“Are you offended by my questions? You should be pleased I’m not screaming and whittling a stake.”
“I am. Although the adrenaline that comes up when a person screams does season the blood nicely.” He paused. Gauging her reaction? Likely.
Zen didn’t feel disgust. She’d accepted that vampires existed. Now she needed to learn how and why.
“And so you know,” he added, “it would take a damn long time to whittle a stake. Use an ax to hone a point on a thick wood dowel. It will go faster.”
“Did you just tell me how to kill you?”
“I did. Feel better?”
“It’s not as though I need to feel better about your condition—”
“It’s not a condition. It is what I am.”
“Okay. I understand. Blood is your means to survival?”
“Yes. I like drinking blood and it is a sensual experience if I’m having sex with the person when I bite them. But I can take someone in a dark club or back alley without it turning me on. My bite leaves the victim in a state of bliss. As I’ve said, a reward for giving blood.”
“Do you ever, uh—” Zen ran her fingers along the plaid bedspread “—kill?”
His fangs retracted, and she missed them immediately. “When drinking blood? No.”
That he’d categorized that question bothered her. “So you have killed at other times? Of course, the demons yesterday.” She had no choice now but to believe they had been real.
He suddenly took her by the wrist and lifted her arm to hold her elbow toward the sunlight beaming through the window. “Those markings are faint but remarkable. Do you know what they mean?”
The man had deftly avoided the question about killing. She’d give him that. He had killed. Many times. She simply knew it. Perhaps he’d been protecting another damsel in distress from demons?
“I’m guessing it was something I drew on my skin before the accident,” she offered. “Should fade away with a few more showers.”
“Has it faded since you’ve noticed it?”
“No. I guess not.”
“It doesn’t look like ink or even one of those white tattoos that are so popular nowadays.”
“Demonic?” she tossed out teasingly. She regretted it immediately. Demons were serious and real. What kind of nightmare had she fallen into?
“I don’t know what it is,” Blade said. “One of my brothers is full faery. He has pale violet markings on his skin. But the patterns don’t look similar. Aren’t you curious?”
“I am, but it’s not as if I have any idea where to begin learning about such a thing. A faery brother? That’s fascinating. How does that work exactly?”
“It’s a long story. My family is a mix of races.”
Nodding, she rubbed the inside of her elbow to distract herself from the need to delve into his family history. He’d been kind in answering her questions so far. She didn’t want to press her luck. “How do I learn more about these markings?”
“There’s a witch in Minneapolis. She might have a clue.”
“Witches. Of course.” And so many other species she would likely learn about the longer she hung around Blade. The idea of gaining such knowledge compelled her. If she couldn’t learn about herself then she may as well gather info about the secret world that existed around her. “You know all the exciting people, eh?”
“Do you want me to take you to her?”
“I sense you are more eager to learn about these markings than I am. Digging up proof I’m not an evil demon?”
“I hate demons,” Blade stated plainly. He paced to the window. His frame stiffened, shoulders tilting back and fingers curling into loose fists. Zen could palpably feel his cool anger. He was a man who didn’t like to speak about himself, but he didn’t have to. His emotions showed in his tightly strung physicality.
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