Page 11 of Taste of Forever (Vampires of Sanguine #3)

Laith

A fter two weeks of my glass slipper prince bullshit, I felt like I was losing my Temkra-loving mind.

Women came to Pulse Point every single night, swearing they had been at the blood bank that night and were sure they were the one I was looking for.

Their faces blurred in my mind, all meaningless and a waste of time.

My body rejected the wrong blood with every cell and never failed to let me know.

I was fatigued, sluggish, yet couldn’t sleep restfully.

My fangs throbbed with a constant ache. My stomach cramped and roiled with every wrong mouthful of blood I choked down.

I hated this. Hated every minute of it. Hated the fakeness of the women trying to get a cushy life as a mate to someone in the ruling clan. Hated being the asshole who said, “No, I’m sorry. It’s not you,” hundreds of times.

Some women actually had the gall to argue with me.

“Taste my blood,” one said, thrusting her wrist insistently toward my face. “Taste me and you’ll remember. You’ll see.”

“You don’t have a tattoo on your arm,” I said. It was gentler than telling her she just didn’t smell right. None of them did.

“That wasn’t a real tattoo. I put on a temporary one for a party.”

“Okay. What was it again?”

She paused for a bit too long. “A rose.”

I shook my head, suppressing a growl then rubbed my temples. “No. Next.”

Des had taken her firmly by the shoulders and turned her toward the stairs of the VIP loft. And on and on it went.

The nights had started out optimistic. Maybe this time she’ll really come, I thought.

Maybe this is the night she’ll be here. I couldn’t picture her face or body, but my imagination conjured up a fuzzy fantasy.

She’d waltz in and our eyes would meet. She’d smile playfully, and both of us would instantly know.

“Sorry I took so long,” she’d say.

“You’re worth the wait,” I’d answer.

Then I’d take her in my arms, Des would usher all the other women out, and we’d spend the entire night in the VIP loft getting to know each other properly before I took her back to the Blood ‘til Dawn compound.

There, she would meet everyone and become friends with Tavia, Bea, and Amy.

Even the surliest of us, Thorne and Rhain, would be charmed by her.

My mate would have everything she needed, whatever her hobbies and interests were. Cyan thought he was hot shit by planting a vineyard and cider orchards for Tavia? If my mate liked flying planes, I’d build her a hangar and a fucking runway. Top that, Cyan.

All I needed in return was her blood. If she ended loving me, that’d be great too. Blood mate bonds aside, I knew those feelings couldn’t be forced. I was idealistic, not naive.

But nights passed. Faces and names blurred into each other.

My hope dwindled and my desperation grew.

The women who approached me began to look more fearful, or at least cautious.

Over time, I could feel myself devolving into a snarling, hungry beast. My jokes and ability to carry on conversations were replaced by short, irritable words and gnashing of my fangs.

My thoughts became jumbled and gaps formed in my memory.

I was fucking losing it. And the reality that I might actually die if I didn’t find her hung around my neck like an anchor.

Why didn’t she come? We put messages out as far and wide as possible, even sending feelers out into other territories and the human world.

Des used a site called Craigslist and posted in the missed connections section.

It sounded far-fetched to me, but he insisted it was something lots of humans used.

“Don’t worry, it’s vaguely worded. But if she reads it, she’ll know,” he said when he set it up.

“Any hits on that post?” I asked, my voice raw with hunger and exhaustion.

“No, nothing viable.” Des scrolled through his phone, his expression passive. “Lots of human men sending dick photos, though.”

“Why do they always do that?”

“No idea.” Des shook his head and shuddered. “That one definitely needs a doctor,” he muttered, swiping and deleting.

I slouched on the loveseat, ignoring the many voices of women trying to get my attention. They were nothing but noise to me. Noise and pheromones that smelled wrong. Blood that tasted wrong. My stomach gave a shuddering little gurgle at the thought of tasting another one of them tonight.

Bone marrow from a mukrot was the only thing that helped with symptoms of starvation. Marrow was rich in nutrients and, when freshly prepared by a Marrower vampire, soothed my stomach and temporarily eased the ache in my fangs. But, as a replacement for actual blood, it could only go so far.

By the fourteenth night of scenting, tasting, and being lied to by dozens of human women, I’d had enough.

I was sick of searching faces, of breathing in scents that weren’t hers. This whole fucking Cinderella thing was pointless. All it did was expose how much humans were willing to lie for their own gain.

If I was a different kind of vampire, I might take my pick. Settle for the one who tasted the least revolting. Maybe even take a few home. The days of having harems of blood pets were mostly gone but some still did it, as long as their care could be afforded and the arrangement was consensual.

But that wasn’t me. I wanted none of them.

“Fuck this,” I growled, rising to my feet.

The sudden movement startled the surrounding women, making them draw back with a collective gasp.

If I were well-fed I’d apologize, crack a joke, make an effort to make them feel comfortable.

But all I could feel was frustration clawing under my skin.

So many unique blood sources and all of them were wrong.

On the bright side, being taller than them allowed me to suck in a lungful of fresh air. Air that wasn’t tainted by the scent of wrongness, but carried a hint of something sweet and floral.

All my senses sharpened. I knew that scent. How could I forget when it floated over so gently from the far side of a privacy screen, and had been accompanied by the sweetest blood I’d ever tasted?

She was here .

My jaws parted, fangs hitting their maximum length as if her scent itself could nourish me. Where is she? Where–

Movement at the corner of my eye threatened to invade my space, and I smacked it away with an animalistic snarl. There were still too many wrong scents here, threatening to overpower the right one. If only I could see her.

There.

There was no second-guessing with blood mates. It was instant. Instinctual. I knew who it was the moment I laid eyes on her.

A woman sitting at the bar on the lower floor. Wavy hair the color of dark honey spilled over her shoulders. Lush lips parted in a soft gasp when her wide blue eyes met mine.

She recognized me too, even if she didn't know how or why yet. I saw it in how still she became. She knew I was a predator, but she wouldn’t run. Her instincts knew her blood was meant to nourish me.

My blood mate had come after all, and for the first time in many very long days, hope re-emerged.

I decided to not bother with the stairs and jumped over the loft railing. My gaze remained locked to hers the whole time. I could barely feel my feet move as I approached her. She might as we had been drawing me in with a homing beacon.

Her scent became stronger the closer I got. It felt like I had been trapped in a dank cellar and was now taking deep, refreshing breaths for the first time in weeks. I wanted, no, needed her in my lungs, my pores, on my tongue, and sinking into every groove in my brain.

I came to a stop in front of her and realized I should say something before gorging myself on her blood.

“I recognized your scent,” I choked out. Her forearm, with its odd geometrical design, caught my eye. “And you have the tattoo.”

“Oh?” She looked down at her arm like she’d forgotten it was there.

“You still have the marks.” I moved slowly to not startle her, bringing my fingertips the points on her wrist where my fangs had been. “I didn’t get the chance to heal them closed.”

It felt like a lame excuse. I was supposed to take care of my blood mate, and that included licking her wounds closed so they would heal faster and not become infected.

Her large blue eyes widened in surprise, giving her a doll-like appearance. Fuck, she was pretty. So pretty.

“You,” she said, realization lighting up her face. “ You’re the one who fed from me?”

“Yes.”

There was so much I wanted to say, so many ways I’d imagine this moment would go. But my mind was blank with awe, filled with her delightful scent but not a single coherent thought. Her heartbeat picked up speed in my ears, making my fangs ache with the memory of her perfect blood.

“I’ve finally found you. My blood mate.” I could only marvel as I drew closer, needing another inhale of that scent like a drug.

She was finally here. Finally mine.

“I’m your what?”

A chuckle escaped as I pulled her flush to me. She was funny too. It was cute how she pretended to have no idea. Why else would she be here?

I bent to kiss her and the world melted away.

Her mouth was so soft, and the soft gasp of breath lit up all my senses. I dipped my tongue between her parted lips and tasted gin, tonic water, and a hint of lime. The inside of her mouth was a cocoon of warmth I wanted to savor and sink into.

My mate’s mouth didn’t move, so I pulled lightly at her top lip, encouraging her to explore and respond. I wanted to learn how she kissed, to find out what she liked best so I could give it to her over and over.

The next thing I knew, palms shoved hard at my chest and she broke away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded loudly.

Nearby conversations stopped and I sensed heads swiveling in our direction.

I attempted a smile, but panic stormed inside me. Where had I gone wrong?