The Blackest Night by Davenport Fiona

Author:Davenport, Fiona
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-20T00:00:00+00:00

6

Stephan

As I pulled Bronwyn into my arms and was about to whisk her back to our bedroom, her stomach growled. I laughed as her cheeks bloomed with a pretty shade of pink. “I’m sorry, angel,” I murmured as I brushed my thumb over the soft blush. “I should have thought to feed you.”

“Aren’t you hungry, too?” she asked curiously. “Didn’t you say you were rushing to the party? Were you going to eat there...?” She trailed off as her eyes rounded with whatever realization had popped into her head. “Wait...were you going to drink from someone at the party?” she nearly shrieked. But it wasn’t horror that I saw in her deep brown eyes. It was jealousy.

I threw my head back and laughed heartily while wrapping her in a big hug. “You’re too fucking adorable. And sexy as fuck when you get possessive.”

“I’m not possessive,” she grumbled into my shirt.

Laughing again, I let up on my hold and kissed her temple. With one finger, I lifted her chin so I could see her beautiful face. “Too cute.” Then I shook my head in answer to her question. “No, angel. Daywalkers despise the taste of blood directly from the source. We usually stick to bagged blood.”

Bronwyn’s nose wrinkled just the tiniest bit, and I bit my lip to hide my smile when I realized she was miffed as she stated, “So my blood is revolting to you?”

I wanted to laugh again, except she seemed genuinely upset by the idea. Dropping my head into the crook of her neck, I inhaled deeply before scraping a fang lightly along her delicate skin and smiling when she shivered. “Your blood is the exception, my sweet mate. My body craves your blood as much as it desires to be buried inside you.”

Her plump lips parted and formed a little O, and I couldn’t resist stealing a kiss. But before it got out of control, I tore my mouth away, took her hand, and led her to the kitchen.

Bronwyn gasped when we entered the large, bright room. It was a chef’s dream kitchen—or so I’d been told by the designer when I’d renovated the house after buying it a few years ago. I didn’t cook much, so it hadn’t been a room I paid much attention to. However, I’d let the man have free rein over it, and now, seeing the look of wonder and excitement on Bronwyn’s face as she eagerly looked around, I knew I’d made the right decision.

“This kitchen...wow,” she breathed. I guided her to a large island in the middle of the room and helped her into one of the chairs, all the while her eyes bounced around, taking everything in.

“I take it you like to cook?”

She nodded, but her cheeks dusted with pink once again. “Yes, although I’ve had very little experience. My mother and I used to bake together, and I often helped with dinner. After my parents died, I went into foster care and wasn’t allowed in the kitchen in my foster homes.

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