17. Honeymoon from Hell #2
I sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. “You know, I was thinking . . . it might be smart to take a blood sample now. I’d love to see how your biomarkers shift the longer you go without the plasma treatment. Tracking the progression could tell us a lot.”
“I think it’s a good idea. I don’t know how much longer I can go without it. And I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
“Yeah, I’m all for not getting hurt. But I really want to make sure we get the cleanest sample possible.”
Julian stretched his neck from side to side. “We are playing with fire here, Nicolette. Remember, it is you who will get burned.”
Oh, believe me, I was painfully aware. “I trust you.” My voice trembled—just enough to betray me—but I pushed the words out anyway, hoping encouragement counted for something.
“You shouldn’t.” His tone was low, frayed at the edges. “This is like nothing I have ever experienced before. There is something about your blood, Nicolette.”
I cleared my throat, trying not to imagine exactly what “something” meant. “You’ll get a taste soon enough.”
He closed his eyes and drew in a long, deliberate breath. Then another. His expression flickered wildly—dreamy, ravenous lust one second, self-loathing the next. I took the disgust as a good sign.
But the dreamy lust look?
Yeah . . . that one was more than a little concerning.
“Why don’t you open some gifts while I grab a draw kit?”
Julian opened his eyes and nodded.
I rose slowly and tiptoed to the kitchen table where my minilab was set up—microscope, mini-centrifuge, cooler . . . the whole charming honeymoon-from-hell aesthetic. I grabbed a draw kit and three tubes: one for genetic analysis, one for biochemical markers, and one for plasma.
Behind me, Julian was ripping wrapping paper like it had personally offended him.
“Here’s the smoothie maker you wanted,” he called out.
“I didn’t ask for one. I didn’t ask for anything.”
“You mentioned once that you wanted one, so I put it on our registry.”
I had forgotten we’d even had a registry. Julian had thought it made us look more believable. I’d told him he could fill it out. I’d had no idea he actually had.
“That was very considerate of you.” Honestly, he was, in a word, considerate. Kind, even.
“I care for you. Deeply.”
The words scraped their way out of him. As if admitting it out loud were painful.
I didn’t want to believe it either. It was foolish. Dangerous. We had no future together—none. So what good would it do? Other than maybe spare my life. I supposed that gave me permission to hope it was true. That made it practical, not romantic.
I turned with my supplies in hand . . . and froze. Julian was holding up a beautiful silk chemise in baby-soft pink.
Uh . . . who bought that?
“Did you put that on our registry too?” I teased.
Julian let the chemise slip from his fingers and fall into his lap. His hungry eyes roved over me—slow, deliberate—and I felt it. Like a touch. Like a pull. It made me feel exposed in a way I’d never experienced before, as if he were stripping away layers I didn’t even know I had.
“Julian,” I pleaded softly, “don’t do anything you’ll regret. You’re hungry, and you’re not in your right mind.”
“I’m right in thinking how much I’d love to see you in the chemise.” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “More so how I would love to see you out of it. To touch every inch of your skin.”
The predator in him was taking over—elegant, seductive, lethal.
A shiver ran through me. Not just from fear. But from the strange, magnetic hold he had on me. He was calling to me, and some reckless, traitorous part of me wanted to answer that call. Wanted to go to him. Wanted to be wanted like that.
I forced myself to breathe. To think. To remember that he was using his vampire powers on me and I was his prey, not his lover. That I had a job to do. A very dangerous, very time-sensitive job.
So I proceeded with caution, inching toward him, knowing I might only have minutes—seconds—to get a sample of his blood before the hunger won.
When I approached him, he clenched his fists around the chemise, the silk twisting between his fingers as if he were barely holding himself together.
“I need to get a sample of your blood,” I reminded him gently, keeping my tone soft, steady, human.
“I need you.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him until our faces were barely an inch apart.
His breath hit me first—sweet, intoxicating, almost floral. It made my lips tingle and my body lean in without permission. I wanted to kiss him. Oh, dear heavens, I wanted to, and I didn’t care about the consequences. Except I absolutely cared. I cared enough to stay alive.
And some rational part of me knew this was just one of his vampire tricks. A biological lure. Like the bolas spider that secretes a chemical cocktail mimicking female moth pheromones—drawing the males in, seducing them straight into its death trap.
Julian was trying to lure me into his web.
And I couldn’t let him.
No matter how badly some reckless part of me wanted to get tangled up with him.
“Julian,” I stuttered, barely able to breathe, barely able to control myself. With every passing second, I wanted him more. “If we do this, I die. You know that. Is that what you want?”
He hesitated. Hesitated.
The Julian I knew would never have needed to think about it. He inched closer, our lips almost touching, and the world narrowed to the sweetness of his breath and the pull of his body.
The draw kit slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor. The tension between us stretched so tight, it felt like it might snap straight through me. I bit my lip, waiting—bracing—for him to consume me.
“I don’t want you to die,” Julian groaned, but he still didn’t let me go.
That should have comforted me. It didn’t. Not when my body was betraying me, leaning into him, craving him. I bit my lip harder, praying he’d come back to himself, praying he’d release whatever hold he had on me.
After what felt like an eternity, Julian lowered his head and let go of my arm.
Relief crashed through me—sharp, dizzying, overwhelming.
But it didn’t last.
Because in that moment of terror and longing, I’d bit down harder on my lip than I realized. A sting. A taste of salt. A single drop of blood slipped down my chin.
I barely registered it before—
Julian moved. Instinctively, like the spider that had caught the moth.
One second I was standing.
The next, I was in the grip of a creature who had finally stopped fighting what he was.
He pulled me to him with a force that stole my breath, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that was all-consuming. A predator’s kiss. A desperate, starving need.
And in that instant, with his strength wrapped around me and his desire overwhelming every sense I had left, I understood one terrible truth.
I was going to die.
Worst honeymoon ever.