“I assure you the feeling is mutual,” he nearly snarls. He is burning, not with rage, but with desire.
“I should hate you.” Panic is rising in me alongside a growing need that mirrors his. I can’t need him. I can’t want him. I won’t. And I remind myself of all the reasons why. “You killed the master hunter. You killed—might have killed—would have killed—my brother!”
There’s fire in his eyes as he glares at me. I jut my chin out and glare right back. Our noses almost touch. I think of him the first night we met, calling me a monster, ripping me from my home. I think of him last night, his mouth on my body, filling me with a pleasure that shouldn’t be possible. How has this become so complicated?
“Just as I know I should hate you,” he growls, fangs shining. The sight of them should fill me with fear but instead…it’s excitement that surges through me. I’ve given him so much blood and yet my body is ready to give him more. Give him everything. “You were born to kill me. You have forged countless weapons that slay my kin.”
“They were Succumbed; you kill them too.”
He briefly considers this, but his verdict is to be only more frustrated. “You would use those weapons against me. You tried to. Even when you swore yourself to me you thought about placing a silver dagger between my ribs.”
“You wanted to use me to get what you wanted. You saw me as nothing more than a tool,” I counter.
“I wanted to be good to you but you made it very hard in those initial hours.” The very corners of his lips have a slight curl to them. There’s a thrill in this anger. A relief that’s just as good as his fangs in me.
Why do we thrive on hating each other?
No…this isn’t hate. This is denial. A want to hate. And that’s our permission and our forgiveness. There’s a part of us that thinks, if we can still hate each other, then it excuses the rest. It excuses last night. It excuses the growing desires that are going to tear us in two and stitch us back together as one.
All can be forgiven—this need and how we are about to act upon it—so long as we continue to fulfill our roles as enemies. Even if we’re not. Even if we’ve long stopped fitting neatly into them.
“I never wanted you to be good to me,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I wanted you to hate me. I still want you to hate me.”
“But I don’t.” His nose brushes against mine. Our lips are almost touching. I’m burning at his touch. “And that makes me want to—want you—even more.”
“Then let’s hate each other until we can’t stand it.” I meet his eyes. This is the moment before we break. The last breath we take on our own. “Let’s hate each other so we can forgive ourselves for wanting each other.”
“Every instinct tells me yes. But I could never hate my intriguing forge maiden,” he whispers, eyes dropping to my lips. “I don’t want to. I’ve acknowledged every reason why I should and now I will let them go. I forfeit them for you.”
There’s the truth of it. We thrive on our hate because it is our survival. And yet…yet…what if there was another way? What if I could find it, forge it? I am strong enough, capable enough…maybe, just maybe…
“I wish I could ignore all of this,” I breathe.
“I wish I had never taken you here.”
“I wish I had never become bloodsworn to you.”
“I wish I had never tasted you.” He licks his lips.
“Is it consuming you, too?” I don’t have to say what “it” is. We both know. I’m certain the memory of the night we shared has been on his mind almost as endlessly as mine.
“With every waking minute. I didn’t head to our chambers to even attempt sleep because I knew you would haunt me there too. You haunt me every moment I’m not touching you.”
I hadn’t even thought of sleep. The idea was the furthest thing from my mind and I wonder if that’s because of him. Did he plant the thought without realizing? Or did his energy alone drive me to the conclusion?
“How do we free ourselves from this torment?”
“I don’t know if I want to be free.” His gaze drops farther, to my neck. “You might be torture and temptation incarnate. But you are strength and power. You are damnation and salvation trapped in curves that should be forbidden.”
A tickle of pleasure slips down my spine like an invisible fingertip. I swallow. He’s looking at me again with those ravenous eyes. And, once again, I don’t want him to stop.
I give in. “Do you want to?”
He lets out a low groan, pulling me closer. Our hips are flush. One arm wraps around my shoulders; the other hand is in my hair. I am pulled taut with delicious tension. More. More. Then release.
“I want to more than I’ve ever wanted anything. So much it terrifies me.” His fangs are little crescent moons determined to dig into me. I quiver. I want them to, even though there’s no reason for it. He’s not wounded anymore. I can’t use the excuse of survival to explain this away.
“Did you drink the blood with the rest of them?” The mere idea of another’s blood touching his lips ignites an ugly streak within me.
