Chapter Six #2
With her, I never know if I want to rip her throat out… or make her scream my name for an entirely different reason.
But right now, I know exactly what I want.
"Well," I drawl, tugging a strand of her light brown hair, all tousled and messy. She's wild, inside and out. "I think this conversation deserves a more… private setting."
Before she can blink, I scoop her up. She barely has time to grab on, startled by the speed, before we're in my room.
The door slams shut behind us.
I set her down in the middle, bare feet landing on the soft rug, her balance wobbling, still dizzy from the ride.
"What…?" she breathes, blinking around, disoriented.
My room's a disaster. Shit thrown everywhere. Half-packed bags. I was going to leave, but clearly, the universe had other plans.
"Welcome to my humble corner of the asylum, sweetheart," I say, voice smooth as sin. "Feel free to scream, by the way. Since my saint of a brother likes hosting all sorts of supernaturals, some with delicate hearing, he had the walls spelled to block sound. Ain't that considerate?"
The implication hangs between us, thick and intentional.
No one will hear a damn thing.
She scans the room, still just in my brother's shirt. No one should look that good in borrowed cotton. But she does.
The hem barely brushes her mid-thigh. Her tattoos peek out, vines creeping up her skin, blooming under the fabric. And damn if I'm not craving to slide it up and see where they start and trace every curve of that ink, uninterrupted.
"So," I say, voice low as I begin to circle her. "Getting back to our little conversation…"
My movements are slow, deliberate, each step measured. A predator stalking prey.
She follows me from the corner of her eye, not turning, not speaking. Her lips are parted, her breathing quick. Alert, braced, and beautiful.
"You asked me what I had in mind…" I continue, letting the words stretch, teasing. "And oh, sunshine… you don't want to know the things I've imagined. Trust me. You couldn't handle them."
I stop just behind her.
She doesn't move.
"But I think one thing's necessary." I pause, then drop it like a promise. "A lesson."
Her head tilts slightly at the word, hair falling to the side, exposing more of that perfect, bare neck.
The urge to bite flares so strong, it feels like a second heartbeat in my skull.
But I can control it.
I will control it.
"A lesson?" Her question is a whisper.
"Mhm," I murmur, leaning in until my lips hover at the shell of her ear. "A lesson in consequences."
My fingers slide slowly down her arm, deceptively gentle.
She shivers, but doesn't flinch or pull away.
"You lured me into a trap," I start listing her misdeeds. "You tried to stake me. And then you had the audacity to rob us after we rescued you, warmed you, and shared a drink with you."
She turns, just enough for our mouths to be dangerously close—one twitch away from colliding.
And fuck, it takes everything in me not to give in and taste her.
"I also saved you," she says.
"Yes," I respond, my voice rougher now. "That's the reason you're not dead."
My hand curves around her jaw, tilting her head back. I brush her hair aside, exposing her neck, vulnerable and soft.
Her breath catches. Her heartbeat spikes like a bird in a snare.
I smirk, dragging my lips along that tempting line of her throat. "Actions like these…" I breathe against her skin, "require consequences. Don't you agree?"
My fangs drop with a flicker of instinct.
"What… ah—" she whimpers as the tips of my fangs graze her skin.
Her whole body trembles, knees buckling. I wrap my arm around her, steadying, one hand spread across her stomach. I hold her tight against me, so she can feel what she's doing to me—my cock hard, pressing against her back.
She exhales, eyes fluttering closed. There's a tremor in her voice as she says, "You want my blood."
Not a question, but a fact—cold, bitter, and resigned.
She thinks that's what all this is about, that it's only her blood I want. She'd be right about most vampires.
But not about me. Not entirely.
She told us she was attacked. Drained nearly to death. The thought of it sends fury boiling through my veins.
I don't even know their names, and I already want to rip them apart. Slowly. One piece at a time. Keep them alive just long enough to regret every second. Because no one should've touched her like that.
I pull back from her neck slowly, letting the air cool between us. Her body is tenser now, spine taut as a bowstring.
"You think so little of me, sunshine," I murmur, voice a shade too soft to be safe. "And while you are sweet as sin, and gods, I'd love another taste, I'm not going to. I could." I step back, tilting my head. "But I won't."
She blinks, thrown. "Then what do you want?" she asks, brow furrowing, guarded and wary.
I cross my arms over my chest, keeping my stance deliberately relaxed, like I'm not two seconds from dragging her back into my arms.
"I'm feeling generous tonight," I say with a mockingly solemn nod. "So I'll give you a choice. Two versions of how this could go."
Her eyes narrow. Distrust rolls off her in waves. Good. I like the game better when the prey knows it's being hunted.
"Option one," I say, holding up a finger. "You tell me the truth. The real truth. Why you threw that armband back. Don't give me the half-assed 'moral clarity' version. I don't buy it."
Her lips press tight. Jaw clenched.
"And the other option?" she bites out.
I grin, slow and wicked, letting the weight of it settle between us.
"The lesson I mentioned earlier. Consequences. For your very… colorful behavior. A punishment."
She flinches, just a flicker, before lifting her chin in defiance. "Punishment?" she echoes.
"Mhm," I hum, nodding slowly. "Exactly, sweetheart. Punishment. You act out…"
I take a step closer, lowering my voice.
"…I correct."
"But… what kind of punishment?" she asks. Her voice wavers, but there's a rougher edge there now.
She bites her lower lip, dragging her teeth across it like she doesn't know it's the kind of move that makes it ten times harder to behave.
I clench my fist, channeling every ounce of willpower not to press her against the wall and let my instincts take over.
Instead, a slow and dangerous smile curves my lips.
"I'm glad you asked."
I close the space between us, my hand circling her waist, pulling her flush against me. She's warm, soft in all the ways I remember—infuriating and irresistible.
My other hand trails down her back, fingers skating over the curve of her ass before resting there, firm and possessive.
"I'll take you over my knee," I whisper against her ear, "and spank that pretty, defiant little ass until you forget every lie you've told… until all you can feel is me and the slow, exquisite regret of every sin you've committed."
And maybe, if she begs just right, I'll give her more.
But for now, I wait. Let her decide how far down the rabbit hole she's willing to go with the monster she nearly killed.
Gods, I hope she picks wrong.
Sage
A shiver rips through me at his words. It starts low in my spine, curling up as his body presses into mine like we're two pieces of some dark, forbidden puzzle. Everything in me tightens, my skin flushed, heart racing. And what's rising inside me isn't fear.
Well, not just fear. It's want. Actual, visceral want.
This is wrong. So wrong. Absolutely wrong.
He's a vampire. A goddamn creature of death. I was taught to see his kind as abominations. You run, or you kill. That's it. There is no middle ground.
Definitely no getting draped over a gorgeous vampire's knee like some misbehaving schoolgirl. And definitely not this teasing, this tension, this heady want coiled in his voice and pulsing through his body like he's barely restraining himself.
But that's the point—he is restraining it.
They aren't supposed to feel. Supposed to be walking corpses wrapped in a skin of lies. Masks built well enough to pass among humans, feed off them, manipulate them. But Kayden doesn't feel like a mask. He feels real. Asher too.
Are they anomalies, or is everything I was taught… wrong?
"Tick-tock, sunshine," Kayden murmurs, low and lethal. "I won't be waiting until morning for your choice. Keep stalling, and I'll make it for you."
His eyes pin me, searing into mine. That dominant, cocky glint laced with something darker, something that shouldn't make me ache, but does. There's a promise in that gaze, sharp as fangs and just as dangerous: he'll either unravel me with pleasure or break me on the edge of pain. Maybe both.
There's a rational move here. I could lie, maybe, but I already know he reads me too well for that. I could tell him the truth. But even thinking about it cracks something in my chest. It's too vulnerable for me to admit.
I tried hard to shake the memory of what that night felt like. That forbidden thrill, the one impossible moment where everything—guilt, ache, orders, mission, who I was supposed to be—disappeared the second he touched me. How much he made me feel.
But I can't say that and I won't.
So I lift my chin, let the steel settle in my spine, and meet his gaze with every ounce of defiance I've got. "I don't know what you want to hear," I say, tone flat. "I spared you. That's all."
He chuckles, wicked and low, hand closing over the curve of my ass in a claiming grip that makes my breath stutter. "Option two, then?" he drawls, eyes lighting up like I just handed him a wrapped present. "Delightful."
He leans in, voice darker now. "One last chance. Tell me the truth."
I stare at him. My pulse is a riot beneath my skin, the heat between us unbearable.
I say it. Quiet, but firm: "No."
Because this punishment feels less of a surrender than telling him what I felt that night. And I'm not ready to lose that last inch of power.