Chapter 7
Max
Damon hadn’t been joking when he’d said he wanted us to get to know each other better, but I certainly didn’t mind the additional time spent “wooing” him.
Spoiling my mate fulfilled a long-buried part of me—a part I’d forgotten even existed—and that he considered gambling to be an acceptable courting display only proved how perfect he was for me.
Never mind that my strategy is less than ethical.
Of course, Damon didn’t yet know of my powers, so he had no idea I used my mind-reading abilities to win at the poker table. What he had agreed to—what he took almost as much pleasure in as I did—was serving as a distraction during the game.
And what a pretty little distraction he is.
We’d frequented the Royale together nearly every night over the last few weeks, and Damon now wore his adornments with confidence. The ash on his eyelids had been joined by a light dusting of rouge on his high cheekbones, and a sweep of blood red on his plush lips—all courtesy of Pearl.
Aside from keeping me feral, the makeup was doing its job. My fellow poker players could barely take their eyes off him, which caused them to make even stupider bets and calls than they already would have.
No compulsion required.
The only time I used this power on the unsuspecting Royale patrons was if they got too handsy with my mate.
However, we’d also discovered I enjoyed watching them try their luck—enjoyed how aroused he became from the illicit contact with strangers he’d never need to see again—knowing I was watching from the shadows, ready to swoop in and reclaim what was mine.
My perfect whore.
Damon was the ideal temptation for our prey, effortlessly exuding a fluidity that was both masculine and feminine, impossible to resist. The few women present—painted entertainment themselves—fawned over him, while the men were often hilariously confused by their attraction.
I’m not.
He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Despite also being someone attracted to others regardless of gender, Damon had needed reassurance that me wanting to see him painted up and preening had nothing to do with me wishing he were anyone other than exactly who he was.
The cock worship helps, I’m sure.
Once he fell into a nightly habit of accentuating his natural beauty, I couldn’t help noticing how much more confident he seemed, as if he were finally comfortable in his own skin.
He still dressed in a masculine manner—which I adored—even if he now wore his shirts partway unbuttoned, baring his flesh with nothing underneath.
Until now…
Upon arriving at the brothel earlier this evening, I’d discovered the doves’ laundry still hanging on the line behind the building. Since no imposing Madams or suspicious Irishwomen were there to stop me, I’d helped myself to something special for my mate to wear against his skin tonight.
Something just for me.
Just thinking about what Damon had on caused my gaze to trail over him like a caress from across the poker table.
“Fold,” he murmured, his gaze locked on mine as he set down his cards and gracefully rose from his chair with all eyes on him. “Tonight’s game is far too rich for my blood.”
I want your blood.
I want to gorge myself on it.
My attention to the game was now completely shot as I tracked his path to the bar—tracked the way his heart rate increased in anticipation of me inevitably following.
It had become increasingly difficult to ignore the way his blood called to me, especially as Damon enjoyed receiving bite marks where no one else could see. I was careful to never break the skin, willingly torturing myself since I knew what a single taste would do to my fragile resolve.
I need to turn him before I lose my goddamn mind…
After folding as well—much to the relief of my fellow players—I followed my mate to where he leaned against the bar with a shot of whiskey already waiting for me.
Unfortunately, as with human food, liquor had lost most of its taste for me. The only thing that got me drunk nowadays was the euphoria of a kill. Whiskey still burned on the way down, however, and that was exactly what I needed at the moment.
“You don’t want to play anymore?” Damon asked, a smirk twitching his lips.
He was referring to the poker game, of course, but I wished he meant my ruse as a human, so I could finally tell him what I was.
“I was far too distracted…” I stepped closer and ran a finger down his clavicle, toying with the edge of his shirt to reveal the hint of lace beneath, torturing myself further.
“It feels like a secret,” he whispered, grinning mischievously. “Like being someone else beneath the surface, but no one knows… Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, even though we were talking about different things. “Yes, I do.” You have no idea how much. “Do you like how it feels?”
Damon licked his lips, his amber gaze darting around as if someone might overhear. “I do, but mostly because it's a secret I’m keeping with you. I don’t believe I would find it as thrilling on my own.”
“No,” I replied as unexpected emotion welled up within me. “I don’t believe you would.”
I certainly haven’t.
In places where my kind was known, vampires and similar blood-sucking entities were seen as dangerously grotesque creatures. We were mindless beasts compelled to consume—to be avoided at all costs and dispatched at the earliest opportunity. Brutally. Permanently.
Mattie’s harsh words from weeks earlier floated to the surface of my mind. She’d called me a demon leading a cursed existence, and while there had certainly been an air of truth to her words in any culture, I took offense to her accusations of ill intent.
I didn’t choose this life.
But now I’ve found someone to share it with.
“Another round!” Damon joyfully called out, and the bartender immediately appeared to grant his wish.
“Are you trying to get me sauced, young man?” I teased before tossing back the second shot. “Trying to have your way with me?”
He huffed and emptied his as well before fiddling with the empty glass, avoiding my gaze. “Perhaps I’m trying to give myself some courage.”
Courage?
“What’s on your mind, pet?” I motioned for the bartender to refill our glasses. “You know all you need to do is ask for something—anything—and I’ll give it to you.”
Absolutely anything.
Damon shyly peeked at me through his long eyelashes before dropping his gaze. “Why haven’t you fucked me yet?”
Oh, is that what’s bothering you?
I leaned in close, loving how he immediately responded to my proximity. “I was under the impression you wanted me to court you. Has the pleasure I’ve provided in the bedroom not been to your liking?”
My mate closed his eyes and shuddered, perhaps remembering my tongue being buried in his ass just last night. “It has.” He swallowed thickly before meeting my gaze again. “I just want… I need… more.”
Tell me.
“You’re going to need to elaborate,” I calmly replied, hiding how eager I was to hear what he had to say. “In detail.”
He huffed, adorably flustered. “I don’t know how to explain it other than that I need you to be… rougher with me.”
I tensed, suddenly wary of where this was going. It wasn’t that I was opposed to, or incapable of, fulfilling his request. In fact, nothing sounded better than pinning my mate to the mattress and burying my teeth in his neck while I fucked him until dawn.
Behave, Max.
He’s not ready yet.
“That’s a dangerous request, pet…” I struggled to keep my tone even—to not focus on the song of blood in his veins. “Especially since you don’t know me that well yet—”
“I know you’re not the gentleman you pretend to be,” he snapped, drawing the attention of nearby patrons. “Goddamnit, Max, why are you holding yourself back—ah, shit!”
Oh no…
It all happened so fast. Damon slammed down his empty shot glass for emphasis, only to have it shatter beneath his hand. A woman gasped to my left, but all I could see was blood.
Damon’s. Blood.
“I’m fine,” he muttered when I grabbed his hand. “It’s just a scratch…”
My mate trailed off when I brought his palm to my mouth.
Running my tongue over the cut, I uncontrollably moaned, no longer able to hold myself back as the sweetest nectar I’d ever encountered danced over my tastebuds.
He tasted like heaven, if I believed in heaven.
He tastes like… salvation.
I’d at least had the sense to redirect the bartender and our fellow patrons’ attention with some light compulsion, but Damon had gone eerily still.
Oh, shit.
Shitshitshit.
Snatching my handkerchief from my breast pocket, I focused on wrapping his wound as I mentally scrambled for any excuse to justify my actions.
Completing my task, I straightened and cleared my throat. “Forgive me, Damon. That was… just a method I learned years ago to ensure there are no foreign objects left to cause infection.”
It’s not completely a lie…
The truth was, my saliva did have accelerated healing properties—a handy tool when leaving unsuspecting victims alive after feeding—but I wouldn’t be explaining that anytime soon.
I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t run.
Not that I would mind him running…
“Max.”
For the first time since I’d been turned, I was afraid—not of true death but of losing the one person that had made my life feel like my own again.
“Max, look at me.”
I hesitantly raised my gaze to find Damon staring at me, his pupils blown wide with a familiar, hungry expression I knew well.
“Take me back to the hotel. Please.”
Anything you want.
I threw a handful of bills on the bar—more than enough to cover our drinks and damages—before offering my arm to my mate and leading him out of the Royale.
The walk back to the Paris Hotel felt heavy with anticipation, and it was difficult not to focus on how Damon’s heart was pounding, but the only hesitation I saw from him was once we reached my room.
The only room he knows about.
I swung open the door, but Damon paused and turned his head, staring down the hallway, directly at my other room.
“Have you seen who’s staying there?” he asked—the first full sentence he’d spoken since the Royale.
“No.” Eager to get him away from the evidence and into my bed, I gently herded him over the threshold and closed the door behind us. “But if you’re loud enough, perhaps you’ll get to meet them after all.”
It’s only a matter of time.
Damon scoffed and strode to the bed before turning to face me. “Oh? Does this mean you plan to finally stop holding yourself back around me?”
He has no idea what he’s asking for.
“I don’t want to hurt you…” I carefully spoke, even if I could plainly hear how unconvincing I sounded. “Not until—”
“Until what, Max?” he gritted out, tossing aside his hat, coat, and gun belt before practically ripping off his shirt, revealing the secret camisole beneath. “Until I show you I can take it?”
My mouth dried up at the sight of linen stretched taut across his chest, at the whorls of hair peeking over the lace trim—at how innocent he looked in pure white.
Like an angel.
A devil in disguise…
Apparently determined to surprise me at every turn, Damon reached down and withdrew the knife he occasionally kept strapped to his boot, making me tense.
“I can take it Max,” he murmured, bringing the knife point to the top of his sternum before dragging the blade downward, only deep enough to break the skin. “Please, show me who you are…”
As blood welled to the surface—as the first drops fell to bloom red on virginal white—I knew there was no longer any hope of holding myself back.
Be careful what you wish for, pet.