Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Rafael
Fan-fucking-tastic. I drank from my ex.
The door clicks shut behind Santiago and I bury my nose in Samantha’s hair. I’m sure she’ll be just delighted to know I gave Santiago permission to drink from her. Or… maybe I’d better keep that little tidbit to myself for the time being.
Fuck.
Samantha’s reaction toward Santiago I can understand. She’s a newly turned vampire and being drawn to the old, powerful male aligns with her instincts. On top of that, she’s royally pissed off at me. Not that I can blame her, but I would make the same choice again in a heartbeat.
I was almost too late to save her. That moment in the hospital haunts me every time I close my eyes. Hearing the doctor pronounce her dead. Not knowing if I did enough.
Her family thinks she died that day. They grieved and arranged a beautiful ceremony to scatter her ashes—or what they thought were her ashes—over the river.
I hope Samantha doesn’t ask about them quite yet. I’d like her to be a little less pissed off at me before I tell her she can’t see her family ever again.
Despite Santiago’s blood humming in my veins, her bite mark on my chest aches. It might scar. I fed fast and hard in the short moment we had Samantha distracted and my cock is still hard from the taste. Being inside Samantha while having my fangs in San was perfect hell.
And he offered to do it again.
My fangs drop so fast I cut my lower lip, a mistake I haven’t made in centuries. That male always managed to drive me out of my mind. I’d be worried that Samantha’s going to pick up tricks from him, but she seems fully capable of wrecking my world all on her own.
The way she looked in my shirt and nothing else will delight my dreams forever.
She’s lucky it was Santiago in that room with us because anyone else would have ended up drained to the last drop. I still want to spank her ass red, though. Setting sharing as a precedent… fuck that.
A twinge of unease churns in my stomach. What if she really meant it? I might tolerate putting her between San and me, but anyone else? No. She’s fucking mine, and she’ll see that in no time. Why would she need anyone else?
Picturing yourself as a part of a happy throuple, aren’t you? Didn’t the shit show last time start just like that?
She’s nothing like Patricia, I snarl back at that little voice.
A deep inhale brings Samantha’s sweet scent to me and I trace patterns down her arm. She looks so serene now, no signs of hunger or pain, brow smooth and mouth relaxed. Perfect.
Tension eases from my jaw and I force myself to think over San’s proposal. On the surface, it makes a lot of sense. He’s older, his blood is richer and packs a punch. There’s no point in arguing that, when one drink replenished me more than anything I’ve drunk over the years, human or supernatural.
But that’s not all there is. One bite and the bond between us is stronger than it has been in a very long time.
Just one fucking bite, and he didn’t even bite me back.
If I drink from him daily, it will slam the bond between us in place and turn it into titanium that is not likely to let either of us go.
Ever.
He always fought the bond, and I let him.
It’s been an endless push and pull between us.
And Patricia tearing us apart. Every time Santiago tried to protect me from her, it infuriated our maker and we both paid the price.
Every time I chose him over her twisted games, she lashed out in ways I’d rather forget.
At some point, I got tired of it all. Got tired of playing games around Patricia. Got tired of acting like there was nothing serious between me and San. Got tired of pretending I didn’t want more.
He wanted me to be his, be the protector, but I don’t think he ever saw us as truly equal. The veneered monster hunter and the farm boy he saved from the wolves. The bond between us chafed him every step of the way.
Now, after a century apart, I’m still tired. And angry. At him. At Patricia. At myself. I would have fought for him if he’d let me.
I glance down at Samantha. I may have let Santiago push me away, but no matter what Samantha does, I’m not going anywhere. She’s the sassy blue light in my darkness. She brings out parts of me I forgot long ago.
I’m not asking for permission to fight for her.
The pain of knowing that San didn’t want me enough to fight for us is minuscule against the tear in my tattered soul when I imagine Samantha walking away.
I’d go to war for her. Even against Patricia. I’ll find a way to break the ties binding me to my maker. Samantha’s hold over me is so much stronger. If I had a heart, it would beat for her.
I tried to resist, but some things are inevitable. She might hate me now and if she needs to rage against our bond, she can. Her venom can burn my veins to ashes. None of that means that she’s not meant to be mine.
She has to be because everything I am is hers.
I squeeze my eyes shut and count her breaths.
She still needs air, even if not much, and it seems that she’s breathing faster out of habit.
Listening to the sound allows the rushing thoughts in my head to calm down.
All I sense from her bond is contentment, like there’s nothing she needs more in the world than to be sleeping in my arms.
Mine.
Except she won’t be only mine. Not if I feed from Santiago and he feels the pull toward her. Our essences are too tangled and there’s a high risk it will bond them. For some reason, he’s willing to risk a bond to Samantha.
One look at her was enough to snare him.
A snarl breaks free from my throat at the idea. Grimacing, I force myself to relax before I wake Samantha and face the truth. I want both of them to be mine. Bonded so tight neither of them can run away. I want my bite marks on them at all times.
So they can never leave me.
Samantha stirs in her sleep, probably sensing echoes of my emotions, and I try to calm down.
Breathe in and out. Count to ten. Again.
Focus on her breathing. Count her eyelashes.
Smooth the little crease between her eyebrows.
After she settles, I keep counting her eyelashes, marveling at the slightly blue tint on them.
Something is nagging at me, but I can’t put my finger on it. Sighing, I turn Samantha’s face to my throat and nudge her to feed again. We have time to figure things out. All the time in the world.
Or until Patricia finds out about us.