Bulletproof Damsel - Amelia Hutchins Page 0,43

but tanned easily enough in the summer months. But it wasn’t spring in the Pacific Northwest. That meant tanning or even sun for that matter was months away. My breasts were perky, but on the smaller side, barely filling a C-cup with the help of hormones. My electric-blue eyes were my saving grace, directing the eye away from the freckles that covered my nose and cheeks, adding to the redhead stereotype in which I fit perfectly.

Shucking my clothes, I moved into the shower, sliding beneath the blissful heat spray. I washed my hair, lathering it, and repeating the process. Once it was clean from the craptastic day I’d had, I smothered my hair in conditioner. Rinsing it out, my fingers ran down my body and paused over the swollen nipple Rhys had sucked on, nipping it with his teeth. He’d taken my piercings, the backup silver that never left my body in the event that I needed it.

Asshole.

I exited out of the shower, drying off before I slipped into my clothes. Quickly braiding my hair into two parted sections, I stared at my pale reflection, rubbing my eyes. Rolling my dirty clothes up, I put them into the second pocket of my backpack, and then pulled the knit shirt back out, moving toward the garbage to toss it in before exiting the bathroom.

Rhys was seated on my bed, shirtless. He lifted his head, letting his eyes slide down my frame before they moved back up slowly. He didn’t speak for a moment, swallowing past the heat burning in his gaze. I rolled my eyes, staring anywhere but at him and his magnificent body.

“What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be off feeding or something?” I snapped dismissively, moving to the other side of the bed, setting my bag down before the smell of cinnamon hit my nose.

Turning toward the small table, I took in the food covering it. My stomach growled, and I padded on bare feet toward it, pausing to take in the assortment of food. Fresh fruits, stuffed French toast, cinnamon rolls, and an array of meats and cheeses with fancy crackers covered the entire tabletop, with a single bottle of whiskey sat in the middle.

I grabbed a cinnamon roll, bringing it to my nose, inhaling the delicious scent of freshly baked bread. It wasn’t store-bought. Someone had actually made it from scratch! I bit into it, moaning around the mouthful before closing my eyes at the orgasm happening to my taste buds. Polishing it off without care that I had an audience, I reached over the food, grabbing the whiskey, pouring a glassful, and holding it to my nose before scrunching it up at the aroma.

I still failed to see why people did that, or what purpose it had. It would still taste the same whether I sniffed the crap before or after I downed the cup’s contents. I took a long drink, turning to gaze at the male watching me through narrowed eyes.

“They made this stuff from scratch?” I asked, uncertain how they had accomplished it since I’d been in the shower. The cinnamon rolls were hot, as if they’d just come out of the oven moments ago.

“I keep several cooks on staff, and this one was cooking for the staff’s children. They enjoy waking up to freshly made biscuits and bread in the morning. Eat another cinnamon roll, woman. You’re too skinny. Didn’t they feed you at E.V.I.E.?”

“I’m not skin and bones. Just because I don’t have curves like your feeder, it doesn’t mean I’m skinny. I’m average, which, by the way, works for me. I don’t need your damn approval,” I seethed, turning back to the ruined meal as a strange feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “You can go.”

“Dismissing me?” he asked coldly.

“I am exhausted. You tried to strangle me today, and then I got to listen to you have sex for hours while I sat here starving. For the record, Van Helsing, I am mortal, as you should know since you keep throwing in my face. I need sustenance to maintain my mediocre figure, as you so delicately pointed out. I want my piercings back too. I weaken without silver, and your house seems to be lacking it.”

“Your figure is perfect. If I had tried to strangle you today, you’d be dead. I reacted badly, but I am a bit jaded where your bloodline and mine are concerned. I am sorry for overlooking the fact that you require food

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