Bitten by Ecstasy: 2 (Dark Judgment) by Naima Simone Page B

Four
     
    Even as Sinéad followed Bastien from the kitchen and back into the living room, the jolt from his bald announcement continued to clamor through her like the booming percussions of a drum of thunder. Images of his glowing red eyes and long dagger-sharp teeth paraded across her mind like floats in the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade. Of course the similarities had registered but he fed from cruxim…her sisters? If she’d known this bit of information, his ass would’ve still been hanging around that piss-soaked alley, not sitting comfortably on her couch.
    “Here.” Bastien glanced up, his emerald gaze scanning her as she stood, body rigid with tension, at the end of the sofa, her fingers curled into the faded, upholstered cushion. He nudged the wide platter laden with a hearty bagel-topped hamburger and crisps. “Eat.”
    The delicious aroma called to her with a siren’s sensuous lure. Ever since she’d discovered an appetite, along with her humanity and addiction to television, her meals had consisted of sugary cereal, crisps, pancakes and eggs. Though she’d lost her immorality, the solitary nature of her kind hadn’t disappeared. She didn’t enjoy the noisy, packed crowds of the pubs or restaurants and had quickly stopped visiting those places for food. Not to mention, she hadn’t particularly cared for the fare she’d purchased. Overseasoned. Bland. Hard as tack. Too soft. Sweet Nef , it was like being pushed from the womb again and having to discover her personality, her likes and dislikes, hell— herself —once more. The task was huge. Daunting.
    Some nights the stark reality of her new existence engulfed her—a massive, crashing swell drowning her in the decisions, questions and uncertainties she hadn’t been forced to deal with as a cruxim. Hours of hunting and training had been replaced with long stretches of time filled with nothing but sitcoms, late-night movies and bouts of loneliness and self-pity. Previously, her thoughts had always been black and white, decisive and never doubted. Now those same decisions were hindered or stirred by faulty, unstable emotions like anger, sadness…fear.
    And the male responsible for flipping her world on its ass invited her to eat food he’d cooked with his own strong, capable hands. This male who, with a simple touch, sent her reeling into an emotional overload. This male who, with his piercing eyes and beautiful, solemn features, stared at her as if he could read her mind as easily as if closed caption streamed across her forehead.
    The brutal scars that ravaged his face only added to the intensity of his scrutiny. And there lay another problem. Scowling, she carefully lowered to the far end of the couch. That stare. In the kitchen, she’d been stunned by it, blindsided by what she’d glimpsed in the emerald-green depths. Something dark, savage, ravenous. Crimson had flickered in his eyes. There and gone, but there. Yet she was human, and he’d stated he fed on cruxim, so what he’d craved hadn’t been blood. It had been…her.
    The disturbing, terrifying need she glimpsed in his gaze should have sent her diving for the black knife handle protruding from the butcher block. But those damnable emotions had kept her glued to the floor, short pants blasting from between her parted lips, a liquid ball of fire swirling and gathering heat in her stomach. The flames had streaked to her breasts and nipples before whooshing back down her abdomen and to the pulsing flesh between her legs.
    Desire. She knew of it, had witnessed it many times between couples clasped in passionate embraces on the Dublin streets. The rare occasions when her hunt for a vampire had carried her into the dimly lit interiors of the pleasure dens had exposed her to the prurient, animalistic side of lust. But in her centuries of existing, she’d escaped passion’s claws. Mercifully.
    She much preferred the more clinical, practical method of the cruxim—decide it’s time to