She moaned, panting and whimpering. He grazed her neck, calling the blood to its surface.
With a growl of fury, he tore himself away from her, breathing heavily, resisting the lure of her eyes, glazed with passion and fear and disappointment. Her mouth and throat were reddened from his kisses.
Her lips were parted and wet, pouty, begging to be tugged into his mouth and sucked. And a line was drawn across her throat, from his teeth, testament to how close he'd come to breaking his vow to himself.
He stalked out of the room before he could make such a drastic mistake as blood bonding with another woman. The last time he had, she'd nearly killed him.
Maggie watched him leave, unsure if she wanted to scream at him for touching her, or run after him. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help feeling like he was disgusted with her for some reason. She didn't want to embarrass herself if that was the case and ask him to stay.
Had he felt some cellulite on her ass and been turned off? She didn't know, and not knowing what had happened made her sick to her stomach.
She felt as dumb as a teenager. She didn't have enough sexual experience with men to know how to deal with their mood swings, to know what every nuance of an expression or rejection could mean.
Maggie felt herself descending into a depression. Strangely, she didn't long for a stomach full of something sweet. That was a bright note, but she was still ashamed to admit that a man made her feel this way. It was weak, and she hated being weak or dependent on another person.
Strange as it was, she could barely remember how she'd felt the night she'd been attacked—the same day her world had changed because she was out of a job, car-less, and practically on the street with no money for necessities like a home and ice cream. Instead, her thoughts centered around a man she didn't even know, who'd taken her in for some unfathomable reason. He was a vampire. She should hate him, be scared of him, not feel this insane attraction.
But she did, and she couldn't stop herself.
Maggie finished her shower, washing the scent of him off her skin, the taste of him out of her mouth. Try as she might though, she couldn't erase how it had felt to be touched. God, it had been so long. She'd forgotten what it could feel like, how exhilarating it was to feel arousal and have that same feeling reciprocated.
But it wasn't. No more than it had been the first time.
Miserable, she left the bathroom and found that he'd laid out a new set of clothes as well as a pajama shorts set. She checked the sizes and was mortified to see that he had them exactly right. There was no pretending that she was something she wasn't. She hated the idea that he knew she was a size eighteen—hated that he'd seen her naked when she'd been so careful all of her life not to allow it.
She dropped her towel and changed into the pajama set. Miserable, and not knowing what else to do, she climbed into bed and was asleep only a few moments later.
The nausea woke her. She broke out in a cold sweat as her gut clenched. Hoping the feeling would pass, she lay perfectly still until she knew that it wouldn't. Unable to fight it any longer, she threw herself out of bed and rushed to the bathroom before it was too late.
She barely made it to the toilet in time. The elegant dinner she'd enjoyed went straight into the toilet, scouring her throat and mouth with fire. Tears streamed down her face, making her eyes blur. Her stomach convulsed again and again until she had nothing left inside her, and even then the disgust continued to make her dry heave.
Finally, she was able to stop and flushed the toilet, crawling to the tub and running water to rinse her mouth out and wash her face.
She heard the door open and knew he'd come in.
If things weren't bad enough, they always got worse. Maggie kept her back to him, bathing her face in cold water.
He touched her shoulder gently, pulling her hair back from her face.
Maggie shrugged him off, going stiff all over. If it wasn't bad enough that he'd rejected her, to have him see her this way should have killed her dead on the spot from mortification. Someone up above liked to torture her for fun too much. “Stay the fuck away from me, you bastard!"
He dropped his hand, but she could still feel him right behind her, watching.
Maggie tried to ignore him. The pain helped. Her head felt like it was going to split open. Even her teeth hurt, ached as though someone had tried to pry them apart. Pain gnawed at her belly now that it was empty, but she'd be damned if she'd experience that again for something to fill it and take the ache away.
"You have to feed. I thought having some food in your stomach would slow the process, but I see it hasn't."
Pain lanced her gums. She tasted blood and knew they'd split. She gulped a mouthful of water and spit it out, seeing small threads of blood run down the drain.
"Your fangs have come fully in. It's the overabundance of venom that sickens you and drives the hunger,” he said softly, as if he knew what she was experiencing.
She half wondered hysterically if a dentist could pull them and fix her little problem. She cried into the tub, pressing her palm into it to keep from falling inside as she spat more blood out. Bile rose in her throat. She'd always had a problem looking at blood, much less tasting it. The coppery taste repulsed her. How could she ever stand drinking it willingly?
"What's wrong with me?” she whispered, sobbing against her arm.
"You need blood. If you don't hunt tonight, you'll die."
Chapter Five
He helped her stand, steadying her as she wavered against him. He closed his arms around her, comforting her in a way she hadn't been since before her mom died. He rubbed his hands on her back in soothing circles.
"Do I have to kill someone?” she asked, horrified by the implication of feeding off of another human being. She was in so much pain though, she thought that maybe she could off a bad guy if this went on long enough. Prolonged torture could make a person do anything to make it stop. She had a horrible aversion to pain and suffering.
"We're forbidden to kill humans. But that's not what we will hunt tonight. I dare not take you into the city, regardless. There is wildlife nearby, and it will be easier for you for your first time."
So far, there was nothing remotely romantic about being a vampire. Someone, somewhere had screwed up on the glamorous parts.
Not speaking further, he led her into the room and she saw he'd brought her another outfit. She appreciated him shopping for her—even if she didn't know when he could have done it—but his taste just didn't fit her body style. Spread on the bed was a fire engine red, leather bustier; black lambskin pants, boot cut; twenty eye, Doc Marten boots with red flames stitched on the sides; and a leather duster. If she was about forty pounds lighter, she'd love his taste in clothing. As it was, she didn't need any help looking bigger.
Despite her pain, there were some things she couldn't let rest without saying something. “Haven't you heard leather makes fat people look fatter?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his long hair in irritation. “It's easier to clean the blood off of leather and vinyl. I'll wait for you downstairs."
She was just delaying and she knew it. Killing something and drinking its blood was inevitable.
Swallowing hard, she changed from her soaked pajamas into the leather clothing. Unfortunately, the lining clung to her damp skin and made getting into it extremely difficult. She felt like a fatty piece of meat shimmying into a sausage skin. When she was dressed, panting from exertion, she took a quick trip into the bathroom to check herself out. The mirror wasn't full length, but it gave her a good idea of what she looked like.
She actually didn't look that bad, considering. The leather, tight as it was, held her stomach in, shaped and lifted her butt, and the bustier made her breasts look huge. The man was seriously kinky with this whole leather fetish.