Accidental Sire (Half-Moon Hollow #6)

“You smell nice,” he said, leaning in a bit closer to sniff delicately. “I think it’s your breath. It smells like vanilla and a little mint, maybe?”


I licked my lips. With all of his focus on my mouth, it was almost involuntary.

“You’re so beautiful. I mean, you were gorgeous before, but now? You should see yourself.” He reached his uninjured hand up to my cheek and stroked his thumb down the curve of my face. He leaned close, inhaling deeply through parted lips. My hands slipped around his waist as he pulled my face gently forward.

His lips were warm, so warm, and they tasted like every good thing, strawberries and chocolate and, oddly enough, the steaks my mom used to make on my birthday. I groaned, pulling him close—maybe a little too hard, because he gasped. I slipped my tongue along his open mouth, and he seemed to forget the discomfort quickly enough. He sank against me, and we fell against the wall with a chorused “ooof.”

“Were you saying something before?” he asked, blinking sort of sleepily, like someone who’d just woken from a stupor.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled against his lips, and lost myself in him for a few more moments. He cupped my face in his hands. I leaned into the caress like a cat, nuzzling my nose against his wrist. He smelled so good, and my throat was so dry. And every cell in my body had my neck straining forward, lips curled back from my fangs.

Thump-a-thump-a-thump.

I turned my head away. I couldn’t. I couldn’t hurt Ben.

But I was so thirsty, so thirsty and empty and in need of Ben’s blood. And that speeding heartbeat seemed to be taunting me, ringing in my ears, reminding me of what I desperately needed.

“Ben—” I lunged forward, sinking those sharp teeth into his wrist.

He yelled out in surprise, his arms contracting around me and scrabbling harmlessly at my back.

The most luscious, delectable flavor I’d ever tasted flooded my mouth. It was better than ice cream and brownies combined, warm and sweet and electric. I swallowed, and the ache that had tickled my throat since the moment I woke up faded away in an instant. I swallowed again, whimpering with pleasure, even as Ben’s fingers dug into my back.

I took a few more swallows. Now that the worst of my thirst seemed to have burned away, I loosened my grip on Ben’s arm. He relaxed against me, breathing harshly against my neck, as if he’d just run a marathon.

“Be careful.” He wheezed through gritted teeth. “Don’t take too much.”

Ben. My brain seemed able to focus now on something other than my thirst, and I could pick up Ben’s good, clean, mossy scent beyond the smell of his blood. Ben, the boy who had kissed me and teased me and asked me on an actual date instead of texting me for a hookup.

Thump . . . thump . . .

His heart rate was slowing, ever so slightly. If I kept drinking, his heart wouldn’t have enough blood to pump through his body. His blood pressure would drop. I would kill him.

Groaning, I forced myself to pull my fangs from his skin. It took all of my strength to push him away. He stared at me, eyes wide and pupils blown, as he gulped in greedy lungfuls of air. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I eyed Ben carefully. He seemed fine, out of breath and a little pale but fine. And I could hear his heart rate returning to normal.

“I’m so sorry,” I told him. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, cradling his bitten arm against his chest. “It’s just a bite, right?”

“I suck,” I groaned, flopping onto my hospital bed.

“Well, yeah,” he said, with a laugh. “But that’s to be expected.”

I snorted. “That’s not funny, Ben.”

He shrugged. “It’s a little funny. And hey, you stopped, right? That’s crazy advanced for a newborn, stopping yourself mid-feeding without hurting anybody.”

“Yay for me,” I muttered.

Thump . . . Thump . . .

“I’m just glad you stopped. Otherwise, worst first date ever,” Ben intoned.

I sat up, tilting my head. “If this is your idea of a date, I do not want to know the rest of your romantic history.”

“It is a sordid and blood-soaked romp,” he deadpanned.

“No, it’s not,” I told him.

He grinned. “No, it’s not. But it is incredibly weird and a teeny bit sordid.”

“But you’re OK?” I asked him, standing again.

Thump . . . Thump . . .

He blew a raspberry. “Fine. Give me a cookie and juice, and I’ll be at a hundred percent.”

“Really? You’ve got blood-donation jokes right now?”

Thump . . .

Ben snickered and parted his lips to say something else, but suddenly his face went slack. The rosy glow faded from his cheeks, and they went ashen and pale. His eyes rolled up, and he dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He flopped into a boneless heap, his head smacking dully against the tile.

“Ben!” I launched myself across the room to kneel over him. He wasn’t breathing. His heart rate had slowed to nothing. Why hadn’t I noticed? I hadn’t taken that much blood. Why had he collapsed?

“Help!” I screamed. “Help me! Please!”

I tilted his head back and tried to breathe some life back into him. But his chest rose once, and then nothing. Trying to remember something from the first-aid class I’d taken in high school, I crossed my hands over his heart and pushed down to start CPR. I felt something crack dully under my hands, and I shrieked.

I’d broken his ribs. I’d forgotten about my strength and broken his bones in my panic. “Help!” I screamed, before trying to breathe into his mouth again.

I glanced around the room—there had to be something in here to help me. There was no phone. There were no medical kits. But near the door, next to the light switch, was a bright red button labeled “V11.”

It looked like a nurses’ call button in a hospital room. V11 was the World Council for the Equal Treatment of the Undead’s hotline for humans with vampire problems.

And I was up to my ass in vampire problems.

Scrambling to my knees, I slapped my hand against the call button and crab-walked back to Ben. An alarm roared to life, echoing down the hall. I left a bloody handprint on the wall panel.

He still wasn’t breathing, and his skin was paler and grayer by the minute. I couldn’t hear a heartbeat. His eyes were unfocused, staring off at the ceiling.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, cradling him in my lap. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Twin drops of water fell onto Ben’s gray cheek, tinged with a hint of pink. Because vampire tears have the tiniest bit of blood in them. And I was a vampire.

This was bullshit.