Chapter 27
MARCUS
“Iwas forced to fight.”
No movement from behind me. I don’t dare look. If I see pity on her face…my jaw works soundlessly.
“I know.” Her voice is infinitely gentle.
I finally turn. Her knees are drawn to her chest. She’s curled against the wall. I don’t see pity at all—just that softness I am quickly coming to prize.
Telling her this is a terrible idea. The first rule of battle is to never show your tender underbelly to the enemy. I fold my arms over my chest.
“You do not know all of it. No one—except my brothers and sister—knows all of it. I have kept my past hidden because it is my greatest weakness.”
She sucks in air.
I will myself to feel nothing, the way I did every night in my cell. The way I did in the arena.
“My sire was a rich man who lived just outside of Rome. His villa was palatial. He hosted parties for his friends constantly. The fights were the main source of entertainment. It was known that if you needed money, you could agree to fight for him in the arena, and he would pay your debts, help your family, whatever you needed. You could name your price.”
She looks horrified. I can barely stand to hold her gaze, but she deserves to know why I am unwilling to take a mate.
“My mother was very sick. We were poor. We didn’t have enough food.
Julian and I hatched a plan—we would fight, and in exchange, the rich man would grant us two things—a home outside the city for my parents and enough food to last them for the rest of their lives.
We were fools.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice, even after all these years.
“We got the food, and the house. But we didn’t know that his fighters were all vampires.
He turned us, kept us prisoner, and starved us before the fights. ”
“The stories,” she whispers.
I nod. “I started them myself. A way of reclaiming something. Marcus Antonius, the berserker of the battlefield. As if the hunger had been my choice.” I shake my head. “It was a lie. I was fed only when I won for ten straight years. I knew nothing but hunger—until I murdered my sire.”
I do not tell her that my control is iron now, from years of having blood-givers dangled in my face, only to be ripped away. I excel at telling myself that I do not want, that I do not hunger, that I do not need anything or anyone.
I do not tell her that she is the closest anyone has come to shredding my control since those very early days.
“Taking a mate would mean being a prisoner again, wouldn’t it?”
Her voice is gentle. She drops down from the table and approaches me warily.
My throat works. “Yes,” I rasp. “I would only be able to feed from you. You could control me completely. I cannot—” The horror of it steals any eloquence. “Leah—I cannot.”
Her slim arms rise, and I jerk back, but she wraps them around my waist and puts her head on my chest.
“I know, vampire.”
I am utterly still. I have not felt this in centuries. She is so soft and vulnerable. I feel her heart beat against me, and I take quick huffs of her scent, even though I do not need to breathe. She smells like temptation—rich plums and red grapes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I understand. We will never seal the bond. Will you be able to restrain yourself?”
There’s a twisting sensation inside me. “For a time. But eventually I will have to leave, or I’ll be forced to seal it.”
She hums and presses closer. “Okay, vampire. As you wish.”
My arms come around her too, and I rest my chin on her head. “Is this a human thing?”
She laughs. “Surely, you’ve hugged.”
I have, but it was years ago, and something about her hug is different. “I don’t remember a hug feeling like this.”
She pulls back to smile up at me. That twisting sensation sharpens until it feels like my ribs are cracking.
Like this, her mouth is so close to mine, and I want to do another human thing that I have not done in years. Something my blood-givers have offered but I’ve never accepted. It is far more intimate than feeding, especially for one such as I, who has known mostly brutality.
I want to kiss her.
My gaze traces her lips. I know they are soft. I know they felt good against my wrist. How would they feel against my lips, where there are infinitely more nerve endings? My brain conjures fantasies of a blood kiss as her lips part under mine.
I dip my head. Her eyes are hazy. It is impossible to hide lust from a vampire. We are made to scent it, to feed it, to cultivate it. I can tell she wants this too.
“You’ll still need to feed, right?”
I freeze. She reddens, and I tighten my arms before she can pull away.
“On you?” My voice is gravel. She fed me when I was injured, but to offer like this, freely given—I cannot comprehend why she would.
My strongest memories are of deprivation. I have seen the worst that vampirekind has to offer in the intervening years. Very few supernaturals will part with anything that gives them power. Vampires hoard wealth and resources; weres, strength and family; witches, magic.
“Won’t I make you more powerful? Mated vampires are stronger. Even without sealing the bond, surely there are benefits.”
With each word, she rewrites my understanding of the world.
“Yes,” I say hoarsely. “If you’re willing.”
Her face is fully pink now.
“I’m, um, willing.”
She breaks the embrace and steps back. Something hot and needy thrums inside my chest. It’s akin to the feeling I get on a good hunt, but so much better. Sharper, for one.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” I cock my head. My fangs start to lengthen. I let them peek out over my bottom lip.
“Vampire,” she whispers.
“Marcus,” I coax. My blood sings in my veins. This is how it should be between us. Her, pursued, me, doing the hunting.
I roll my shoulders. I feel…unburdened. Cleansed. I told the slayer the worst things about myself, and she is still willing to give herself to me. The predator that I carefully leash clamors to be let out.
“Marcus.” She takes another step back, then darts a glance, as if measuring the distance to the door. “I’m weakened.” She clears her throat. “I should sleep and feed you tomorrow.”
Her gaze skates over my body, then back to my face.
“Go,” I rasp. “Go, Leah. Before I can’t stop myself.”
She runs.