"Do you want a lover? I ken you canna lie, so if you tell me you doona, I'll remove my hand."
"Stop this..." She was blushing furiously. An immortal who blushed at every turn. Incredible.
"Do you want a man in your bed?" he murmured, his thumb stroking higher until he found the silk she wore. He hissed in a breath.
"Fine!" she said in a strangled tone. "I'll tell you. I do want one. But it'll never be you."
"Why no' me?"
"I-I've heard about your kind. I know that you get mindless and savage, scratching and biting like animals - "
"What's wrong with that?" When she made that frustrated sound again, he said, "It's the females that scratch and do most of the biting as well. Should no' be so new for you, vampire."
At that, her face grew cold. "The next man I take into my bed will accept me for what I am and won't look at me with disgust just for the way I'm forced to survive. I want a man who goes out of his way to make me comfortable and content instead of the opposite. Which means you've disqualified yourself from the competition from night one."
She didn't understand, he thought as he slowly drew his hand away. Fate had settled them like this. He was stuck with her. Which meant there'd be no other competitors for either of them ever again.
Once Lachlain had stopped groping her under the table and the food arrived, he started his slow, sensuous love affair with his meal. He clearly relished every bite, so much that it almost made her want to eat as well instead of only pretending to.
At the end, Emma had to admit that their dinner filled with shifting plates and food flying - from Emma's clumsy silverware activity - wasn't unpleasant.
After the waiter cleared their plates, Emma saw the woman at the table next to them excuse herself after her meal. That's what human women did. When finished eating, they drew their purses into their laps and patted them, then went to the bathroom to reapply lipstick and check their teeth. As long as she was pretending...
But Emma didn't have a purse. Her purse had been ruined when she'd been thrown to the muddy ground by this Lykae across from her. She frowned, but still moved to stand. "I'm going to the ladies' room," she murmured.
"No." He reached for her legs, which made her jerk them back under the table.
"Pardon?"
"Why would you do that? I know you doona have those needs."
She sputtered with embarrassment. "Y-you don't know anything about me! And I'd like to keep it that way."
He leaned back, hands behind his head, expression casual, as if they weren't discussing something so personal. "Do you? Have those needs?"
Her face flamed. She didn't. And as far as she knew, other vampires didn't either. Valkyrie didn't, because they didn't, well, eat.
"Your blushing answered me. So you doona." Did nothing embarrass him?
She was alarmed to see he was getting that analytical look, the one that made her feel like an insect pinned by the wings beneath a microscope.
"How else are you different from human females? I know your tears are pink. Do you sweat?"
Of course she could. "Not for ninety minutes a week, as my country's surgeon general recommends." Good, she'd lost him. But not for long...
"Is it pink as well?"
"No! The tears are an anomaly. Okay? I am just like other women but for those things you crudely pointed out."
"No, you're no'. I watch the advertisements on the television. During the day, they're all about women. You doona shave, but your skin is smooth where they are. I went through your belongings and found that you doona carry the supplies with you as they do."
Her eyes widened as it hit her - what he meant. She stiffened, about to leap from the booth, when he stretched his leg out and dropped his heavy boot beside her, trapping her.
"There were rumors that vampire females grew infertile. Once a vampire male finds his Bride he does no' stray, so your species was depopulating. Is that no' why Demestriu tried to kill all of the females within the Horde?"
She'd never known this. She lowered her gaze, staring at the table as it appeared to wobble. The waiter had made a valiant effort to tidy up after her, but there were still crumbs. Crumbs from her. Because she was a freak who couldn't handle silverware and apparently couldn't have children either.
She'd never had a monthly cycle because she was infertile?
"Is that true?" he repeated.
She murmured, "Who knows what Demestriu was thinking?"
His voice less stern, he said, "So you are no' wholly like them."
"I guess not." She pushed her shoulders back. "But I still have a hairstyle I want to check and tales of a date gone bad that I want to recount, so I will be going to the restroom now."
"Come directly back to me." He bit out the order.
She dared a glare at him, then hurried away.
The restaurant shared its facilities with the bar, so she had to wind around men loitering throughout. It was like a video game maze fraught with opponents - any of whom could be vampires - but a time-out from humiliation seemed worth the risk.
Inside the sanctuary of the ladies' room, she crossed to the wall of sinks to wash her hands. She stared into the mirror, shocked anew at how pale she'd grown. Her cheekbones were sharp in her face from the weight she'd so rapidly lost. She was simply too young and too weak in general not to suffer immediate consequences from thirst. Hell, she was a walking homage to vulnerability.
She'd known she was weak. Had accepted it. And she'd accepted the fact that she couldn't even defend herself with a weapon. She could scarcely wield a sword, her archery was laughable - as evidenced by everyone laughing at her when she practiced - and her fighting? Well, she didn't exactly have the madskills going on.