Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(34)
His lips grazed the shell of my ear. “Do you want my blood?”
I felt myself trembling beneath him. Was that all it took to make me wet? To make my body flush with need?
“A few drops should patch you right up,” he continued.
Which deflated my balloon. Was this all in my head? Christian’s offer was to heal me. Otherwise, he would have kissed me by now.
“Get off,” I whispered.
He rolled to the left and stood up. “It’s going to snow in the morning. It’s not good for you to take so much light from Niko. It might create an addiction.”
I arched an eyebrow. “And your blood won’t?” I began to unbutton my shirt with my left hand. “Why don’t you go check on Shepherd?”
“Exactly what happened tonight to get him so langered?”
“I don’t know, but maybe he’ll talk to you since you’re drinking buddies.”
Christian folded his arms and sighed. “Do you think men sit around and share their innermost secrets over a glass of ale?”
“Don’t you?”
“We talk about which nipples are the most beautiful and which knives are the most effective when severing a head.”
“So which are best?”
He circled his fingers around his chest. “I’m partial to the larger ones that aren’t too dark or too pink. It depends on the size of the breast. If they’re too small, a large nipple will only—”
“I meant the knives.”
Christian stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I can’t seem to recall beheadings in your file.”
“I’m just curious. Maybe someday I’ll get over that squeamishness.”
He leaned forward on one foot and gave me a pointed stare. “No one gets over the squeamishness. It’s the best way to kill an immortal, to be sure, but it’s a brutal act that requires a man to reach deep down inside himself and shut off his emotions. Leave the dirty work to the men.”
“Maybe you need my help since there seems to be an abundance of male criminals to behead.”
“What are you saying? That women are incapable of evil? Take my word when I tell you there are women out there who are as cold and heartless as a serial killer, with just an empty chamber of darkness for a soul. And rest assured that there is nothing more dangerous than a woman who’s lost touch with her emotions.”
“Is that going to be us in a thousand years?”
I stripped away my shirt and winced, several bruises showing up on my ribs and upper arm. I was lean but had a toned body. I glanced down at my bra and smiled, wondering what Christian would think of my nipples. Too big? Too small?
Christian dodged the opportunity to gape at me and turned on his heel to face the armoire.
“It’s too late to be gallant,” I said. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Maybe I don’t like reruns.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and unzipped my pants. “We were so close tonight. We almost had him.”
“And then what? He confesses all his crimes?”
“No, but you could have charmed information out of him.”
“Along with a few teeth,” he ground out. Christian peered over his shoulder and closed the distance between us. “Let me do that.” He gripped the waistband of my jeans and winked at me. “I’m quite talented at removing women’s clothing.”
I leaned on my good arm and lifted my hips as he pulled my jeans down, revealing my black panties and the Keystone tattoo on the right side, below my navel.
When I caught his eyes lingering on the tattoo, I sat up. “That’s enough. I can do the rest.”
He stepped back a few paces. “Switch lost out on his chance. He’s probably an old fat bastard by now.”
I kicked off my pants. “Not that old. Just in his thirties.”
“Potbelly, seven kids, a part-time job at the gas station, probably a criminal record. I bet when he buys his carton of smokes and drives home in his El Camino, he thinks back with regret and wonders why he didn’t flatten you in the back of his Chevy.”
“Ford, actually. And that’s the takeaway you got from my story? Nothing about loyalty or teaching a woman to conquer her fears?”
He shrugged and strode toward the door. “Just an observation. Poor Switch. I’ll be sure to remember him in my prayers tonight.”
I fell back on the bed and laughed. “If you ever put your hands together to pray, you’ll probably turn into a pile of ash.”
He opened the door. “Be sure to sweep up my remains. You know how I hate littering.”
“I’ll collect your ashes and sprinkle them around your favorite bar,” I quipped.
“Maybe you should sprinkle them in your favorite bottle of wine. Then you can enjoy tasting me for the next century. Sleep well, Precious.”
Chapter 11
“Anyone want seconds?” I asked, eyeing a bowl of spaghetti.
A few people gave me quiet glares except for Christian, whose plate was empty as usual.
Maybe spaghetti for breakfast wasn’t the greatest idea, but it was the easiest thing to make. I was still sore from Niko’s training session where he had me balance on one leg while he tried to tip me over. Besides, inappropriate meals were part of my master plan to botch up my cooking week so badly that they’d never want me to do my rotation again.