be aroused by the female. Not only because she was a witch. Vampires hated magic and magic users. All magic users. Or even because she’d been a toady for the Dark Lord.
Roke was male enough to understand that his cock didn’t give a shit about the race, religion, species, or moral integrity of a potential lover. It responded to primitive needs that were disconnected from his brain.
But he’d learned long ago that only a fool gave in to his passions. Especially when it involved an unworthy female.
These days he was very selective about the women he took to his bed. He wanted a female he could respect and who understood his duty to his clan. One he could depend on not to make demands.
“And I thought I had piss-poor people skills,” a deep voice drawled.