I looked beyond the door of the fridge to see him sucking back the last of the blood and toeing open the blue trash can.

“You could have told me that without my head in the fridge,” I stated, and his eyes turned to me as he quickly finished with the bag and tossed it in the bin in a way that looked almost ashamed.

What the fuck?

“You pick, or I can ask one of the boys to go out and get donuts or some other shit you want,” he said, dropping the lid on the bin and moving my way.

“What was that?” I asked.

“What was what?”

“The thing you just did.”

He stopped and focused on me, eyes blank.

Carefully blank.

“Drink blood, Delilah.”

“I know, Abel.”

“Have to do it, but I’ll do it quick so you don’t have to watch.”

I closed the fridge and faced off with him. “Honey, you’ve drawn from me.”

“I know, I was there,” he returned, his tone threaded with a sudden stiffness.

“And you left our beer and bullshitting fest upstairs yesterday to have your real lunch,” I reminded him.

“Your point?” he asked.

“My point is you’re you. That’s what you do. What you need. Why would it matter if I saw you doing it or not?”

“It’s not something humans do,” he told me as if I didn’t know.

“And?” I prompted.

“And, I saw your reaction the first time I did it. So I’ll save you from bein’ disgusted by it by not doin’ it in front of you, or if I have to, doin’ it quick.”

Oh my God.

“Honey, I’m not disgusted by it,” I said gently.

“Saw your reaction, Delilah,” he returned, no thread now, his tone was full-on stiff.

I threw out a hand. “Well, you know, it was my first time. Cut me some slack for that. But now, things are different.”

“How are they different?” he shot back. “I still drink blood.”

“It’s different because I know you better.”

“Again, that makes it different how?” he asked.

“I don’t know, it just does. It’s a part of you. And I’m a part of you,” I returned. “You’ve kissed me. You’ve held me. You’ve fucked me. You’ve made love to me. You’ve met my dad. You’ve met members of my family. You’ve slept beside me. You’ve come inside me, repeatedly. We’re connected.”

“Maybe we should quit talking about this,” he suggested, and I did not like that.

I didn’t because he clearly had some issue with this, an issue with something that might not be natural to me, but was not only natural but essential to him, he’d told me he thought he was a monster, and there was no way the things I was saying shouldn’t be getting in.