Or as if I’m the poison itself.
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around myself, thankful for the thick, dependable coat that keeps me warm. I wish I had a suit of impenetrable armor, to keep me safe from this man.
But there’s nothing that can come between us right now.
All I have left are my wits and my tongue… and the fact that I’m not dead yet.
Calm down. If he wanted to harm you, he would have done so already. It’s obvious that he wants only one thing from you.
I remember what he did to me.
His sharp fangs, sinking into my skin. The exquisite pain. And the rush of warmth that came afterwards…
Oh, my Goddess.
I glance away, unable to meet his eyes as my body betrays me; as my heart flutters wildly and heat seeps through me.
“Who are you?” I demand. “Why do you keep hauling me into your arms and stealing me away against my will?”
“Finley Solisar…” His voice is strained. Dangerously so. It draws my attention back to his face. He rubs his hand over his handsome features and lets out a shuddering sigh.
The way he looks right now… it isn’t cruel or cold or savage, as I’d expected.
I don’t really understand it, but he almost appears…
Vulnerable.
“I… need… to drink from you. I can’t explain. It’s beyond my control. But I swear on my mother’s grave that I will not harm you. So, I beg of you, allow me to take from you again… like before.” He implores me with his eyes, which are the color of rubies.
And ever so slightly, they glow.
“Why are you even asking?” My voice comes out colder than I intended. “I’m no match for you. You could easily overpower me, just like you did before, so why bother seeking my consent?”
His eyes widen a fraction. “I’m trying not to turn into a complete monster here.”
“So you expect me to say yes because your need is so great, and because you asked? Is that going to make you feel better about all of this?”
“I was hoping you would understand, because the alternative is not so pleasant.” He takes a step forward, the unholy glow in his eyes intensifying. “And I have reached my breaking point.”
His nostrils flare. He inhales deeply.
His thirst is palpable. The air around him almost crackles with tension.
“At least you asked this time,” I say stiffly, as my eyes drop to the collar of his shirt, which is unbuttoned… enough to reveal a glimpse of sculpted perfection underneath. “And because you did a good deed for me back then, I’ll take your words and intentions as earnest.”
After all, he did help Aderick.
And I really don’t think he wants to harm me. I’d much rather cooperate than have him take me by force.
I shrug off my coat, letting it fall to the floor. I pull down the woolen neck of my sweater and tilt my head to one side. “Consider this a token of my gratitude,” I say stiffly, “for saving my brother’s life.”
“That will have to suffice, for now.” His voice cracks. He takes another step forward, his movements like water; impossibly fluid and graceful. There’s no way anyone could mistake him for human.
“Wait!” I snap, holding up my hand.
His glare could melt iron. “What?” I catch a glimmer of sharp fangs. Fingers trembling, he reaches out and brushes my hair away from my neck.
Danger radiates from him.
I push on in spite of the cold-but-hot knot forming in my chest. “I have one condition.”
He looks down at me, eyes narrowing, his expression regal and terrible.
I can almost imagine what he’s thinking.
What audacity. You aren’t in any position to be setting conditions.
“Tell me,” he rasps.
“When you’re done with… me, you’re going to explain everything.”
What kind of creature are you, that you need my blood to survive?
The demon doesn’t say a word. All of a sudden, he’s by my side, his fingers shockingly gentle as he tucks my hair behind my ear. “I won’t harm you,” he whispers. “Just be still.”
I close my eyes, tensing in anticipation. His fingers slide across my jaw. He tilts my head. His other arm goes around my waist.
He pulls me closer, until I can feel his hard, powerful body through my thick woolen tunic, and to my surprise, he’s warm.
And he smells warm, too; faintly of smoke and spice and leather and parchment and male.
Suddenly, his mouth is on my neck, gently clamping down on the area above my collarbone. I feel a sharp, twin-pinpoint sensation as his fangs pierce my skin, but it isn’t as painful as last time.
The pain quickly gives way to heat and the molten sensation of his lips against my skin.
As he drinks, he holds me tighter, one arm curled around my waist, his other hand caressing the back of my neck, fingers sliding through the loose strands of my hair.
I close my eyes.
I can’t believe I’m doing this again.
And I don’t mind it.
The tension flows out of him. His terrible urgency relents. His touch becomes gentle; almost tender.
Then, at last, he stops.
His warm tongue glides across the place where he bit me. His lips linger for a moment, exerting slight pressure.
My legs turn weak.
What was that?
He lets me go, withdrawing his big, warm body and his gentle hands, taking a step back so that I’m looking up at him as he wipes the blood from his lips with the back of his hand.
Slowly, intentionally, he licks the blood from his skin and stares back at me.
He wears a slightly glazed expression. The unearthly glow in his eyes has faded.
“Thank you, Finley,” he says quietly. “For not falling apart in the face of what must seem incomprehensible.” He gestures toward a nearby sofa; studded and made of richly patinaed brown leather. It looks worn and comfortable. “Please, sit. Oh, don’t look like that. I’m not going to bite you again.”
Warily, I glance around the room. We seem to be in a study or an office of sorts. Books line the walls from floor to ceiling. My eyes widen as I scan the spines. Some are beautifully bound and embossed with gilt lettering. Some are so ancient they’re falling apart.
Vast windows, crossed with black steel frames, look out onto yet another snow-blanketed courtyard. A grove of stately blue cedars stands in the center, drooping branches thickly laden with pure white snow. In front of the window is a huge, leather-topped wooden desk. Books and papers are neatly arranged on top, alongside ink-pots, pens, and a wooden box containing a brass wax seal.
It’s an office. A big, sumptuous one, filled with meticulously crafted furniture that’s been built for purpose, not show. It’s warm and comfortable and undeniably masculine.