“I couldn’t, all I could think of was you. I don’t want anyone else—in blood or body. Nothing will ever taste as sweet as you.”
“Well, you need to keep up your magic to fight off the curse.” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s deeper, almost sultry.
“Floriane…” he murmurs, eyelids growing heavy.
“One condition.” I rise to my toes to murmur in his ear. My hands splay across his strong chest for support. “I taste you after. Give me your power. Keep me drunk on it.” Give me that sweet haze of magic. I’ll need it for what I want to do in the smithy. I need it for my own satiation.
“I will until your body gives out and you can no longer handle me,” he repeats his words from the night of our vow and descends on me. His hard body presses against mine, pinning me to him. Ensnaring me with muscle and velvet.
I bite my lower lip in pain as his fangs pierce my flesh; I exhale delight as all sensations fade away. There are no aches in my muscles, no bruises or scratches from our long journey into the depths of the castle. My corporal form is gone, locked in his arms for safekeeping, as my consciousness dives into the well of power between us.
This magic, blood magic, is fed by us both. By the exchanging of power—his and mine. My fingers creep up the firm plane of the front of his shirt, seeking out the mark at the base of his throat. He growls, biting harder as my nails outline my blood mark on him.
A moan escapes me.
He grips my rear, hoisting me up onto the table. My legs are around him on instinct. Ruvan tips me back, better exposing my neck and chest to his mouth and hands.
It should hurt. I should be screaming. But heat drips down my torso like blood, and pools in the pit of my stomach. All the racing thoughts I had from before are stilled. This is exactly what I wanted.
The gift of his bite and body is over too soon. He pulls away. I try and hold on, but he won’t let me and I slip off the table. Ruvan locks his eyes with mine. His hair has fallen into his face, a moonlit mess. His golden eyes shine from the shadows his furrowed brow casts, contrasting with the sharpness of a painter’s brush against his pale flesh—as striking as his bloody lips. Ruvan moves his hands to my face. One of his thumbs glides over the swell of my cheek a little too easily. Lubricated by blood.
He drags his tongue slowly across his fangs, carving a line into the muscle and filling his mouth with his own blood. I realize what he is about to do a mere second before he does it. A whimper escapes my lips. Needy. Shameless.
I love it. Make me beg for you, Ruvan. My insides have turned molten. Give me power, give me life.
His lips crash onto mine.
I grip him tighter, pulling him closer as I taste both of us on his tongue. He tips my head, I release my jaw, the kiss deepens. His fangs graze against my lower lip. More blood. More power. More of the purest pleasure that should have never existed for me, and now I can’t get enough. This is everything that was denied to me in the hamlet and now everything that I want. That I might have always wanted if I’d ever let myself even try to imagine.
And yet, even as I indulge in him, a scrap of common sense—of my dignity as a human of Hunter’s Hamlet—returns to me. The heat in my lower stomach begins to boil with conflict. What am I doing? the woman who was raised in the hamlet asks from the corner of my mind. This is the vampir lord!
I release him, shoving him away. The world tilts slightly; I wonder how much blood I’ve lost. But thanks to his blood surging through me I can stand tall. We’ve intertwined ourselves deeper still. I can almost hear his thoughts now.
“You…” He can’t form words while he licks his lips.
“I can’t—We can’t—I don’t but I also—I can’t think clearly right now—You should go.” I stumble over my words and adjust my clothes, wondering when they became so skewed. I was certainly very aware of his hands moving…but I didn’t think he was touching me that much. Everything is a pleasurable blur. “I have work to do.”
Ruvan steps forward; his fingertips graze my arm. “The work will keep. Come back with me to my quarters. Stay with me tonight.” His eyes are still drunken. I hate how deeply his lust still stirs me. Even when I have just satiated that need it threatens to return again. Maybe this is why I was always denied carnal pleasure. It’s a distraction. A delicious, decadent distraction.
“We have what we needed. I need some time alone to my thoughts. Please, go.” I say the last word with the edge of a command. Hurt has him retreating. He’s confused by my demeanor.
Good, so am I.I’m a walking contradiction right now and his presence is a reminder of all the reasons why. I can’t just erase, or ignore, a lifetime of training for a few moonlight kisses, however good they are.
Ruvan leaves without another word. But I can feel him—his restless, toe-curling, fiery energy—up until the moment that I presume he falls asleep. Because then the world is still, and I’m finally able to get work done.
