With a look that smacked of ‘oh please’, Kendal rolled her eyes. She wasn’t being ‘silly’, she was making shit up as she went along in an effort to annoy the person who had succeeded in pissing her off. And it was the only way she knew how without overreacting even by her standards. She seemed to like him enough to not want to involve him in any reputation destroying games--games that may also end up with her being destroyed--and really didn’t think that actual insults would fly. So fine. Fine. She was essentially kicking and stamping her feet. Whatever.
But that she wasn’t expecting. Maybe her priorities were screwed--the first thing she actually noticed was that she could reverse in these boots at that speed and still walk perfectly well--but Kendal’s alarm did not spring from the fact a vampire had her by the throat. That jolt of panic was because anyone had her by the throat at all. No one laid a finger on her like that. Ever. It took a moment for her to remember to breathe, the tension fuelled by her current outrage rendering her respiratory system temporarily useless. Yes, she was technically terrified. Her limbs refused to move when she wanted to thrash and scream at him. Childish fury was winning, however. She was angry because he had frightened her again and furious because he was insulting her. Worse still, he was telling her what she did and didn’t want. She didn’t care if his logic was sound because she wasn’t particularly listening to it any more. She had set the bar and he was refusing to meet it. “Paint me the good-fucking-Samaritan then,” there would be no apologies for her language. “Yes, I do.” Somehow, kicking at his shin seemed like it would prove her point. It hurt her more than it hurt him.
Eric wasn’t the type to spite people for the sake of spiting people. In fact, there was very little spite in him at all. But she was wearing his patience very thin and if she didn’t learn now, she would go and taunt another vampire. One that wouldn’t be as forgiving as he was. And, so, you know what? Fine, whatever. So be it. Pressing her up against the wall of whatever store they were right next to, Eric tilted her head back and pierced a jugular. And, as luck would have it, she was exactly the blood type needed. Fantastic. He opened his mouth opened to let the blood flow in. It was almost heady, he could taste the alcohol in her blood. Faint, but there. And, for someone who had specifically deprived himself of blood other than the cleanest, willingly donated blood, knowing she wasn’t perfectly willing excited the animal deep within him.
Once the feeding began, it was increasingly difficult to stop. Nothing could beat the taste and texture of fresh, warm blood. Sure, you could heat it up crudely in a microwave but it couldn’t compare. Somewhere in the very back of his brain, a voice was telling him to stop, to pull away because he had already taken more than he intended, more than she should be giving. And, yet, another part of him was telling him that she could survive losing another few drops. And that she had asked for it. And....then there was nothing but the moment, her skin underneath his lips and her blood nourishing him. It was almost romantic.