I made the decision for him. Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, I brought his face forward until his nose skimmed the skin there. His breath fanned out against me, and I drew in a heady lungful of whatever pheromones Andre was giving off.
Captivating his prey. That was what he’d called it when he first taught me about drawing blood. Back then I’d been worried that the lust it compelled in me was somehow fake. But there was nothing fake about us. This. Andre could captivate me without the aid of pheromones.
His mouth widened, and his fangs punctured my flesh. There was an initial twinge of pain, followed by the electric shock of pleasure. My skin lit up at the sensation, and a lazy smile spread across my face. I could die a happy anti-Christ this way.
Andre groaned against my neck, and he pulled me closer to him. His hands brushed over me as he drank, heightening my pleasure. It felt like I was being touched for the first time.
I didn’t notice his wandering hand until it was braced against my body. Somewhere deep within me, the remnants of fear stirred. This should hurt; I should be worried. The siren, however, purred at the thought of mingling pain and pleasure, and I leaned into Andre.
He jerked the spearhead out, and my back arched. On the wave of endorphins that I rode, I only noticed a fuzzy sensation where the wound was. Distantly, I heard him toss the spearhead aside.
Andre’s fangs retracted, and he kissed the wound he’d inflicted on my neck as I came down.
My body swayed. He steadied me, his brows furrowing in concern. “Soulmate?”
“I’m fine. Just feeling …” High. Really, really high.
Andre cursed, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, soulmate. I shouldn’t have drunk from you.”
Still soaring from the bite and the endorphin rush, I pressed my fingers to his lips to get him to quiet.
His eyebrows rose.
“You’re prettier when you’re not talking,” I explained.
One second I stood in front of him, the next I was thrown over his shoulder.
“Hey!”
“I am king of vampires, soulmate. Not something mute and pretty.” He gave my backside a pinch to emphasize his point.
I yelped. “That is not chill.”
He lifted the edge of my torn shirt.
“Okay, Andre,” I said, reaching behind me for his hands, “this crosses a line—” Now that I was really starting to come down, my awareness was returning, and finding myself thrown over Andre’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes was not endearing him to me.
He touched the tender skin at my back. “It’s still healing,” Andre said, more to himself than to me. His voice, which had sounded playful only a moment before, now held a somber note.
“Put me down.”
Making sure not to jostle my wound, Andre slid me off of his shoulder and onto the seat of the motorcycle, his eyes stormy. Again I swayed a little as blood rushed from my head.
Andre headed towards the trunk and dug out several packages of sweets. A week ago, the sight of them would have my stomach rumbling. Now, however, it twisted on itself. The thought of forcing those down my throat had my gag reflex already warming itself up.
He handed them to me. “Forgive me for taking your blood. These will help replenish what you’ve lost.” A vertical line formed between his brows, and I realized that Andre worried that my blood was not replenishing quickly enough on its own. That was why he reacted the way he did when I swayed from the comedown. He thought I’d been faint from blood loss.
“Andre, it’s alright.”
He shook his head. “Not when we have enemies after you. I just didn’t realize …” His eyes dropped to where my wound had been. It was still sore, when it shouldn’t be.
He tore his gaze away from my torso to the food in my hands. “I know you’re probably shaken, soulmate, but please try to eat.”
I stared down at the preservative-riddled cinnamon roll and the two chocolate chip cookies he’d given me. If anything, my stomach was making it clearer now more than ever that it did not want food. But I couldn’t ignore the desperation in Andre’s eyes, and it frightened me. If my situation scared him, then how bad off must I be?
Before I could think too much on it, I unwrapped one of the packages and shoved the cookie into my mouth. It took a painstaking minute, but finally, with a thick swallow, it slid down my throat. Only the sick taste of sugar remained.
I just force fed myself a cookie, and I didn’t enjoy it. That was just wrong.
Andre’s eyes fell to the remaining packages in my hand, but I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Already, my stomach heaved. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth in an effort to keep it down.
It didn’t work.
I felt myself pale. I dropped the remaining food and ran to the nearest tree. Gripping its trunk, my stomach convulsed until I puked. Even then, it kept spasming until I retched up everything.
I shook from the aftereffects, feeling faint. Ugh, I was never eating another cookie.
I didn’t hear Andre approach me, but I felt his hand fall to my back and stroke it soothingly. “It’s alright soulmate,” he murmured, his voice too calm.
I pinched my eyes shut, afraid of what I’d see in his when I faced him.
But I heard him move away from me before I had to look. When he returned, his hand rested on my back. “Try this, instead,” he whispered into my ear. I rotated enough to see the blood bag he extended towards me.
Taking it from him, I placed the straw in my mouth. As soon as the blood hit my mouth, I drank voraciously, like a man dying of thirst.
Gently Andre led me away from the evidence of my sickness and back towards the bike while I polished off the blood.
“Feeling better, soulmate?” Andre asked once I finished.
I nodded as he took the now empty bag from me. He reached into the trunk—presumably for another—when he paused.
He cocked his head, his eyes unfocused. Suddenly he snapped into action, closing the trunk. He used his abnormal speed to grab my helmet and press it onto my head.
He patted the seat. “Get on and make sure to hold me tight,” he ordered.