The Blood is Love (Dark Eyes 2)

“Why? You’re going to be there tonight.”

“Working,” she points out. “Always working. And anyway, no one looks at me like I’m some all-powerful creature. No one even looks at me at all.”

I give her a wry look in the reflection. “You’re a human in a room full of vampires, I’m sure everyone is very aware of you all the time.”

“Are you aware that I’m human right now?” she asks. “Are you smelling my blood? Am I making you hungry?”

“Well, no.”

“Because you’re used to me. So are all the vampires.”

I laugh at how disappointed she sounds. “You mean you want to be on the menu tonight?”

She doesn’t say anything to that, and that’s when I realize she’s not really talking about the other vampires. She wants to be on one vampire’s radar in particular—Wolf. I’m starting to think Amethyst is holding out hope that Wolf is going to randomly bite her one day.

“Here,” Amethyst says, handing me my jewelry box where the Burma ruby earrings that Solon gave me are nestled. I wince as the earring posts punch new holes in my ears (because of the way I heal, they close up the moment I take earrings out). Then, when Amethyst gives me the final seal of approval, I leave the room and go down the hall to the stairs, passing by the roses that Yvonne puts on every level.

As usual, the red roses are dead, so I point my fingers at them and think bloom and then I watch with glee as the flowers start to rise, coming alive and dripping with blood. They aren’t exactly the same as they were before (pretty sure you can’t pick up blood-drenched roses from the Whole Foods floral department) but it makes me feel good that not everything has to die around vampires. Even though I swear one of the vamps in this house is purposefully killing them to annoy me. Every time I make them bloom again, I’m reminded of that Pink! Blue! color-changing dress scene from Sleeping Beauty.

I climb all the way up to the tower, just as Solon is stepping out of our bedroom, dressed in a tux. He looks hella sexy, as usual. No one can pull off a tux quite like he can, in the way that you immediately want to pull it off of him.

His eyes trail over my shoulders, my chest, over my hips, their intensity kicking up a notch, his pupils dilating until his eyes nearly look black. “You look beautiful,” he says in a low voice, smooth like cream, that makes a shiver run down my spine. “Those shoes,” he adds, his heated gaze lingering on them.

Of course I’m grinning because it was just the reaction I wanted. “Glad you like them.”

He squints at me. “You should have come up earlier,” he says, sliding his hand down over his crotch in an overly suggestive manner, bottom lip sucked in through his teeth, a hint of fangs like he’s both horny and hungry. “My cock is going to be preoccupied with the thought of you all night.”

Jeez.

“Is that such a bad thing?” I tease, though the same heat that’s making his gaze molten is now flaring up through me.

He comes forward, engulfing me in his natural scent of roses, tobacco, and cedar, my blood pumping hot through my veins, buzzing in response. His hand reaches out and grips me at the back of my neck, holding me possessively. “Thinking of you is never a bad thing,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on my mouth, my lips already tingling at the thought of him kissing me. “But when I can’t get what I want, I tend to become irritable.”

I give him a lazy grin. “You? Irritable?”

He lets out a low rumble in response before kissing me, hot, wet, and deep, his grip on my neck growing tighter and tighter. If he keeps fucking my mouth with his tongue like this, I think we’re going to be very late for the party.

I press my hand against his chest, managing to push him back an inch, enough so that our lips break apart. “I can’t afford you mussing me up. I have to make an impression on your guests.”

“Fuck them,” he growls, brushing his mouth over mine, breathing heavily. “The only impression that counts is the one you leave on me.” And with that he takes my hand and presses my palm against the hot, hard length of his cock.

God, I love having him in the palm of my hand like this—literally, and figuratively.

I grip him until he lets out a low hiss, his eyes pinching shut, and my god I would do anything for him.

And I will. But if we don’t go to the party, I’m going to lose the nerve to go at all.

“Later,” I whisper to him, taking my hand away.