Chapter 12
MARCUS
Iwake starving. Leah still sleeps, and I watch her, finally able to indulge myself. I gorge on the scent of her skin, taking deep inhales and letting her drift over the back of my tongue—herbs and flowers and the tang of metal under it all. Delicate with a core of steel beneath. It fits.
I feel like a fool for thinking this bond could be anything but real.
I should not touch her. I should not do anything to make this craving worse.
The bond throbs inside my chest, demanding that I seal it. Even sleeping next to her is dangerous. I fear that I will bind her to me in my sleep—that I will chain myself unwittingly to another. If that were to happen, I am certain I would despise her forever and be unable to rid myself of her.
Her hair is already between my fingers. I rub it gently, savoring the texture and the slick strands. I resist the urge to wrap it around my hand and pull her to me.
I suspect that she would let me bite her. She might hate my kind. She might be wary of me, but her cheeks flush when she sees my body. I cannot help but lure her, even as my mind warns me to stop.
Her lashes flutter.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
She does not look terrified. She should be. She should fear everything I am and everything I represent. I am a hairsbreadth from savaging her. My brother would do the same, with no chains on his restraint. Her fear keeps her safe, and I need it to remain that way.
I let her hair drop and turn away. “I need to feed.”
Finally, she scrambles up, fear making her scent sharpen. And under it, arousal. Damn her.
“Not on me,” she breathes.
The bond throbs in response. My fangs are already lengthening. This is pathetic. I am the most feared of my kind, and I hunger for a mortal I cannot have and do not want to ruin. My fists clench and unclench on the mattress.
“You should go.”
“Control yourself,” she snaps, but she’s already up and grabbing clothes from her dresser.
“Your scent—” I snap my mouth shut. My fangs clip my lip, and I snarl.
“Goddess, I know, okay? You disgust me too. Don’t worry. We can go out and get you fed. Consensual only. They have to want it. Or I’ll stake you through the heart.”
With that, she whirls and slams the door behind her.
I want to shout that it’s always consensual. That creatures beg and like it. That she would like it.
But with her, I know if I let this go much farther, I might be too far gone to care.