She didn’t know. In the interest of opening up more, she admitted, “I’ve never bitten anyone but you. Well, except for my own wrist.” Vampire masturbation.

He inhaled sharply. “If I saw you do that, I might spontaneously come.” Then the rest of her admission hit him. “I was your first?” His tone couldn’t have been smugger.

“Yep, your blood converted me. I can’t go back to bagged.”

He grinned. “It’s that good. I’d wondered if you like mine because it’s black.”

“Maybe red blood would taste different coming from the flesh. Like the difference between fresh and packaged food.” Even so, it could never compare to Rune’s. “I’ve got time to figure it all out.”

His grin faded. “You expect to drink indiscriminately? Only Horde vampires do that. They take so many memories their eyes grow red and their minds rot.” He’d been relaxed, but now irritation simmered.

“You’re jealous to think of me biting another, huh? It is kind of like sex—with the licking, and the lips, and the penetration. Just think, other guys would react the way you did. I’d get blood; they’d get a nut. Just as nature intended.”

He didn’t say anything, but his fists clenched.

Exciting! “Well, it’s not like I have to worry about any of this right away. I’m drinking only from you.” She cast him a nonchalant smile. “Currently.”

The host returned, interrupting the tension at the table. He set down a decorative jug, similar to the one from earlier, and two small glasses. When he poured the clear liquid, the strength of the alcohol stung Jo’s nose.

Rune sipped it, nodding his approval. As the host walked away, Rune shot the glass, used his fey speed to down hers as well, then poured another round.

“Do you always drink so much?”

“I’m drinking for two.”

“Ohhh. I would get tipsy from your blood?”

“Let’s find out.” He turned to face her, his big frame concealing her from view. He used a claw to pierce his forefinger. “Look at your gaze lock on my blood. You think you could give it up for another’s so easily?”

She grasped his hand. “I never said I didn’t love yours.”

In the lantern light, his irises darkened to the deepest plum as he rasped, “Suck.”

She pulled his finger to her mouth, closed her lips over it, and drew. His blood did taste different tonight.

He stifled a groan, using the heel of his other palm to adjust his erection. “Look at me when you feed.”

She gazed up, and he murmured, “That’s it. Fuck, I could come right here.”

Her claws dug into his skin. She knew the feeling!

“You love my taste.”

Growing light-headed, she eased her suck, but he said, “Ah-ah, a little longer.”

She took a few more swallows, then released him, licking her lips.

He palmed himself again. “How was your dinner?”

“Delicious as ever, but with a kick.”

As if she’d proven some point, he said, “That’s what I thought.” His good mood was restored. “And how are you feeling?”

She couldn’t stop grinning. “Wonderful.”

“I suspected it would hit you quickly. The alcohol will get into your system much faster than it does mine.”

“Is that stuff the strongest you’ve ever drunk?”

“In the realm of Pandemonia, the demons make a brew called lava liquor that will put you to your knees.”

He was so world(s)ly. Was it any wonder he fascinated her? She put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in both hands as she stared at him. “How many realms have you been to? Wait—lemme guess—you can’t count that high.”

“Exactly.” A hint of a smile curved his sexy lips.

She sighed. “Remind me to figure out how high you can count. What’s your favorite world?”

He held her gaze. “Right now, Earth is ranking very high.” Flirtatious Rune was irresistible.

“Would you have come here if not on a mission?”

“I visit on occasion. But Tenebrous—the home of the Møriør—has been very far from Gaia and its planes. Tracing that distance can be demanding, even for immortals our age. The realm is moving closer as we speak, but still takes days to get there.”

“Realms can move?”

“Ours can.”

“Tell me about the Møriør. How many are there?”

He seemed pleased by her interest. “Including myself, ten. But we’ll eventually be a dozen. Møriør means twelve. Or soul’s doom. Most of us have been together for thousands of years.”

“How did you get involved with them?”

“I was in a dungeon. Orion, our leader, freed me. He’s descended from gods, very powerful.”

She laid her hand on Rune’s forearm. “Why were you imprisoned?”

“Long story short—”

“Lemme stop you right there. If it concerns you, I will never want the short story.”

He gave her a considering glance, but she could tell he’d liked that. “Very well. My father was the king of the fey kingdom of Sylvan. My mother was a slave he used. When I was born, he spared my life—against custom—but didn’t give me a life worth living. He died when I was fifteen. His widow, Queen Magh, forced me to become an assassin by holding my mother’s life over me. I later learned she was already dead.”