Hot Blooded (Tooth & Claw #2)

Chapter 1

F or the fifth time, Amos found himself adjusting the floral arrangement on the coffee table, twisting it ninety degrees to the right, frowning, then twisting it back. He clenched his jaw, still dissatisfied. He shouldn’t have gone with red. He’d thought the big, scarlet roses looked vibrant and lively on the florist’s website, but now that they’d been delivered, he realized they were the exact color of fresh blood.

Blood .

A jolt ran through him, making his spine stiffen and his hands shake. “Stop it,” he muttered to himself, curling his hands into fists until the jittery feeling passed. He stared at the flowers, wishing he’d gotten something more cheerful, something colored like daylight and happiness—sunflowers, maybe. Or daisies.

Too late now. The donor from the blood matching agency was due any minute. The sun had set an hour ago, and he’d spent the entirety of that hour fidgeting around his house. God, he wished they’d get here already. The longer he waited, the worse his fangs ached and the higher the hunger rose inside him. He was old enough to control himself, but it’d be a more enjoyable experience if he didn’t have to control himself. If he could just have a nice, luxurious drink without terrifying the donor.

Amos hadn’t had live blood in nearly a century. Not since he was a young vampire, freshly turned. He’d spent a few decades living as a predator, taking victims indiscriminately. He wasn’t proud of those days, but at least he hadn’t been as bad as some. As far as he knew, he’d never killed any of his victims. Just left them injured and traumatized.

He clenched his fists again.

The donor was a willing participant. They were getting paid. They knew what they were getting into. No harm was being done.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and Amos nearly jumped out of his skin. He leapt up from the settee, smoothed his shirt, his pants, his hair, and then hurried to the door—tripping over the rug on his way and then nearly knocking over a bookshelf as he righted himself. He took a second to breathe, to steady himself.

The doorbell rang again. His fangs throbbed. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He ran a shaking hand through his hair again and went to the door. Feeling as if he might snap the doorknob clean off, he somehow managed to open it smoothly. He put a polite, non-predatory smile on his face to greet his donor. But as the door swung open and his visitor was revealed in the soft glow of the porch light, his stomach dropped.

Oh no .

She was a woman. A very pretty woman, with abundant curling black hair and dark eyes that shone like molasses and warm golden-toned skin that spoke of summer sunshine. She was nearly as tall as Amos, with a lushly curved body that, even beneath the loose cover of pale blue scrubs, looked soft and warm and inviting.

Another shiver ran through him. He stiffened, suppressing it.

“Hi,” the woman said, looking wary. She stood with hunched shoulders, her hands knotted together in front of her. Her big, dark eyes regarded him like a rabbit before a hawk. “I’m here from HemoMatch. Are you Amos Hansen?”

Amos couldn’t tell how old she was. He’d been turned at forty-two years old and would perpetually look it, but people didn’t seem to show their age as quickly nowadays as they had when he’d been mortal. She could’ve been anywhere from twenty to forty, for all Amos could tell. Whatever her age, there was something about her that made him want to put a blanket around her shoulders and bring her a hot drink. There was a weariness to her, a hunted quality that evoked protective instincts he’d thought long lost.

He made himself relax, trying to look as cheerful and non-threatening as possible. “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

She blinked. “You don’t know who I am? Didn’t they tell you I was coming?” She shifted slightly, looking as if she wanted to bolt.

Amos nodded slowly, trying not to startle her. “Yes, of course. But they only told me that they’d matched a donor for me and the time you would be here.”

“Oh.” She gripped the strap of her bag tightly, uneasy. “Okay. That’s weird. ”

He frowned. “Is it?”

“Yeah. I’m a stranger. They didn’t tell you anything about me? You’re just going to let some rando into your house?”

He laughed. “You couldn’t hurt me.”

Her eyes went wide.

Appalled by himself, he quickly tried to backpedal. “Er, I mean, the agency does very thorough background checks.”

She arched a skeptical brow at him, but the fear had lessened in her eyes.

“I believe they withhold information about donors to prevent predatory clients from abusing the service as a hunting ground,” he added.

And just like that, she blanched again. Christ, he was stupid.

“Look, I promise you don’t need to be afraid of me. I have no desire to harm you. But if you’re uncomfortable—“ he was choked into silence as the breeze shifted, sweeping her scent towards him.

She smelled divine. Like Christmas dinner and birthday cake and the finest pinot noir, but really, like none of those things. Her scent was uniquely her and it made his fangs throb and his hands shake. He needed to taste her. It’d been so long, and she smelled like the best thing in the world. He swallowed convulsively before he started drooling.

“If you’re uncomfortable,” he managed to continue, his voice slightly hoarse, “You can leave. I’ll understand.”

She looked him over, brows drawn together. She seemed to gather herself, inhaling deeply, squaring her shoulders, and meeting his eyes—before wilting back again. “Your eyes changed,” she said faintly .

Like a stalking cat, his pupils always dilated wide when he was about to feed—when he was hunting. He didn’t want her to feel like prey, so he looked down, focusing on the welcome mat beneath her feet.

“Yes, they do that.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Finally, she blew out a breath. “Alright, well, are we going to get this over with, or what?”

Amos jerked his head up, meeting her gaze again. Her expression was still wary, her spine stiff. She didn’t look afraid so much as resigned. Her obvious reluctance was putting a damper on something he’d been looking forward to for months—ever since he’d enrolled with the blood matching agency, eagerly awaiting a donor. Finally, she was here, and she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Not if you’re unhappy about it,” he said. “I can wait for a different match.”

At that, her expression hardened. “No. I said I’d do it, and I will.”

“Just what a man loves to hear,” he muttered.

She scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want to feed from a suffering martyr. Sorry you wasted your time coming by.” He started to close the door, but her arm shot out, catching it. She was just a mortal, he could’ve easily overpowered her, but he didn’t want to hurt her, so he sighed, and let her hold the door.

“Wait.” Her expression softened to something regretful, if not apologetic. “I’m sorry. This is really weird for me, and I won’t lie, I’m a little afraid of the pain, but I really need to do this.”

Amos frowned at her. “Why? ”

“That’s my business.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she spoke first.

“I promise I’m not trying to be a martyr. I’m just nervous.” She held his gaze, a hint of vulnerability shining in hers.

He still planned to send her away, but then the breeze fluttered again, basking him in the unspeakable allure of her scent.

“Alright,” he rasped. “Come in.” He stepped back, giving her space, repressing the instinct to grab her, immobilize her, drink his fill of her. She stepped into the hallway, giving him a forced smile. He tried to return it, but the slide of his lips over his pulsing fangs was too much and it turned into a grimace.

“My name’s Tessa, by the way,” she said. “Well, Teresa. But everyone calls me Tessa. Tessa Vargas.”

He nodded, pretending he was a civilized creature, as though his thoughts weren’t drowning in blood— her blood. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Um… where are we going to do this?” She looked down the entryway, still clutching her bag. He wished he knew some way to put her at ease, but he’d already demonstrated his utter incompetence in that regard.

“In the sitting room. If you don’t mind removing your shoes first?”

She toed off her sneakers and nudged them over against the wall.

“Thank you. This way.”

She followed him silently. He could sense her perusal of his home, feel her gaze tracking over his art and furnishings. He’d had the entire house cleaned, every crevice and cranny from floor to ceiling, in anticipation of hosting a donor, even though he knew she’d only be seeing the entryway and the sitting room. Amos didn’t do things halfway. And besides, something could have come up that necessitated using a different part of the house. He liked to be prepared. Guests or no guests, he liked things to be done right.

In the meticulously arranged, spotlessly clean sitting room, he gestured for her to take a seat on the settee. It was a green, velvet-upholstered reproduction of an Edwardian-era piece with carved wooden trim and cabriole legs. Amos wasn’t one of those pretentious vampires who had to fill their homes with authentic remnants from their mortal days as a mark of status. But he couldn’t help but prefer the aesthetics from his mortal lifetime, especially those that had been beyond his means as a mortal. That said, he drew the line at dressing like a relic. It would have made him just too much of a cliche.

“You want to… feed…” Tessa clearly struggled with the word. “…on this nice couch? Shouldn’t we put some towels down, or something?”

His brows drew together. “I’m not a slobbering barbarian.” Even in his hunting days, he hadn’t left anything more than a rusty little smudge on the throats of his prey.

“Oh.” She flushed. “Uh, sorry. No offense intended.”

Amos forced himself to relax. Her tension was making him tense. And now that she was in the enclosed space of the sitting room, her scent was becoming overwhelming.

“It’s fine,” he said stiffly. “Why don’t you sit however is comfortable for you, and then I’ll arrange myself accordingly.”

She nodded, swallowing audibly. She lifted her bag from her shoulder, setting it on the floor beside the settee. She sank down against the curve of the backrest. Her gaze flicked to the blood-red roses before looking up at Amos expectantly. “Where will you bite me?”

Gah . The question went right to his fangs. He had to swallow another mouthful of saliva before he could answer her. “Your neck is easiest.”

She nodded tensely. “Okay.”

Moving slowly, cautiously, Amos came to stand before her. When Tessa didn’t cringe away, only watched him steadily, he bent down over her, bracing one knee on the seat cushions, gripping the top of the backrest for balance. Caging her with his body sent a hunter’s thrill across his nerves, but he kept his posture easy, relaxed. Tessa didn’t recoil, didn’t flinch or grimace, so he leaned closer. With his free hand, he swept her hair aside, baring her throat. He allowed his fingertips to graze gently over that delicate skin, heightening his anticipation. Tessa drew in a stuttering breath, though whether it was from fear or something else, Amos was too far gone to tell. Her scent was filling his head now, the heat of her body pulling him closer. He could see her carotid artery ticking in her throat, a hypnotic beat.

He cupped the back of her head, brought his mouth to her pulse, and bit.

Her flesh parted easily beneath the points of his fangs. Distantly, he heard her gasp again, felt her body tense beneath him. But then the first taste of her blood hit his tongue and he was gone, lost to the ecstasy of Tessa’s hot, rich taste flooding his mouth, overwhelming his senses. He groaned, his arms going around her, cradling her body tightly against his as he angled his head to draw more deeply from that rich well.

Amos drank, and drank, and drank—long, languorous draughts that he savored as one would the finest of wines. When he’d drawn enough to sate the sharpest edges of his hunger, he began to regain his senses. He became aware of Tessa, clinging to him as tightly as he held onto her. Soft little gasps escaped her mouth as her hips rocked against his, grinding against his stiffened cock.

An erection! He hadn’t had one in over a century—couldn’t get one without live blood. The urge to put it to use was almost as overwhelming as the blood hunger, but despite her gasping, writhing, clinging embrace, Tessa had only consented to share blood. Tamping down the sexual hunger, Amos shifted his hips back so that his cock wouldn’t rub against her.

Even if he wouldn’t be getting any sexual gratification, he was more than pleased to witness Tessa’s. He drew another sip of her blood, and she cried out, arching against him.

What an unexpected pleasure. He could’ve happily drunk from her all night, listening to her come with each steady pull, but unfortunately, even with the accelerated healing of his venom, she wouldn’t replenish her blood supply quickly enough to survive that. Grabbing hold of his self-control, Amos eased his fangs from her throat, licking at the wounds he’d made until the blood stopped welling. She trembled in his arms, gasping for breath. When he eased her back down to the settee, she stared up at him with flushed cheeks and wild eyes.

Energy and vigor like Amos hadn’t felt in decades rushed through him, making him feel suddenly lightheaded. He sank down onto the couch next to Tessa, trying not to swoon.

Tessa blinked. She blinked again. Suddenly, she hauled in a ragged gasp, her eyes going wide and stricken. She scrabbled to sit up, pushing away from Amos.

Dismay cut through the wild rush of live blood coursing through his system. He twisted to look at Tessa. As he met her horrified gaze, his stomach dropped. Something had gone wrong. He’d messed up, but he didn’t know how.

“What did you do?” she demanded, staring at him like he was a monster.

Well, he was a monster. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! You—you made me—” Her flush deepened until her whole face was rosy, and suddenly he realized what she was upset about.

“Ah, no. That wasn’t me, that was you.”

“ What? ” She looked appalled, humiliated.

Shame, regret, dismay churned in his gut, squeezed his chest. “Didn’t they explain anything to you at this goddamn agency?”

She flinched at the anger in his tone.

Ashamed of himself, Amos strove for control, softening his voice. “They should have explained to you that this happens sometimes. It’s not usual, but it’s not shockingly rare, either. Some people react to a vampire’s venom in a, well…” He pressed his lips together, picking his words carefully so that he didn’t mortify her any further. “Everyone feels a sort of ‘high’ from our venom. For most people, it’s a mild euphoria. Some people become significantly intoxicated by it. And some people…”

“Come,” she said faintly.

Amos nodded. He didn’t tell her that his kind had a term for people like her—B&B, as in “bed and breakfast,” a smirky reference to getting sex and a meal. He didn’t tell her that her sensitivity to their venom made her a prize beyond reckoning to most vampires. She clearly would not be pleased by it. Instead, he tried as best he could to allay her discomfort.

“I thought you knew it could happen.” He held her gaze, hoping she would see the sincerity in his. “I would have stopped if I’d known you hadn’t expected it.”

“Okay.” She let out a shaky breath and straightened, pushing her hair back from her face. Some of the flush had faded, leaving only a bloom of red across her cheeks. “Okay, um, no, they didn’t tell me. I mean, they gave me this huge waiver that I had to read through. It was probably in there, but it was all written in legal-speak, so I hardly understood half of it.”

Amos frowned. “And you signed it anyway?”

“I knew someone else who had signed up before I did, and she said it was great. And I needed—” she pressed her lips together. “I figured it’d be fine.”

He felt a flash of irritation at her carelessness, but before he could say anything about it, her gaze dropped and her eyes grew wide. She jumped up from the settee, springing away from him. “Look, I know I just, uh, basically came all over you. But, I’m sorry, I’m not returning the favor.”

Amos glanced down to where her eyes were pinned. The front of the gray merino trousers he’d worn to make a good first impression were tented by his raging erection. Fresh off of feeding from live blood, he was very capable of blushing. His face heated—a strange feeling after decades without it. He had to be as red as Tessa was. Grimacing, he turned his back and adjusted himself to a more discreet position. “I don’t expect you to.”

Tessa relaxed. “Alright. Uh, sorry for, you know…” She gestured uncomfortably at his crotch.

“It would’ve happened no matter who I fed from.” Was it his imagination, or had she looked mildly offended by that? “My kind can only, er, ‘rise to the occasion’ when we have live blood in our system. I haven’t had live blood in just under a century.”

Her eyes grew wide at that, but for once, it wasn’t fear. “You haven’t had an erection in nearly a hundred years? ”

Amos scowled at her. “I don’t recall prying into your sex life.”

Tessa flushed again, looking away. “Yeah, well, you just got a front row seat to about the extent of it,” she muttered.

He started to reply, then froze, mouth hanging open. Had she just told him that she wasn’t having sex with anybody?

Tessa seemed to realize it at the same time. She dropped her face into her hand. “Please forget I just said that.”

He would never. The knowledge that he alone was making her come went straight to some primitive, lizard part of his brain and lit it up like a Christmas tree. Mine , the lizard thought smugly.

No. Very much not yours , Amos argued back.

“Well, I doubt you can beat a century of celibacy,” he told Tessa. Deep in his hindbrain, the lizard hissed in dismay.

“Ha. I’m on my way.” She shook her head, but she seemed over the worse of her embarrassment. “Alright, so, you’re done feeding for today? Or…” She nervously traced her fingers over the puncture marks on her neck.

He liked seeing them on her. Looking his victi— donor —looking his donor in the eyes and having a conversation after the fact was a novel experience. He wanted to suck on the marks. Not to feed, just to feel them. Just to feel them on her , radiating her intoxicating scent and inviting warmth while his tongue traced over her beating pulse .

Christ. That wasn’t helping the erection situation. He needed her to leave so he could take care of it.

“That’s all. I apologize that it was so upsetting for you. It was a pleasure meeting you. I imagine we probably won’t see each other again, so best wishes in all your future endeavors.” Amos plucked up her bag and handed it over to her.

Tessa accepted it, holding it against her chest, not quite meeting his gaze. “Actually, I think the agency keeps the same donor and recipient paired together, unless there’s some sort of problem.”

Amos went still for a moment as her words registered. “You’re saying… there is no problem?”

She shook her head, cheeks going pink again. “I mean, unless there’s a problem for you?”

Smelling her sweet scent, drinking her intoxicating blood, and feeling her climax in his arms on a regular basis? “No,” he said gruffly. “There’s no problem.”

“Okay.” She nodded. And kept nodding. “Yeah. So. Uh, I’ll see you on Wednesday?”

He’d signed on for three feedings a week. At the time, it had felt like a ridiculously lavish indulgence. Suddenly, it wasn’t nearly enough. “Wednesday,” he agreed, trying to keep his voice from sinking into a growl. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Okay. Cool.” Her gaze slid away from his.

Amos walked her to the door, holding it for her as she stepped into the night. When she was gone, he shut the door and fell back against it, ripping his trousers open and taking himself in hand. It took only three strokes before he was doubled over, groaning through the first orgasm he’d felt in a century. He nearly fell over, bracing himself against the wall as wave after wave of pleasure seized through his whole body. Had they always been this good? It’d been a long time, but he wasn’t certain he'd ever come this hard.

When the ecstatic spasms finally relented, he slid to the floor, gasping for breath, totally spent.

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.