Page 44 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

The purple hue of her pale skin only slightly concerned him. Immortals often paled when they needed to feed.

What he couldn’t comprehend was the change to her hair. The jet-black strands had lightened to chestnut hues, reminding him more of his dreams than the female he’d found in a bar. Perhaps these shifts in hair color were residual adjustments from her transition. He didn’t believe two days of hunger would cause such changes.

“Delilah?”

She didn’t move, but her heart rate and blood pressure assured she was awake.

“That was our bishop. News of your arrival has spread.”

He decided not to bother her with warnings of his mother’s impending visit. It was hardly dusk, but he was ready for the day to end.

“I’ll take you upstairs.” As always, she stiffened the moment he touched her, but she didn’t object when he lifted her to his chest.

He carried her upstairs and lay her on his bed. Memories of how he anticipated this first week taunted him. She absolutely detested him. And, to be honest, he wasn’t sure he deserved anything less than her animosity.

“Sleep now, little one.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reclined next to her on the bed.

The ache of her hunger gnawed at his insides. At this point, ingesting any sustenance would cause her pain. He could sense her overwhelming fatigue, and his heart ached.

Every instinct demanded he tend to her needs and take away her discomfort, but her physical symptoms were only an indicator of the emotional damage he’d done.

His knuckle grazed her arm and her dainty fingers balled into a tight fist. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, pintura. I’ll make this right. I promise.” He had to believe, in time, she’d forgive him and see the beauty of an immortal bond.

Several minutes later, her knuckles unclenched and her heart rate slowed. She was finally asleep.

He shut his eyes and pressed into her mind. No thoughts. No dreams. She dozed exactly as the rest of the immortal race slept.

The bishop’s words echoed in his mind. The ache of hunger battled with his desire to do right by her. But what was right? Should he respect her decision to starve herself or protect her from pain? This foolish starvation would change nothing. The pain was unnecessary.

The more he thought about her hunger strike, the more frustrated he grew. Perhaps forcing her hand would prove she had nothing to fear. She’d understand that feeding was a pleasant, intimate exchange that most immortals valued above all other physical interactions.

Unsure if his offered comfort was merciful or if he was making another grave mistake, he pushed deep into her psyche and took hold of her free will, cradling her close to his chest. Her head lolled as his fingers swept her hair away from her face. Unable to stop himself, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I ache for your forgiveness so that we may make a happy life together.”

He simply held her for a moment, enjoying the novelty of the weight of her body in his arms. He needed to earn her forgiveness, but first, he needed her trust. Only then, would he win her love. What he was considering would delay that trust, but also speed them toward acceptance.

A sharp pinch came from deep within. Another hunger pain, followed by a long, gargling growl as air worked through her intestines. She softly moaned, her face tightening in agony as she slept.

The hunger symptoms he could manage, but her suffering he couldn’t bear. Expecting him to leave her in such agony when there was a simple solution was as absurd as asking a fish to fly or a bird to swim. Impossible.

Perhaps her stubbornness outmatched his will, because when another sharp cramp took hold, his resolution not to interfere crumbled. She would never accept her new life if she didn’t find peace. There was truly no cause for this unnecessary misery, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted her comfort and happiness above all else.

His fingers moved to the collar of his shirt and he hesitated, knowing this was not the way one earned another’s trust. But perhaps he could prove to her that she was capable of the unthinkable and the obstacles were only in her head.

Needing the intimate contact, he removed his shirt. It would have been easier to feed her from his wrist, but he wanted to hold her skin to skin. He was a selfish bastard.

He shifted her close to his neck and cupped the back of her head. Slicing his throat with a sharp nail, he whispered, “Take from me what you need, pintura. Feed from your mate until your hunger is gone.”

He drew in a sharp breath as her little teeth latched onto his skin instinctually. His body immediately hardened at her suckling. She drew from his vein much like a sleeping babe feeds for survival, proving her repulsion to blood was strictly psychological.