Page 79 of Vampire's Choice

“The things that can kill us aren’t subtle. Fire. Decapitation. Wooden stake.”

“Delilah virus. Ennui.”

She was surprised he knew about those, but he checked into things that interested him. He’d made it clear that vampires had recently made the list. A thought which brought on another surge of unwise feelings.

“Ennui is a disease that leads to a vampire taking their own life. Not even related. And Lord Brian found a cure to the Delilah virus that mostly works.”

If one was okay with sacrificing their servant. Most vampires were. You could get another servant, after all.

The sarcasm didn’t make it any less true or terrible.

“You’re missing the most important point,” Merc said.

“What’s that?”

“The decision isn’t yours.”

“I’m not missing it,” she grated. “It’s why we’re having the discussion. I’m asking you to have that fuck-the-world moment where we embrace something that others believe can’t happen, shouldn’t happen. Defy the odds. Believe things can be different. I need that.”

Her voice faltered, her fists clenching. “Will you go down that road with me? Will you be my friend tonight, the one who joins me in that last inadvisable tequila shot because we believe we can handle what comes after, even if we can’t? Or are you going to be fucking sensible and responsible?” She shot him a look. “That’s not what brought you to my island. It’s not why you’re still standing there now. Is it?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ruth’s need pushed upon Merc. He knew what she wanted, and she’d fired the arrow as if she could see the center target of what he himself wanted. He still wanted to kill the two vampires in the most painful way possible. He was feeling possessive and strongly protective of her. Vulnerable to her desires.

He hadn’t been feeding the way he should. He was supposed to take measured, evenly spaced amounts from what local prey was available, to manage his hunger and protect their lives.

However, he’d learned that projecting the demeanor that made others fear him, then pushing enough incubus vibes their way to get an airborne mix of sex-fear energy, resulted in an approximation of nourishment that patched him through. Snacks, so to speak. Sometimes he preferred that to the fight for self-restraint he had to call upon when actually feeding.

Yes, Ruth. I do get tired, too.

He wasn’t in the mood to pull on the focusing effort to put that in her head, like he’d described, but he thought she could read it from him. It was probably why she asked the questions she did, as if they knew one another more intimately than they did. Technically.

With a normal incubus, the struggle to restrain oneself eventually reached a point where the incubus lost. The need to kill and feed, kill and feed, never stop, won out. And they were executed.

However, he wasn’t a normal incubus. Perhaps because of that angel blood, his hunger war could conceivably stretch into infinity.

No, it wouldn’t. He wasn’t at that fatalistic decision yet, but one day, he would be. He could already foresee that his rebellion against having anything dictate terms to him, even his own body, would start to seem like a pointless exercise. His interest in the world wouldn’t disappear, but the endlessness of the struggle, the way it kept him from trusting or making any meaningful connections with others, would take its toll.

There were days he thought he’d been better off as a feral child, who didn’t have time to think or feel those kinds of things.

The hunger was both worse and more manageable around her. She was challenging his restraint. She wanted him to let go. Feed fully. Sate himself. For a few blessed moments, she wanted him not to feel hungry.

It was a trap, the wrong move. Even if it didn’t go badly, it would have to be a one-time thing. And in the short term, the hunger would be far worse, because he’d have to rein it back in and teach himself to do without satiation again. He’d had that experience too recently, with the Trad’s green smoke.

But would it be the same? Somehow, it felt like maybe it wouldn’t.

Before she’d put on his shirt, she’d put it to her face, rubbed her cheek against it, stirring him. Now, she took it off again and set it aside before facing him. She was going to push the issue, because that was what she did, his disobedient, willful, beautiful vampire.

The possessive told him how close he was to losing the battle to her.

Her breasts quivered in the hold of her bloodstained bra, her dark hair rippling over her bare shoulders, the jeans sitting below her hip bones. Her dark eyes were upon him. Challenging, no fear. Wanting.

He saw her wounds were healing, faster than her normal rate. Because of his blood. He understood why she was reluctant to take it, even when he insisted. But if he were her Master, he’d want her to do so. Would require it of her, to let him care for her.

She was upset about the attack, feeling out of control of things, daring the world to knock her down. Would he let her take the risk, just to help her feel more in control? A foolish, foolish decision, but one he understood too well.

He had an unreadable face to most, but there were those who’d spent enough time around him, like Yvette and Marcellus, who could read some of the hidden pages of the book.