Blood Type (Blood Type 1)

“God, you’re taking forever. When do I get to see?”

“You want to see?”

“Duh! Haven’t you done this before?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Well, come out, silly.”

Reyna stepped out in the dress and Sophie wrinkled her nose. “No. Gross. Go change.”

Reyna rolled her eyes. Why would she want to see the obvious duds?

They tried on a few more dresses before Sophie finally landed on one that she fell in love with. It was all white like a wedding gown with real crystals embedded in the dress. It sparkled like a diamond whenever she moved.

“So,” Sophie said, in a better mood now that she had found a dress. “How many times did you and Beckham bang before he gave you that card?”

Reyna stumbled in the fitted dress she was wearing. “What?” she gasped.

“Oh my God, stop being such a prude!”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She was terrified to look at her reflection. She felt flushed from head to toe.

“Oh please! I’m not naive enough for that.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “That dress sucks.”

Reyna hurried back to the dressing room for what felt like the hundredth dress. She took her sweet time not wanting to continue that conversation with Sophie. Why did she think Reyna was sleeping with Beckham? Was that part of the job description that she had missed? Not that she hadn’t thought about it…or that she didn’t want to, by any means…

“So…is he good?” Sophie asked.

“Is who good?”

“Beckham, obviously. Get with it, Reyna. Is Beckham good in bed?” she asked, but didn’t wait for Reyna’s response before continuing. “I mean, Rowland is rough with me and all, but he’s French. You know what they say about the French?”

“What do they say?” she murmured.

“Oh, you know,” she said distractedly. She fluttered her fingers dismissively. “Anyway, I know Rowland is nice and rough, but Beckham. I couldn’t imagine. Rowland tells me he has such a dark past. I could just imagine that he’s an animal in bed.”

Reyna swallowed hard. How had they gotten to this conversation? Ugh!

“So, is he?”

“I…I don’t know,” she said softly.

“You don’t know if he’s an animal? I mean, how is he compared to your other lovers?”

Reyna closed her eyes to try to stave off her embarrassment. “Honestly Sophie, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t slept with Beckham.”

Sophie started laughing, but when she looked up at Reyna she stopped. “Wait…you’re serious?”

“Couldn’t be more serious.”

“Oh my God, how is that possible? Rowland had his hands all over me on day one. Couldn’t get enough of me, until I was literally delirious from the bites and exhausted beyond measure.”

“I did not need to know that,” Reyna said, raising her hand.

“But…how did you get the black card, then?”

Reyna shrugged helplessly. “He just gave it to me.”

“He just…gave it to you.” She sounded incredulous.

“Yes.”

“There you are, ma chérie!” Rowland crowed.

He strode into the fitting room area with purpose, bypassing Blythe without so much as a glance. His eyes were fixed on Sophie standing in her stunning white gown. Then his eyes drifted to Reyna, and they widened with approval. Once the surprise wore off of his face, his smile was devious and eyes desirous. She felt completely exposed in the black floor-length gown she was wearing with its high slit to her upper thigh and the plunging neckline.

Sophie threw herself into his arms, breaking their eye contact. For that Reyna was grateful. “Don’t you love my gown for the ball?”

She twirled in place for him and he smiled admiringly.

“Yes. It’s perfection. Go get out of it so the sales associate can box it up for us.” He motioned for Blythe to follow Sophie into the room, leaving him completely alone with Reyna.

Reyna stayed stark still, up for display on the box before a row of mirrors and Rowland’s prowling eyes.

“My Reyna, you are…stunning.” He seemed to savor the word on his tongue.

“Thank you.”

“If you show up to the ball in that, you will outshine every woman in attendance.”

“I don’t think…”

“Beckham is a very lucky man,” Rowland said, suddenly directly in front of her.

“Oh…yeah. I guess.” She swallowed and tried to look anywhere but at him.

“Does he satisfy you? That self-restrained brooding stoic? Is he a good lover?”

She made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and he was staring at her like he would very much like to find out if he would satisfy her. Or more precisely like he wanted to find out and then snap her neck and would enjoy doing both.

“I could show you what you are missing,” he growled, running his fingers up her bare arm.

His hands on her felt wrong on so many levels. Her throat tightened and she tried to remain perfectly still. Maybe if she didn’t move, she wouldn’t draw his further attention. Maybe he would walk right past her, back to Sophie, and not molest her with his eyes. All she wanted to do was run away from him, but it was not as if she could escape a vampire. Nor was he an enemy she wanted at her back.