Read Hunted (The Tinder Chronicles) for Free Online Page B

I whispered, “Say something,” my voice thin and scratchy.
    Instead of replying, he
used his fangs to tear open his wrist. I flinched, both at the sight of those
teeth and at what he’d just done. Almost all vamps filed their fangs down so
they could blend in with the human population, leaving only hunters’ second
sight as a way to identify them. Not Bane, though. Apparently, he was out and
proud.
     I pulled back
reflexively when he stuck his wrist in front of my mouth, and he demanded, his
voice dangerously low, “Drink my blood, Tinder. It’ll heal you.”
    “No.”
    “Do it, or so help me
God, I will hold you down and force-feed you.”
    It was a well-known
fact that vampire blood had the power to heal humans, but that was a line I
really didn’t want to cross. “No,” I said again, trying to sound firm. “I don’t
want this. I don’t want anything from you.”
    A low growl rumbled in
his throat as he climbed on top of me, straddling my thighs, and held his
slashed wrist right above my mouth. Even though he was furious, he was being
really careful, arching over me so he didn’t put any pressure on my broken
ribs. “Stop being so stubborn, Tinder. You’re minutes from going into shock,
and I think you may be bleeding internally. Surely you must know I’m not
bluffing about force-feeding you.” Bane’s English accent was normally slightly
diluted from living in the States, but when he was angry it ratcheted right
back up again, overshooting the Queen’s English and teetering on the brink of
Cockney.
    I watched him for a
long moment, the rage in his green eyes churning like a storm at sea. “Why are
you so angry?” I asked.
    “Because you fucking wanted to die! ” He yelled it, then launched himself off the bed and stood over
me. “I saw your face a moment before you thought you were going to hit the
ground. And you bloody well looked happier than I’ve ever seen you! It makes me
wonder why I’ve spent so much time trying to keep you alive when you’re
completely suicidal!”
    “I’m not suicidal,” I
said quietly, the words punctuated by my fast, shallow breathing. “I’ve just
always known this job is going to kill me. I accepted that a long time ago. So
when I thought my number was up…I guess I was at peace. I felt like I’d done
all I was supposed to do and could just let go. If I looked happy, that was why.”
    “Christ, Tinder,” Bane
muttered, pushing his dark brown hair back from his face with both hands. After
a few moments, he sat beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
    My breathing was
becoming more labored, and the relentless pain was really starting to wear me
down. “Take me to a hospital,” I whispered. Hunters almost never went to
hospitals, because we wanted to avoid drawing the attention of the police with
our usually suspicious-looking injuries. But I knew it was my only alternative,
aside from Bane.
    “No. Stop being so damn
pig-headed and drink from me. You can’t possibly spend weeks with both arms in
casts, it would leave you completely defenseless.”
    He kind of had a point
there. I stared at him for a while, brows knit as I weighed my options.
Eventually, the pain wore me down, and I relented. “Let’s do this quickly,
before I change my mind.”
    His wrist had completely
healed by now, so he tore it open again and held it out to me. “I can’t believe
I’m doing this,” I muttered, then fought back my gag reflex and experimentally
ran the tip of my tongue over his wrist.
    The moment I swallowed,
warmth and energy flooded me. It was an absolute rush, more powerful than any
drug, and I found myself lunging for his wrist. He pressed it gently to my lips
and I drank deeply, hungrily, my eyes sliding shut. It was so good, so
nourishing and healing, its taste surprisingly palatable.
    Bane let me do this for
a long time, the pain easing and my body beginning to mend itself as I drank.
When I finally ended it, he stood up and said, “You’re