22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emma
It’s pure luck that I’m able to hide the bite mark on my neck long enough for it to heal.
My family doesn’t suspect a thing when I commit to turtleneck sweaters for a week.
I try to avoid them, but not so much that they become suspicious.
None of them notice, not even when I barely touch my food or quietly meander my way through every conversation.
They’ve got their own problems. Dad doesn’t notice a thing when I bring him his morning crepes and they’re a little burned.
My first endeavor was research. Doxlothia has a huge library with just about anything you could want to know about, but scent-matches is a specialty topic.
From what I have learned, it only happens with full-blooded vampires, and they still haven’t figured out why.
There’s nothing I can do about being attracted to the man who hates me.
At least I know the reason why we can never seem to get along. He probably sees me as a distraction, some girl who came in at the worst time to . . . I don’t know, keep him from being super rich or something. I haven’t asked him any more questions because I’ve officially started ignoring him.
It’s working, too. He tried to say good morning to me, and I gave him the cold shoulder. If that’s not retribution, I don’t know what is.
This morning, though, I skip one of my classes to have enough time to eat with Kitty after breakfast ends. After the breakfast rush, it’s a cold banquet of grain cereals and yogurt, but I welcome the quiet as we sit in a nearly empty dining hall.
“Can I ask you something?” I close my eyes, enjoying the blissful crunch of the first bite of cereal. “What’s it like for you . . . when you donate?”
I’ve never seen her so much as huff about the obligation.
She speaks between bites of granola. “Well . . . donating with blood bags is virtually painless.”
“What about . . . with biting involved?”
“I already know where you’re going with this. You’ve been reading too many of those Donor Program love stories.”
“No, no, I’m just curious how it feels for you.”
“It’s a business transaction for me. They get what they need; I get my benefits. I don’t feel anything. I just wait for it to be done, and the limit per donee makes it so you don’t really get attached like that. I see them for a few minutes each month, that’s it.”
“Oh, so there’s no feeling involved?”
“Are you asking me if I get off on it?” Kitty smiles, eating a spoonful of yogurt.
“No! I’m just curious.”
“I know what you’re thinking about. Dacre.”
I shake my head. “Can’t a girl be curious?”
“Sure. But I thought you were a virgin.”
“I’m not.” Why does everyone think that?
“You just have a lot on your plate, and I never see you flirt or even show remote interest . . . unless it’s you ranting about Dacre for thirty minutes.”
“That’s his fault. Not mine.”
“Uh-huh. So who was your first?”
This is one reason I love Kitty because she’ll talk about anything. Nothing is too awkward; no conversation is off limits. I love my sisters, but there are things we don’t talk about, and orgasmic bites were not on the table for conversation.
“It was years ago, back when I was, like, seventeen.”
“Please tell me this isn’t a creepy older man story.”
“Are you kidding? Do you think my family would have let me out of their sight long enough for me to meet an older man? No, it was someone I went to school with, and it . . . was my idea.”
“Oh? Tell me more.”
“We weren’t dating or anything . . . And, I don’t know, I just wanted to know what the hype was about. But it was . . . weird. Kind of awkward and didn’t last that long. It wasn’t like the movies . . . or even the books where everything is . . . so intense.”
“Got it. So you need to get laid for real.”
“As if I have the time.”
“I think there are many guys here that would take you up on the offer if you showed even a little bit of interest.”
I move my spoon around in my bowl. I know she’s right, but for some reason, Dacre comes to mind again.
“You know . . . For a hopeless romantic, you’re really dense when it comes to your own love life.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I know.”
“Just know, if you ever do come to me saying that you suddenly broke your dry streak with Dacre Everhart, I won’t judge you.”
“I wouldn’t,” I say quickly. The flashes of his hands between my thighs jump to my mind.
His thumb rubbing my leg.
His teeth embedded in my skin, and the rush of pleasure that flooded my senses.
“But . . . thank you,” I conclude.