Moonlight's Ambassador (Aileen Travers Book 3)(36)

"I think someone grabbed my butt," he said with a disgruntled frown. I stifled my smirk and kept my smart-ass comment to myself. "Let's get this over with before I have to start removing hands. Do you know where we're going?"

I folded the map and stuffed it in my pocket without looking down, as I gave him a jaunty grin. "No clue. We may have to split up to find it."

He leveled a censoring look on me. "Nice try, but where you go, I go."

I shrugged and turned on my heel, setting off to make a circuit of the main area with Nathan trailing behind me. It was slow going as the crowd pressed in on us. Most trucks had a line twenty to fifty people deep. That didn't include the gawkers trying to get a look at the menus.

The fan favorite trucks, the ones that had already built a following, had lines so long that they had to double back on themselves. One of the trucks was from a fried chicken place located in the Short North, a trendy part of the city known for its art and food. The restaurant used its truck to extend its brand, reaching those hungry people who weren't up to trekking down to the busier part of the city or contending with its horrible parking.

"These are some oddly named restaurants," Nathan said. "Who’s going to want to eat at a place called the Sticky Bun or the Cat's Meow?"

I looked at the trucks he indicated, a bright blue one with cats all over it and a pink and yellow one with what looked like donuts.

"I would, for starters. The Sticky Bun has some of the best cinnamon rolls in the city."

Hmm, cinnamon rolls. I took a step in the truck's direction only to be brought up short by Nathan's hand on my elbow.

"Nice try. You've got a job to do, remember?" Nathan said with a flat look.

I sighed. "It'd only take a minute. The line is short in front of that one."

It was true. The line was only a few people deep, not because it wasn't good but because people came here for a meal, and the Sticky Bun was known for its dessert. Later in the evening, they'd probably do good business, but for now, it was pretty slow.

"You shouldn't be eating more food—especially after your ice cream last night."

I gave him a sidelong look but didn't say anything. Guess I was right to be cautious of the companions. It hadn't taken them long to reveal what they knew to the vampires, small though that information might be.

"You haven't had any stomach pains, have you?" Nathan said, his manner nonchalant.

My shoulders tightened, and my gait hitched before smoothing out. I took us toward an offshoot section of the festival. As it had grown larger over the years, the festival's organizers had taken over adjacent areas, including a smaller green next to the main one and a parking lot across the street.

"Because if you have, it would be the first sign that your body is starting to suffer effects from your diet."

"And what other effects might arise?" I asked.

Nathan's dark eyes came to me, and his face tightened as if I'd just confirmed a suspicion of his. "Your stomach will become more intolerant of solids. You’ll develop headaches as food puts more toxins in your body. You'll have slower healing, less strength. Eventually, you won't be able to tolerate the sun, and it'll cause you extreme pain. You'll be as weak and defenseless as if you haven't consumed blood in a week."

The longest I'd ever gone without blood was thirty hours, and by the end of it, I could barely function. It was the closest I'd ever come to a rampage, and I'm not entirely convinced I wouldn't have gone on one except for the fact that I was so stinking weak I could barely lift my arms. What would a week with no blood look like for me?

I didn't respond to his explanation, turning over his words and considering each point. The stomach pains had already arrived, and they'd nearly flattened me. Yesterday's dawn had been a welcome reprieve from them. I'd have to see about the rest of his claims. Part of me wanted to discount everything he'd said. I'd been eating solids for years. Granted, never a lot and not every day, but enough that I remained suspicious of his assertions. Wouldn't these symptoms have arrived sooner if they were going to come? Why start now?

"There's the food truck," I said, leaving the topic behind for now. I'd worry about this later, when I actually suffered from the effects. For now, I had a delivery to make.

The truck had a good-sized crowd in front of it, though not quite as large as the trucks in the main court.

"The Hungry Satyr?" Nathan squinted at the sign and then made a pained grunt. "Don't tell me its manned by a satyr."

I shrugged. "Okay, I won't."

"That's not even a good name," Nathan muttered. "Why doesn't he announce what he is to everyone he meets?"

"You sound like an old man right now," I told Nathan, bypassing the line and moving to the back of the truck and knocking.

"Hey! No cutting," a middle-aged man with glasses said. He had a bit of a belly and was wearing open toed sandals. "We've been waiting thirty minutes to place our order."

"Keep your sandals on. I'm not here for food," I snapped back, banging on the back door again.

"You better not be," the woman beside the man muttered.

Nathan chuckled, pleased that I was the one they were targeting with their verbal bad will. Neither one of those two would try anything physical even if I was here for food. They'd mutter and huff, but in the end let me have my way, content to shout their anger in my wake. At another time, I might have fucked with them just for the hell of it, but I had a schedule to keep and a babysitter to shake.