Page 11 of Hungry Like the Wolf

“I showered before I came,” he blurted out and felt his face heat immediately after.

“What?”

He was mortified. “You keep smelling. I worried it was me but I took a shower right before I came.”

“Oh,” she said, color rising in her own cheeks, her mouth rounding around that word again. She shook herself. “I’m so sorry. I just smelled… Never mind. I’d love to hear more about you. You said you’re new in town. What brought you to World’s End?”

The heat was a physical part of him now. He felt his vision slide sideways, the way it did once when he was growing up and played ball with his friends all afternoon with no water. He suddenly felt lightheaded.

He swallowed. “Oh, I moved out here with my roommate. Friend. Callum. He came out here to find someone.”

“Did he?”

Robbie nodded. “He found her. And then he found his wife.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. He met his wife after moving here?”

“No, she’d left him a tho—a long time ago.”

“So what do you do for work?”

He felt his consciousness dip, just a ripple on the surface. “I’m an audio erotic entertainer,” he said, leaning his head back in the chair. “And I work at the vintage shop in town.”

He suddenly felt drunk. That was the only explanation for what came out of his mouth next.

“And before that, I was a vampire blood donor.”

He closed his eyes. Heard Nadja sniff. Three times, the third sniff extending into a prolonged inhale.

What had he just said? She was so pretty. And this chair was so comfortable, even if she kept the thermostat at a hundred degrees. And how was she wearing such a heavy sweater in this heat? What had they been talking about? Vampires? That seemed like an odd thing to discuss in therapy.

“Robbie, do you have any wolves in your family?”

He slurred when he answered, “No Wolffs.”

“Not Wolffs,” she said. “Wolves.”

She put such a funny emphasis on the v. He wished he’d had his eyes open to watch her slightly bite her bottom lip on the sound. He sank lower in the chair.

“Robbie,” she said, and he felt a hand pushing on his shoulder. That hand was freezing. Her hands were freezing. He groaned and grabbed them, pressing them to his cheeks, sighing in relief at how good they felt against his feverish skin.

“Robbie,” she repeated, gently moving his head back and forth.

“How long have you been a donor?”

“Off and on since I was seventeen. It’s good money,” he mumbled.

“When was the last time you donated blood to your vampire friend?”

“Six weeks ago,” he said, his voice sounding very far away.

“And when did you start noticing your symptoms?”

“A month ago.”

“Godsdamnit,” she said, the gentle tone gone from her voice. She yanked her hands away from his face and went to the windows, drawing the curtains tightly closed. Robbie opened his eyes a crack when he heard the snick of a lamp turning on.

“Godsdamnit,” she muttered again. He heard papers shuffling and closed his eyes again, sweat pouring down his face now.