Page 11 of Bite Me

“But you’re not,” he says calmly, leaning over the table. “Your heart’s racing, but you’re not scared. You want to know why I’m so interested in you, and you’re not easily swayed. Not even when I asked you to come to an undisclosed location.”

It was a test to see if I was willing to do something reckless and stupid, and I undoubtedly failed. Is that why he’s angry?

“For someone who hates me so much, you spend a lot of time thinking about me.”

“I do.”

My heart responds to his admission.

“I want you to be my source.”

I swallow. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ll find I’m not really the joking type.”

“Why would you want me to be your source?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“No, I mean, you hate me. And I’m not in the Donor Program. Don’t you already have a source?”

“I can find a work-around for you.”

“I know you’re filthy rich and can get just about anything you want. But my blood is off-limits. I’m . . . not using it like some bartering chip.”

Any glimmer of interest deflates into boredom. His cheek falls into his palm. “That’s too bad. I thought you’d be interested.”

“So that’s it, then? You won’t back my nomination?”

“Not without getting what I want.” He takes a long, drawn-out gulp of the brown liquor in his glass.

“I knew it. Only you would make me get dressed up and get my hopes up for nothing.”

He’s too pleased for my liking, with a barely there smile at the corner of his lips.

I motion to the waiter. “Can you box this up for me? I want to go home.”

“What do you mean? This is disappointing for me, too.”

The dishes disappear from the table to the kitchen, and there’s nothing but a clean cloth between the two of us.

“More disappointing than you torturing me with an ultimatum?”

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair like the smug asshole he is. Surely, an Everhart can get good blood from just about anywhere. So why me?

“You never answered my question. Why ask me if you hate me?” I cross my arms, wincing when my finger nicks the inside of my palm.

“Your hand. Let me see.”

“What? No. Answer my question.”

He holds out his hand from across the table, waiting until I relinquish mine.

“It wasn’t a request.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

He motions to another person in the corner, and they bring over a tray full of bandages and healing ointments. I wait while they redress it.