Page 42 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

Her stomach roiled. After years of being a vegetarian, the thought of ingesting any animal byproduct sickened her. She was going to starve to death. Could an immortal die? Obviously, there were ways they were hunted.

“Death is not an option. Immortality has limits, but I will not let you die.”

“Even if I’d rather die than live like this?”

How could he do this to her? How could he take her choice away? Movies and books hadn’t prepared her. There was always a choice. Bella had a choice. Louis had a choice, become a vampire or another one of Lestat’s victims. Hell, even annoying Elena Gilbert had options. Was there a cure? Could it be reversed?

“Do not trust fiction. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“After the fact.”

“This is where we are now. Forget everything you knew before. The sun will not affect you. Garlic is safe. Crucifixes are beautiful. And holy water won’t burn. Legends of nocturnal lifestyles are false, except in the rare case when one is called, but even that’s temporary and not anything you’ll ever have to worry about now that I’ve claimed you.”

“Is there a way to undo it?”

He shook his head. “Our bond’s eternal. I’m yours and you are mine.”

Her back slid down the wall, the fight washed out of her, and she had nothing left. He had her. Where else could she go? She didn’t know how to live. Didn’t know how to die. He’d sentenced her to an eternity by his side.

“I hate you.” The quiet venom of her words only underscored the edge of her resentment. The full extent of her outrage would take lifetimes to communicate properly. Lifetimes she now had.

It would take more than an eternity for her to forgive him for what he’d done.

CHAPTER 6

It had been two days since Delilah spoke to him, and her last words were nothing he wished to remember. She hated him. Not only did she despise him, but she also entertained thoughts of punishing him. Everything from manipulation to disembowelment. Her ideas on torture were extremely grim for a female who refused to eat anything with a face.

She only moved when she absolutely needed to. But, even then, she fought her reflexes with stubborn paralysis. If not for her unguarded emotions, her discomfort would have been undetectable. She refused to eat, refused to feed, and stubbornly refused to acknowledge him.

Only when she couldn’t escape her needs did she visit the washroom. Then her still silence continued.

She was as headstrong as an ox, starving herself and forcing such foolish silence only to spite him. Well, he had waited centuries for her, he could certainly wait her out a few more days until she realized her stubbornness was futile.

He made her several peanut butter and jam sandwiches, fruit, freshly squeezed juice, cookies, and anything else he could find that fit her preferred diet. She touched none of it, and now her little hunger strike was costing them both.

They’d become so in sync he suffered the same ravenous cravings. The relentless hunger pains and symptoms of malnutrition were driving him mad, but they weren’t his to feed. Only her actions could satisfy the beast that haunted them both, and she refused, perhaps more so because she was coming to understand her suffering also punished him.

Dark circles underscored her eyes, deepened by her jutting cheekbones. He tried coaxing her to drink water, but she ignored every request. When he pressed a cup to her mouth, she stared blankly in that catatonic trance and let the liquid spill down her chin. All the while her thoughts viciously attacking him with every foul-mouthed English vulgarity she knew.

He’d been surviving off distilled blood, not yet comfortable with leaving her alone, but his rations were running low. Hours passed where he only counted her breaths, and even then, he suspected she held them to punish him.

The silence had become deafening. A steady mental combat of will, where one of them would have to surrender eventually. He had nothing to surrender. His actions could not be undone at this point. If only she would compromise to make this easier on both of them.

A floorboard creaked behind him and he pivoted, hissing protectively and guarding his mate.

“I see it’s true then.”

Startled to find the bishop in his house, he retracted his fangs. “Eleazar.”

“I’ve been standing here for a full minute. What’s wrong with you?”

Christian exhaled. He was starving, that was what was wrong. “I was distracted in thought. Come.” He gestured toward the connecting room.

“You missed a council meeting. Your mother was concerned.”

His mother. He was surprised she hadn’t come to visit him herself. Then he realized the half-breed, Dane, likely told her about Delilah.

He grimaced. “No doubt that’s what brought you here.”

A passive puppeteer who orchestrated many events without a trace, his mother played the bishop well. Of course she’d have him come here to investigate the situation for her. That way she could feign disinterest while also passively making her disappointment known.