Free Feral: Book One by Velvet DeHaven Page B

killer. Could I really accept that? It wasn’t like he was some psychopath killing for twisted gratification. He was a vampire. Was there a difference between him feeding from human beings, and human beings taking the life of innocent animals? After all, human beings were, at our very core, animals—mammals, if one wanted to get technical about the issue.
    I supposed the bigger question wasn’t whether or not I could accept his being a vampire and his having taken the lives of others, but whether or not I could accept breaking off my relationship with Simon and not having him in my own. And in the end, the answer was no. I couldn’t envision altering our relationship in any way, because I knew something would be missing, something that would mean I was less joyful, content, fulfilled.
    I was also having difficulties interpreting what mate meant, and I could not imagine that it would be an easy thing to integrate into my vocabulary, though it seemed I might have to. What did that mean? Was it just their term for… what? Lover? Partner? Wife? Surely it wasn’t the latter. I mean, I could only think of two things when it came to the word mate, and that was animals or the European term for friends. Of course, I had heard a phrase before about how wolves mate for life, so… maybe for vampires the term was equal to life-partners?
    I really did have a lot of questions to ask. 
    Regardless of the fact he would hear me calling him, I made my way to the living room where I speculated he was waiting, and sure enough, I was right.
    He rose when I entered the room and stopped a few feet away, leaning against the wall closest to me.
    “I have to ask you some questions,” I stated firmly, “and I’m not sure how. I’m going to feel pretty stupid if I’m wrong, but why are you telling me this? I mean, if I were someone unimportant, why would you need to tell me… y’know? I can’t see how my knowing Cole would have any weight on whether or not you told me any of this, unless…”
    “Unless what?”
    “Unless I’m wrong in my thinking.”
    “And what, amore mio, are you thinking?”
    “I’d rather not say, in case I’m wrong.”
    “You would not be.”
    Once again, I found myself temporarily short of breath. “Mates—what does that mean? If I’m your mate, does that mean… I mean, will you be… Will there be others?” I managed to choke out while trying to ignore the heat that spread from my face down my neck.
    “It means you are mine and I am yours, and if you chose to mate with me, I would be bound to you and you alone.”
    It was succinct, to the point, and sounded very final, and I wasn’t positive why I was okay with this. “I, um…” I swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry. My thoughts are pretty scattered right now, and I really don’t know what to say or ask next.”
    “It is quite all right. I suspect there is absolutely no circumstance in which telling a person that vampires do exist is normal. I would never expect you to be anything more than overwhelmed, to have a million questions. Indeed, I would be quite surprised if your thoughts were in perfect order.” He offered me a small smile of reassurance. “Please. Take all the time you need, and ask whatever questions you have.”
    “Why aren’t you cold?”
    “Am I not?” he shot back, a look of amusement written on his face.
    “Well, a little,” I responded embarrassedly. “But it’s not like you’re a block of ice. I thought vampires were supposed to be as cold as death, or something equally and dramatically poetic.”
    “Again,  amore,  it depends on the breed. Strigois and vetalas most certainly are. The moroi have rather chilly body temperatures, as do the pischachas. Sexual vampires, however cool to the touch, are the warmest of the breeds.
    “A vampire’s temperature depends on what they feed upon,” he said in much the same manner one would expect a physician to discuss clinical aspects of any given disease. “The strigoi