Chapter 2
Dorian
“Now that I have you all alone, will you allow me to continue?” I ask, which in itself is fucking remarkable. I don’t ever ask, I take. I have for a long time now.
“Does that happen all the time?” Edie fires back, craning her neck to glance past me at my men waiting outside. The movement exposes her throat, and my gaze sharpens on the vein beneath her skin, the soft rush of her blood a temptation I must ignore.
I can’t drink her blood. Not here, not ever.
“Does what happen all the time?” I ask, entirely distracted, as I flick my gaze to hers. She has pretty eyes, slanted like a cat’s, the colour a deep forest green, flecks of gold glinting in the soft lighting.
She eases back, her expression guarded. “You demand the room be cleared, and everyone does what you say.”
“Yes, but especially when it’s my hotel.”
Her eyes widen. “This is your hotel?”
“Why is that such a surprise?” I find myself asking.
Frankly, I should be putting as much space between us as possible. This woman is unlike anyone else. She’s impervious to my compulsion, which is a colossal problem for her and for me, and begs the question of why I’m still entertaining this conversation.
“Well, to begin with, you’re barely an adult,” she says, waving her hand at my face.
“I find that as insulting as you believing I think you’re old. For the record, I don’t. On the contrary, you’re—”
“Wait a minute. You’re serious. You own this hotel,” she says, interrupting me.
“Yes,” I reply. “And whilst we’re getting everything out in the open, I own Avant Garde Nightclub too.”
“Isn’t that a sex club?”
“Officially, no, but unofficially, sex can happen there, between consenting adults, of course. I consider it more of a cabaret show with a side-dish of titillation should my patrons wish to indulge.”
Titillation that often includes my human patrons being feasted on by my clan members, and later, their memories wiped.
“Hmm, well, all of this is very interesting, but I think it’s about time I get going…”
Her voice trails off as I palm her entire foot, my free hand massaging the sensitive area of her Achilles heel. “You want to stay,” I insist, the familiar sensation of my compulsion once again stretching out towards her, only to slam against a shield so thick, it’s impenetrable.
Swallowing hard, she eyes me suspiciously. “Is this where you pretend to woo me, give me the best orgasm of my life, and then I end up in a suitcase, or worse, just another notch on your bedpost?”
“It’s worse to end up a notch on my bedpost?” I raise my brows in surprise, not sure whether to laugh or call her a therapist. Then again, perhaps it’s me who needs a fucking therapist, given I’m still sitting here.
She just shrugs.
“First of all, I don’t pretend at anything,” I begin, except being human, “And second, I’d certainly give you the best orgasm of your life.”
“Arrogant as well as good-looking. I shouldn’t be surprised,” she mutters.
“But I’m not in the business of murdering the women I choose to take to my bed, and neither am I foolish enough to keep a log of who I’ve slept with either.” I just like to feed on their blood.
“No little black book then?” she asks.
“No, no little black book,” I reply, smothering another smile.
Again, another miracle. I haven’t smiled this much since… Well, for a long fucking time. “In truth, there are very few women who’ve made it to the sanctuary of my private rooms, and even fewer who piqued my interest like you have tonight. This may be bad timing, but—”
“Let me go!”
I’m not sure what I’ve said to make her stiffen the way she has, but something uncomfortably close to pain flashes behind her eyes as she tries to tug her feet out of my hold.
“Edie—”
“I said, let me go.”
“I’d like you to stay,” I say, forcing my glamour outwards in a futile attempt to get her to yield to me.
It wraps around her, an invisible force that usually breaks through a human’s will within seconds.
But no matter how hard I try with Edie, there’s no gap to slip through, no weak spot to break.
She is impenetrable, and that only means one thing.
She’s an Aegis. A name we’ve given to humans who can shield against our compulsion.
I’ve come across a few in my three centuries and have avoided every single one. Until now.
“And I could kick you in the balls,” she pipes up.
“You could try,” I say, my gaze snapping to hers.
She huffs out a breath. “Look, I’m discombobulated, okay? Of course, I’m not going to kick you in the balls. I’m not an idiot. I don’t actually want you to murder me.”
“Discombobulated?”
“It means—”
“I know what it means. Besides, I wouldn’t,” I say, digging my thumb into the heel of her other foot instead of walking the fuck away.
“Wouldn’t what?” she murmurs, her eyes that were full of pain and rage a moment ago are now heavy-lidded and unfocused.
“Murder you,” I say, my whole palm cupping the bridge of her foot, whilst my thumb continues to knead her arch.
“Oh, thank goodness, because, despite common sense telling me to get the hell out of here, I really don’t want you to stop what you’re doing. That’s heavenly.”
She moans, her shoulders slumping as she melts into the seat, her eyelids drifting shut.
Her submission stirs my cock because I know it’s on her terms, not mine.
If I do or say something she doesn’t like, she’ll be eviscerating me with her words long before I have the chance to backtrack.
Knowing that is surprisingly invigorating.
“Damn, you’re really, really good at that,” she says, a breathy moan releasing from her lips as she relaxes.
I watch her chest rise and fall, my gaze slowly tracking upwards as I follow the map of her veins illuminated beneath her skin and, once again, settle on her pulse thrumming at her neck.
Fuck, I want to bite her there.
“Do you come here often?” I ask instead.
She opens one eye like a pissed-off cat who’s been woken up from a nap. “Really? That’s your chat-up line?”
“I don’t do chat-up lines. It’s a genuine question.”
“Above them, are we?”
I shrug. “Don’t need them.”
“You’re terribly cocky.”
“I’m confident in my abilities.” Or at least I was until a few minutes ago.
“Uh huh,” she mutters, shifting slightly, and I’m rewarded with her skirt inching higher up her thick thighs, right before the heel of her foot digs into my balls.
Accidentally, I think.
“That’s enough for one night,” she suddenly says, slipping her legs off my lap and standing before I’ve even had time to acknowledge the fact that she’s just bruised my nuts.
“You’re leaving?” I choke out, forcing myself not to wince.
“Are you going to try and stop me?” she throws back, sweeping up her shoes and giving me a perfect view of her cleavage, and damn if it doesn’t make me want to drag her back into my lap and kiss the sass right off her lips, aching balls or not.
“If you were anyone else, yes. But you seem impervious to my charms, so I’m not going to try and embarrass myself,” I reply, standing, whilst making space for her to pass.
“You don’t seem like the type of man to embarrass easily,” she replies, squeezing past me.
“I’m not usually.”
“Ah, what you mean to say is that every woman you’ve approached before has done whatever you’ve asked, and every man has fallen in line, so you’ve never experienced said embarrassment, am I right?”
“Yes. Except not every woman,” I say pointedly.
She grins, and damn if it doesn’t send a jolt through my dead, frozen heart.
“I like knowing I’m the first to break your cherry.”
“Break my cherry?”
“Yes. Your ‘I’m not as all-powerful as I think I am’ cherry.”
“You’re a strange woman, do you know that?” I retort, swiping a hand over my face as I smother another smile.
“It’s not the first time someone’s said as much,” she replies, and I see another glimmer of hurt track across her features before she turns to leave.
I throw out my arm, blocking her exit. “Wait a minute.”
“I thought you were okay with me leaving,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.
“I never said I was okay with you leaving. What was that?” I ask, dropping my head a little so I can look into her eyes.
“What was what?”
“When I said you were a strange woman, that hurt you. Why?”
“I think you’ve had one too many alcoholic beverages tonight, given you’re reading into things that aren’t there.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Of course you don’t,” she replies with a huff.
“At least not alcohol.”
“Coffee, your vice, is it?”
“Something like that.” I step closer, and she backs up against the chair we were just sitting on. “Why did my words hurt you? They did earlier when I first began massaging your feet, and they did so again just now,” I persist.
“They did not.”
“Edie, stop lying.”
“You’re being very overfamiliar,” she retorts.
“I want to know what triggered your pain just now. Tell me.”
“It’s actually none of your business,” she snaps, turning her head away from me.
Reaching for her chin, I make a tutting sound. “You don’t strike me as a coward.”
Her eyes thin as I cup her jaw, unable to stop myself from thumbing her plump bottom lip.
“I’m not a coward,” she replies, a little muffled, given that my thumb is obstructing her mouth.
“Oh no? Then tell me why my words hurt you.”
“Because…” her voice trails off as my thumb slides to her jaw and my middle finger swirls over her pulse.
“Because?” I question, gazing deep into her eyes and trying my best to get her to yield to me. She brazenly stares back, completely unaffected.
“I’m not sure how you expect me to respond whilst you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
She tips her head to the side, studying me. “Like you want to kiss me or… kill me.”
“I do.”
She blanches, her skin paling, and I realise my mistake.
“I do want to kiss you. I thought that was obvious by now.”
“I’m still not entirely certain you don’t want to murder me as well, Casanova.”
“I don’t want to murder you, Edie. I want you to tell me why my words hurt you, then I want to kiss you goodnight.”