Page 125 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

“What about your parents?”

“No. My mom…she died from a drug overdose when I was young.”

“And your father?”

She shied away from any thoughts of the man who raised her. “I only had a step-dad. He’s in jail. My grandparents raised me.”

“Surely they loved you.”

A lump formed in her throat. “I guess. They never wanted the responsibility of raising another child, but they took care of me when I had no one else. I lived with them until I was eighteen.” She thought about the boxes they started collecting when she turned seventeen as if they were counting down the days until she could go out on her own. “I suppose that’s more love than other kids get.”

He frowned and reached for her, pulling her onto his lap, pressing a kiss to her temple as he held her close. “I understand now.”

She hated the uncensored accuracy her mind applied when recalling those painful years. It had been too much fear and unbending rejection. Too much time feeling like an unwanted burden to her family.

She sniffled and dashed away a tear. “I just wanted you to know. I’ve never said those words to anyone.”

“I understand. You don’t need to say them. Just know that I love you, and nothing will change that.”

She hugged him tightly unsure if her personal experiences with love would ever allow to trust something so unlikely. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER 20

The mood in the house remained somber until nightfall. She set the table and prepared a beautiful salad with butter leaf lettuce from the garden, nuts, and shaved carrots.

Christian roasted the carcass of some small bird over the fire, the scent of roasted herbs drawing out her hunger until she resented her fresh little salad.

There was nothing wrong with her dinner. It just wasn’t as mouthwatering as chicken. Chicken was wrong. Chicken was very, very wrong. She shoved a carrot into her mouth and chewed miserably.

She didn’t like feeling so exposed, but that afternoon had emotionally wrung her dry. She had the urge to poke at him, simply to get herself out of this melancholy schlump. She didn’t like to think about her upbringing. So much of that time in her life had been littered with criticism, the kind that slowly whittled away a person’s self-esteem.

Her grandparents’ constant disapproval of everything—from her style to her friends—left her feeling like a steady source of disappointment. They frequently threatened to send her to reform school and warned she was following in her mother’s footsteps even when she wasn’t.

Once, her grandmother even cut off her hair because Delilah had died it purple without permission. They believed her mother died because her upbringing lacked discipline. In an attempt not to repeat the same mistakes, her teenage years had been overly oppressive, which only caused her to rebel more.

Remembering such hard times put her in a bitter temper. “You better eat that whole bird. It sacrificed its life for you.”

Christian eyed her curiously. There was no mystery to her mood. He was in her head.

A mess of unwanted thoughts kicked around in her memories. Arguments. Disapproving looks. Bewilderment. Memories of being evicted three days after her eighteenth birthday. Having no choice but to beg them for money when she couldn’t pay her bills. Seeing the lights on and the glow of the television when they wouldn’t answer the door. Funerals.

Some memories were better left compartmentalized and permanently packed away.

“The bird had a long life.”

She glared at his plate, wondering what the grease on his fingers would taste like. “And now it’s dead.”

He stilled at her harsh tone. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” She picked at her salad.

“You’re irritable because you’re neglecting your needs.” He pulled a strip of succulent meat from the bone.

She had the urge to attack him and rip that chicken leg right out of his mouth. The scent of the crisp skin and dripping juices literally had her drooling. “That better not be Andrew.”

Christian stilled. “Who?”

“Andrew. Or Bert. Oh, it’s not Lilly, is it?” She covered her face and groaned.

“I told you not to name the stock. They’re not pets.”

She pushed her salad away, depressed about whatever bird he ate and pissed because he wasn’t sharing. No. She didn’t want to eat meat. She was better than that. She needed a distraction.

Sex was their go to diversion, but she was hungry for something else. Glaring at the roast, she tried to distract herself from the barbaric fantasy playing in her head, the one where she slaked her relentless hunger on that poor bird and sucked every bone clean.

Think of Andrew. Poor Andrew. Innocent, delicious, plump little Andrew. Her stomach growled.

She looked at the salad, but the green lettuce and ripe veggies held no appeal. She looked at Christian with hungry eyes, watching the way his full lips glistened as he bit into that bird. Her gaze moved a little lower to the hard edge of his jaw and the delicious way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed.