TEN #3
Yet… He had defended me back there, shoving me out of harm’s way.
A gesture of goodwill, even if we were both likely fantasizing about ways to kill the other if things didn’t go our way.
And perhaps most astonishing of all… He’s offering me a choice.
Even if every word drips with manipulation, it carries a startling human quality rather than a vampire’s hypnotism.
I worry my lower lip with my teeth. Feeding on me won’t turn me—that requires a far more deliberate exchange, with the vampire forcing the victim to swallow their own cursed blood after a thorough draining. And Dante’s never turned anyone—or so he claims.
One minute. I’ll give him one minute to drink from me, and not a second more.
“Fine,” I say. “Just this once.”
Dante blinks, eyes going wide. He smiles, and it’s not wicked—it’s a breathless, happy thing. “Really?”
I rub my temples. “Don’t make me come to my senses.”
He nearly trips over himself in his haste to stand. He comes to kneel by me, hands grasping my waist.
Heavenly Father, forgive me.
“Come. Allow me,” he murmurs.
He guides me onto my back, supporting my weight until I feel the nip of cool, packed earth against my upper back.
My heartbeat plucks a frightened rhythm as I look up at him, haloed by the starry sky behind dark, latticed branches.
I thrust my hand into a fold of my skirt, fingers trembling as they close around a slender, rough-hewn stake.
Dante chuckles, his deep voice gentler than I expected. “You don’t need that.”
But it doesn’t stop him from moving into position, straddling me and brushing locks of my ashy black hair off my neck. I touch a shaky hand to the glass-beaded cord around my neck, pulling it higher, out of the way.
If any of my sisters ever saw this…
No. They’d never know.
Our eyes catch, and there’s this thrill in Dante’s gaze that makes my pulse drum even quicker. Try as he might to deny it, he’s enjoying this. As he leans down, I put two fingers to his lips, forcing him to pause.
“Not a single bit more than you need,” I rasp, flicking my eyes down to where my hand still white-knuckles the stake. “Or I’ll drive this into your heart before you can utter a prayer.”
Dante smiles, and for a moment I feel like I’m talking to D’Agonsito again—the guise of a gentleman. “Of course not.”
He kisses the back of my hand before guiding it down to my side. My gown already exposes my shoulders and collarbone, leaving nothing else between us. Our chests are flush as he moves in—his soft lips brushing my skin, dragging along the column of my neck before his fangs sink in.
I seize, a whimper caught in my throat. It feels like two needles piercing me with a sudden, intrusive sting.
But as the seconds pass, it doesn’t feel the way I expected.
Dante fists a hand in my hair, holding me steady as he continues to feed—a strange, tugging sensation as my blood is pulled away bit by bit. I breathe out a long, gusting sigh.
The initial pain fades into a strange coolness. A tingling sensation washes over my mind, circumventing the terror and anxiety that had paralyzed me just moments before. I’m aware of blood leaving my body, aware that he’s feeding on me, but—
It’s almost…pleasant.
My worries about being killed, about the Order discovering this sin—it all feels so distant now.
My grip on the stake loosens as tension melts from me, limb by limb.
The shapes of tree branches and the moon above sharpen and blur.
Colors explode into impossible vibrancy.
It’s breathtaking—like being trapped in that beautiful space between dreaming and living.
How much time has passed?
Does it matter? I’m tempted to shut my eyes and simply drift into the numbness.
No—I can’t lose myself. My sisters need me, and this mission is far from over.
My eyes fly open, the world sharpening back into painful clarity. A strangled protest claws out of my throat. I squirm, shoving at Dante’s chest. He pulls off me, a thin sheen of blood smeared across his mouth—my blood. He looks nearly as wide-eyed and breathless as I feel.
“That’s enough,” I pant.
He nods, dismounting to recline beside me.
His tousled hair is more mussed than usual, adding to the feverish afterglow.
More than ever, he looks like a wicked prince.
Dante wipes blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb, watching me all the while.
He’s savoring every drop of it—of me—like it’s liquid gold.
Even in the flickering firelight, I can see the shift in him—his posture straightening, a healthy flush to his cheeks. The lingering wounds on his chest are melting into nothing. In seconds, it’s like the bear had never existed in the first place.
“Thank you,” he utters, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. “For trusting me.”
Clasping a hand over the fang marks now borne into my flesh, I stare up at him for a moment. He kept true to his word—I’m not dead, at least.
“You’ll likely feel quite tired now,” Dante warns. His voice sounds distorted, like it’s stretching through time.
I brace my hands on the ground to push myself up. But darkness rolls into my vision, claiming me before my body returns to the ground.