“No, thank you.”
“Want to let me taste yours?”
“No!”
He laughed, but there was little humor in it. “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Aren’t you even a little curious? Be honest.” He bit the end of his forefinger. “I know you’ve tasted your own blood at one time or another. Everybody does.”
Bryn stared at the fat drop of dark red blood that oozed from the tiny wound. She was shocked by her sudden desire to taste it.
Conor’s smile was a trifle smug. “Go ahead,” he invited, and held out his hand.
Before she could change her mind, Bryn leaned forward and licked the bit of red. It was hot on her tongue. When she swallowed, she felt the heat of it all the way down. It was strangely satisfying.
Conor smiled at her. “See? It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“No.” It had been quite pleasant, but she refused to tell him so.
“My turn now?” he asked.
She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want to be a vampire!”
“It won’t make you a vampire,” he assured her. “There’s a lot more to it than that. Please, Bryn?”
“I don’t think I can bite myself that hard.”
“Let me.”
Bryn held her breath as he took her left hand in his and bit the tip of her thumb. She noticed her blood was a much brighter red than his just before he suckled her thumb. It did strange things in the pit of her stomach.
After what seemed like a very long time, he lifted his head and smiled at her. And then, murmuring, “Thank you,” he kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that she felt long after he had said goodnight.
~ * ~
Conor strolled down the dark street, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Maybe there was hope for him after all. Bryn hadn’t rejected him out of hand. She’d been willing to taste his blood and let him have a little taste of hers. And damn, it had been better than anything else he’d ever known. It had flowed through him like sunshine, warming all the dark places, filling the emptiness. He had the feeling that if he could drink a little from her every day, he’d never have to hunt again. He laughed softly. That was probably just wishful thinking, but, damn, he yearned to taste her again. If she would let him, he’d do his best to make her happy as long as she lived. And if prayers were answered, the day would come when she would accept the dark gift. He could think of nothing better than spending centuries with the woman he loved. He didn’t know how it had happened so fast, but he loved her wholly, completely. If she refused him, he had the feeling he would spend the rest of his existence alone.
He thrust the thought aside.
For now at least, he had hope.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Monday morning, Bryn couldn’t think of anything but the taste of Conor’s blood and his assertion that if she drank his blood from time to time, it would slow the aging process. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it, but she couldn’t think of anything else. Including her work.
She sat up straight and pretended to look busy when Mr. Cummings stepped into her office.
“The Moretti file,” he said. “Where is it?”
“Moretti?” Bryn swallowed hard. “I’ll get it for you right away.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you all right, Miss Davis? You seem...distracted. Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said quickly. And then sighed. “Yes.”
“Can I help?”