Chapter 16
LEAH
Iam rapidly sobering, damn slayer genetics, and I wish I weren’t. I wish I could blame the alcohol for my interest in Marcus. For the way my body heats under his gaze.
He’s looking at me like I’m prey, and Goddess help me, I don’t hate it.
“Show me what?” I keep my voice admirably even.
“What it feels like to be bitten.” His eyes bleed black as he stalks forward. His shoulders block the moonlight.
Inches away, he’s unbearably male and clearly a monster, not a man. No heartbeat, no breath, no hint of softness in his body or his gaze.
“You might hurt me,” I whisper.
“You’d like it.”
“You said you hated the taste of slayer blood.” Saying the words makes me feel insecure and weak.
His gaze goes to my mouth, my neck, lower. His jaw flexes. “I came as close to lying as is possible for a vampire. You tempt me.”
I go stock-still against the counter. Blood sings under the surface of my skin, tingling in my fingers. I tempt him. That could be dangerous. Or delicious. Or both.
“Vampires are not famous for their control.”
His gaze narrows. “Is that what they told you?”
I’ve seen it firsthand, but I don’t want to say that and remind him of how much more powerful he is when I don’t have my weapons. I tuck my arms more tightly to my body. “You’re all on the edge of snapping and turning into spree-killers.”
His mouth lifts. “And you’re on the edge of staking me and thinking about the consequences later.”
I can’t help my laugh. He chuckles too, a mere puff of air. He seems unfamiliar with humor, but his gaze warms and I can feel myself softening toward him, though I’ve spent my whole life being warned against exactly this.
Vampires will seduce you. Your body and your mind. You’ll beg for more even as they kill you.
“Truce, slayer.”
He lifts his hand, and I freeze, but he simply rubs a lock of my hair between his fingers. His pupils are nearly swallowed by the blackness of his eyes.
“We already have a truce.”
“A real truce,” he murmurs. “You promise not to think poorly of me, and I’ll think better of you. Allies.” His mouth curls again. His gaze is hot and certain. “Sealed with a bite.”
Allies. What would it feel like to let my guard down around him? To depend on someone else? To not be alone?
It’s the last that does it. “Done. But don’t savage me.”
He plants his hands on either side of my hips. I fight the urge to lean back. Our chests brush. He’s cool and solid, not warm and human.
“Let me show you how good my control is, Leah.” His voice is coaxing, and an ache unfurls inside my stomach. He dips his head, and I tense, certain he’ll go for the throat. Instead, he wraps long, cool fingers around my hand and brings my wrist to his mouth.
“Here?” he asks. Our gazes connect over my hand, and his seems to burn. His lips graze my skin. I bite back a sound.
I nod jerkily.
He looks pleased. “How about here?” His mouth drifts higher, to my elbow, and I want to whimper at how much I want this.
It’s just the newness of it. You’ve wondered, and now you’ll get it over with, and you won’t want it again.
It cannot possibly be as good as people say.
“Do it,” I growl.
He chuckles and presses a kiss to the inside of my palm, then licks up my finger. I shudder. It’s possessive. Animalistic, even. His hand goes to my waist. My fingers curl even more tightly against the counter.
“Vampire.” There’s warning in my voice.
“Marcus,” he croons before he bites.
His fang scores my index finger. Electricity arcs through my blood. He sucks, holding my gaze. His lids have dropped. I feel heavy and hot and hyperaware of my pulse. His mouth warms as he sucks.
“You’re warming up.”
Color splashes his cheekbones.
“Hazard of the job,” he mumbles. He sounds nearly embarrassed.
I can’t help but laugh. “You say that to all the girls.”
He’s nearly smiling, and I feel it like a shot of serotonin to my blood.
He’s so handsome like this. He’s also broad enough that he fills my entire field of vision with the visceral reality of him—sinew, heavy bone, hard muscle, sharp fangs.
He is a flame and I am a helpless moth. His pupils expand.
He lets my finger go with a soft pop and the firm swipe of his tongue.
I swear I can feel his gaze on my throat, and it makes my blood pump.
I squirm against the counter.
His gaze lifts to mine and holds as he drags his fangs along the sensitive skin of my wrist. I shudder and try to quell it, but he sees. I am no better than the supernaturals at the bar, craving a hit of pleasure.
My thoughts scatter as his fangs slide into my wrist. The pain bursts and melts into heat.
Marcus’s grip is certain and his mouth is demanding.
He curves over me, dark head bent, tousled hair spilling over his forehead.
Heat spirals outward with each greedy pull of his mouth, with each possessive drag of his tongue.
He makes a sound of pleasure as he feeds.
A flame sparks in my stomach and I swallow a sound of my own.
So this is what it feels like to transgress.
Here, in the heady, velvet night, I can admit that I’ve wanted it, that I’ve wondered.
That Marcus is doing exactly what I feared and wanted—forcing the desire upon me.
I am a vessel for it, and like this, I can gorge.
I am a leaf fluttering in the wake of his bite and Marcus is a wellspring, drawing need up through my body and forcing it upon me. My lids drift shut.
It’s only the tightness of his fingers that anchors me. He keeps me from drifting too far with the cruel clasp of his hand, and I am both irritated and grateful for the pain.
The need for more thrums inside me, vibrating through my stomach and my limbs, and I swear I feel my blood slicking upwards toward his mouth, dipping to pulse between my legs. He is a maestro and my body knows it, bowing toward him as he sucks.
I expect his greed to deepen, for him to savage me at any moment, but instead, his bite gentles, and he pulls away. The loss of his fangs makes me bite back a noise of protest. Unfulfilled desire shimmers in my stomach, tensing my abs.
He licks at the bites, lingering, watching my face.
“You test me, slayer,” he murmurs. “Taking so little from you.”
I lean against the counter, not sure my legs can hold me. “Why did you?” I ask hoarsely. Marcus had me at his mercy. He could have killed me. Drained me. He could have made it hurt.
“I needed to prove to myself that I could be gentle with you.” A heavy swallow.
“And maybe prove it to you as well.” His thumb skims my wrist and the already-healing bites.
The spell between us seems to shimmer as he holds my gaze.
I can feel his hunger ebbing and something darker rising in its place.
“I do not want to hurt you, Leah. That was not my intention earlier.”
His words make my throat constrict and I don’t know why.
“You didn’t hurt me.” My voice is weak. I think we both know I wanted more, and I’m not sure what to do with that feeling. He is forbidden for me and I for him.
“Good.” He releases my wrist. His step back is unsteady. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him be anything less than graceful. It makes my stomach flip. I have this power over him, and if I’m being honest, he might have some over me too.
I feel restless and unsettled. I got a shot of pleasure, but not the full experience.
As we get ready for bed, I try not to wonder what it would be like if he gave me everything.
That afternoon, I wake before the vampire once again. I’ve never had a man sleep over, and I’ve never woken up next to someone before. My one-night stands have been more like one half-night. I’ve never wanted to risk someone’s life, even one of the weres or sorcerers I’ve brought home.
Marcus is normally death-still in slumber, but today he is restless. His head jerks to the side. His lips part to show fully extended fangs.
Maybe he dreams? This is the closest I’ve ever been to a vampire at rest. Our shoulders brush. His skin is nearly warm. Maybe it’s a side effect of the feeding.
A slow shiver rolls up my spine.
As he shifts, more skin is revealed and my breath catches at the scars.
Countless scars. I missed them before, but now that I’m closer to him, I can see how the hash marks slash over his sides and march in uneven rows toward his back, where they must continue.
His skin must be covered in them. They look like a record of some sort, and I bite back at sound at the realization of what they are.
His wins. His kills. They must have been magically set into his skin, since vampires retain the appearance they had before turning.
They must have been a way to remind him of his place even as he emerged victorious. The horror of it nearly makes me brush a finger over them, like I can heal the long-ago pain. Marcus deserves every inch of his arrogance. And more compassion than I ever anticipated.
His hand drops to the waistband of his sweats, distracting me from the terrible direction of my thoughts.
The material dips indecently low on his lean hips.
He has the body of a warrior, scarred and corded with muscle, but covered in skin that looks velvet-soft.
The trail of hair that leads into his pants looks soft as well, and below it—I swallow—he’s hard.
The ridge of his erection presses against the material of his sweats.
His thumb dips below the waistband, adjusting the fabric. Something zips through my stomach.
His hand shifts to cover his erection, not stroking, just passing lazily from side to side. His cock throbs against the material.
He definitely dreams.
My mouth is dry. My pulse beats heavily between my legs.
There’s a phantom knock on the property’s perimeter ward.
I jerk straight up in bed. I’m not expecting any visitors.
The presence lingers there, polite but insistent, not testing the wards again and not slipping through, which means it’s not a human and it’s not an active attack. Or at least it isn’t yet.
I scramble out of bed, strapping on my weapons before I pad silently out of the room and onto the porch.
In front, the perimeter wards extend only to the low stone wall that surrounds the front lawn and abuts the road.
They used to be larger, but they proved a problem for the drunk humans that sometimes drive past the house.
A determined human can get through, like the assholes from the real estate place that keep knocking on my door, but the drunk ones would bounce off like tired flies hitting a wall.
There’s a cloaked figure waiting in the shade of the apple trees that grow just outside the wall.
Its cloak is blood red and intricately draped, held with a gold pin at the shoulder.
I stalk down the path, my hand on the top of my silver-handled stake.
The figure is broad and tall enough that it must be a vampire or a were.
Or another predatory supernatural that relies on strength and speed.
It feels like a vampire to my slayer senses, but the amount of power it’s throwing off is unlike any vampire I’ve ever fought. The power shoves at my chest as I approach, crashes in waves that make me square my shoulders against it.
I stop on the other side of the ward, just behind the wall and mere feet from the figure. It’s still in the way of vampires. Humans and other supernaturals fidget, breathe, have stomachs that rumble. Vampires are the ultimate predators—utterly silent until they pounce.
Adrenaline drips through my veins. My legs are tense.
“Slayer.” The cloaked figure inclines its head.
“Show yourself.” My voice is hard. I don’t kill random vampires. I kill only vampires that break supernatural law. Innocent until proven otherwise, though my body is primed to attack.
The figure lifts the hood. I suck in air.
A vampire with Marcus’s eyes stares back at me.