Page 26 of Zomromcom

Max’s voice bristled with outrage. “You’re not a subscriber?”

“No.” With a tap of her finger, Edie selected the next download to watch.

“The only Better Than You videos I’ve seen in their entirety are the ones Brad and Tonya referenced on their channel.

Which is probably why I didn’t immediately connect Mr. Macramé Undies with Chad, even after spotting you in that sheepskin thong two nights ago. ”

“So you’ve watched several of my videos and actually downloaded snippets of my content onto your phone , but you’ve still chosen not to subscribe?”

Fashion and beauty weren’t really her thing, so…“I think I clicked the thumbs-up button for one of them?”

That hand-knotted underwear might not have tempted her to subscribe, but she’d wanted to salute his wedgie-inducing efforts—not to mention his ass—in some fashion. He’d earned her thumbs-up, even before she’d known about the Testicular Strangulation Incident.

Her attempt at consolation only offended him further. “Only one ?”

“Poor Gaston.” She patted his forearm, tensed from holding the phone in front of them. “Never fear. You remain a bethonged inspiration to the rest of the villagers.”

“Hmph.”

The aggrievement in the sound was exaggerated, and they both knew why. Didn’t matter. It worked. She buried her snicker in his upper arm, finally relaxing into the couch’s cushions and his embrace once more.

Over an hour before her alarm had been due to sound that morning, she’d woken in the painful grips of another nightmare and the cool, careful hold of Max.

To calm herself and provide her brain with pleasanter images, she’d grabbed her phone and tapped her downloads folder.

At some point, he’d woken up too, and they’d begun to watch together.

In the current snippet, he was somehow transforming mime makeup into cutting-edge beauty, then admiring his reflection.

Which reminded her: “You can see yourself in a mirror, then?”

“Evidently.” His sarcasm was thick enough to choke her, and okay. Yes, that was a stupid question, but really, was none of the accepted information about vampires correct?

“Then how did that even become a thing?”

“What impressive wordsmiths you humans are,” he murmured, then yelped when she kicked his shin with the heel of her bare foot.

“Before the Battle for Containment, mirrors made discreet feeding more difficult, so we either avoided them or ensured we moved too quickly to be spotted in their reflections. The fewer witnesses, the better.”

Which was a very diplomatic way of saying, The fewer murders, the better .

Instead of pursuing that disturbing conversational tangent any further, she gestured to the phone and asked, “Why do this? If you simply want to be left alone, as you keep telling me, why make videos of yourself for worldwide public consumption?”

She had her theories, but she was curious how he’d justify his contradictory behavior.

What he told himself in lieu of admitting to loneliness and a need for connection to others, however limited and one-sided.

What he’d say to avoid acknowledging both a genuine interest in fashion and a healthy dose of justifiable vanity.

“Unlike many of my brethren, I refuse to exist as a sentient anachronism.” To his credit, he answered her question without hesitation.

“I won’t hold on to a past that can’t be recaptured, and I’ll deal with the world as it is, not as it was.

Which means employing modern technology and means of communication. ”

Ah, there it was again. The inimitable scent of bullshit wafting through the chilly mall air. “You can do all that without modeling furry thongs on YouTube, dude. Try again.”

He paused this time, but only briefly. “When I inspire humans to put on the clothing and makeup I’ve modeled for them, they look like the fools they are. It’s very satisfying.”

That answer had the ring of partial truth. And since he wasn’t pushing her to share emotions she’d rather keep hidden, she’d grant him the same favor.

“Hmmm.” With a sigh, she reached out to swipe her cell’s screen and close the downloads folder.

“Dawn isn’t too long from now. We should eat before we go.

Did any of your blood packs make it? Or did they all fall into the moat?

” A thought occurred to her. “Or maybe vampires don’t need to eat every day? ”

“We don’t.” He devoted unusual attention to placing her phone atop her bag. “In theory.”

Uh-oh. “What about reality?”

“If I went too long between meals, I’d eventually lack the strength to protect us both.” His chest swelled against her back with his deep inhalation. “And at some point, basic biology would take over.”

That…did not sound promising. “Explain.”

“I’d go feral.” When she twisted her neck to frown at him, he clarified, “Lose conscious awareness of my actions and take what I needed to survive.”

In other words, Wave bye-bye to your throat, human .

New life goal: continuing to have a life. By, say, making sure Max never, ever went feral in her vicinity. “Would that be a permanent state, or would you regain control once you’d had enough to drink?”

“It’s unpredictable. But if my feral state became perpetual, SERC would eventually resolve the issue. Dispatch one of their licensed hunters.”

A stake through the heart, then. He seemed entirely too matter-of-fact about that possibility, especially given his current lack of bagged blood.

She scowled into the predawn darkness of the Pottery Barn staff room. “And there’s no way to prevent turning feral other than feeding regularly?”

His shoulder shifted in a shrug. “Eliminating oneself before it’s too late. Which I’d prefer over devolving into a mindless animal.”

Neither of those horrifying outcomes would happen. Not on her watch, anyway.

“How soon would that happen? How long can you go between meals if necessary?” Because as much as she hated the thought of losing more time and driving back over that damn bridge, they could return to his home for more blood packs. Or…there was another option, of course.

It frightened her, but she couldn’t say it didn’t tempt her too.

“I don’t know. Testing that boundary isn’t a risk I’ve either needed or wanted to take.” His exhalation ruffled the hair at the crown of her head. “Edie, don’t concern yourself. I’m sure I can come to an agreement with one of the counterfeiters.”

No doubt about that.

Edie could see it. Max, his lips moving softly over Belinda’s wrist. His mouth pressed against her neck as she arched against him.

Or if not Belinda—because Austin might have something to say about that—one of the other counterfeiters who’d watched Max with as much hunger on their faces as any Hollywood vampire.

“Yeah.” She swallowed against a sudden surge of nausea. “What about the person who feeds you? Are there any…lasting effects for them?”

He shifted against her, uncharacteristically restless.

“If the right amount is taken, none. The bite heals within moments, and the feeding confers a temporary immunity to most illnesses. If the donor doesn’t eat or drink properly afterward, they may become dizzy.

Otherwise, they remain exactly as they were. ”

How does it feel for them? was what she meant to ask next. A disinterested inquiry. A matter of academic curiosity, or perhaps simple pragmatism.

“How would it feel?” came out of her mouth instead, and that question contained entirely different implications. Revealing ones.

His biceps drew taut beneath her neck. “Edie…”

“How would it feel?” she repeated. Because she needed to know. Now.

“However I wanted it to feel.”

“What…” She blinked. “What does that mean?”

“I could numb the bite. I could make it hurt.” His forefinger lightly traced a line from the inside of her elbow to the raised, vulnerable veins at her wrist. “Or I could turn it into pleasure, my Edie. Pleasure and heat and lust.”

She pressed her thighs together. Just a little bit. “And you could confuse my memory afterward?”

“Yes.” His fingertip stilled on her pulse. “Would you want me to?”

“ No .” Gods, no.

Max’s steady grip ensured she didn’t topple off the couch as she fought against the twisted confines of their tablecloth burrito and turned in his arms. The lack of light meant she couldn’t truly meet his eyes.

Still, she needed to say this face-to-face, because losing some blood didn’t scare her.

The possibility of pain didn’t scare her.

But forgetting a fleeting moment of intimacy with Max, however bloody and fraught it might become?

Yeah. That scared her.

She’d remained a single barrier wall away from fucking zombies for twenty years to preserve her memories, however painful.

Those memories were the framework of her existence.

The inalterable, rock-solid foundation of the life she’d built for herself.

The walls she leaned against when she needed support and hid behind when she felt too exposed.

The true home she’d inhabited for the last two decades.

So she wanted to ensure she retained every detail about what came next. Especially since he hadn’t promised her new memories after this breach had been reported.

He might dissolve into a lost past too. Even if he remained her neighbor.

“Promise me you won’t do that.” She braced her palms against his shoulders. “Promise me, Max.”

“I promise.” His lips rested against her forehead. “But…Edie, I keep telling you. You’d be foolish to trust the promises of others. Particularly the promises of a predator.”

“Fuck everyone else.” When she poked his chest gently, there was no give there. Only hard muscle and coiling tension. “What about your promises? Can I trust them?”

For all the chill of his flesh, his heart thumped strongly against her palm. Quickly. And maybe he didn’t say yes, but he wasn’t telling her no either. Not anymore.