Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
The last of the blood swirls down the shower drain at my feet, circling in angry red streaks before finally surrendering to the current and disappearing.
My skin’s scrubbed raw, and the steam in the bathroom is thick enough to choke on at this point.
I breathe it in anyway, letting it fill up my lungs and crowd out the memory of Vincent’s body going slack while his head remained in Elliott’s grip.
That shit’s not washing out so easily.
Elliott’s arms slide around my waist from behind, and I lean back into him, closing my eyes as the heat and exhaustion finally start to bleed out some of the tension in my muscles.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, a little too gentle for a guy who just tore another man’s head off with his bare hands.
I crack one eye open and glance down at the water swirling the drain. “Define okay,” I mutter.
He stiffens against me. I don’t think he quite knows how to handle it when I joke about trauma.
I turn in his arms until I’m facing him, my nipples brushing his chest as the spray from the shower pelts us both, washing our sins away.
Elliott Faulkner might’ve just killed a man, but he looks like a damn Calvin Klein model right now with his wet hair slicked back and his jaw set tight.
He’s so much bigger than me, with more power in one hand than I possess in my entire body.
That imbalance should probably scare me, but it doesn’t.
Especially not when he’s wielding his strength in my defense.
I place both palms flat against his broad chest, tipping my chin up. “You just decapitated someone right in front of me, Eli. You don’t seriously expect me to bounce back from that right away, do you?”
His brow furrows. “It’d be concerning if you did.”
“Exactly,” I cluck. “So please stop treating me like I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. I’ll be fine, I just need to… not think about it for a while.”
His dark eyes search my face, and I can tell he’s about to launch into some sort of dissertation on the proper way to process witnessing a traumatic event.
Hard pass.
Therapists tried to do that after I lost my parents, but my child brain completely blocked out the memory of the night they died. Being tossed into the foster system after was trauma enough. I developed my own coping mechanism– humor and avoidance– and it’s worked just fine until now.
I slide my hands up to his shoulders, tilting my head. “Now that we’re clean, I know something that’ll help me turn my brain off…” My lips curl into a smirk as I trail off, the implication clear.
He reaches past me to twist the tap and kill the water.
The sudden silence that follows is weirdly loud, and for a moment we just stand there dripping wet, crowding one another’s space.
I expect him to either lecture me or let me go, but instead, he sweeps me up into his arms, carrying me out of the shower like I’m some kind of princess.
It’s so unexpected that I shriek, instinctively squirming against his grip.
“Damn, warn a bitch!” I scold, smacking his chest.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he sets me down on the bathmat, reaching for a towel and proceeding to pat every inch of my skin dry. Then he wraps the towel around me and grabs another for himself, rubbing it over his body while I stand back and shamelessly watch.
I’ve never seen skin like his before. There’s not a single freckle, scar, or imperfection– just taut, smooth flesh stretched over toned muscle.
My gaze lingers on the curve of his biceps, the dips of his abs, the thick line of his cock hanging heavy between his legs.
He’s a beautiful, beautiful man, and I’ll stare any chance I get.
He wraps the towel around his waist, slicking his hair back before reaching for his glasses on the bathroom vanity. I dart a hand out to stop him, and he pauses as my fingers graze his wrist, glancing down at me in question.
I give a little shake of my head. “Not tonight.”
“You don’t like them?” he asks, brows drawing in.
“I love them,” I reply honestly. “They make you look like a naughty professor, which, for the record, is now my official type.”
His mouth twitches.
“Just… not right now,” I say, struggling to articulate why this suddenly feels important.
He wears those glasses to project a certain persona to the world, but I don’t need the polished, professional version of him. I need the raw one; the man he is behind the mask.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth, staring up at him. “I want to see the real you.”
He stares back at me for a long moment, then dips his chin in a nod, letting his hand drop.
“You win, little mortal,” he murmurs, beckoning me with a flick of his head as he turns toward the door.
I drop my towel before following, the two of us leaving a trail of damp footprints from the en-suite into his bedroom.
The lights are low, the bed perfectly made.
Elliott goes straight to the dresser, tugging open the top drawer and retrieving a pair of those silk ties he’s so fond of.
When he turns back to face me, his lips part, gaze immediately dropping to rake over my bare figure.
“I don’t want those tonight, either,” I say, nodding to the ties dangling from his hand.
He frowns. “Beatrix, if you’re upset about earlier, then we really should talk–”
I close the distance between us and press a finger to his lips, shutting him up.
“I’m not,” I insist. “Actually, the fact that you killed for me is, like, disturbingly hot. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’m not mad.
And I like when you tie me up, too, but…
” My gaze flicks down to the ties, then back up to his face.
“You use those to stay in control, right?”
He jerks a nod.
“Well, I wanna see who you are when you lose control.”
Elliott’s whole body locks up, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You already have,” he growls. “And I’ve hurt you.”
The pain and regret in his voice scrape at something raw inside me; a wound that hasn’t quite scarred over yet.
“Without these…” He lifts the ties, his grip around them tightening. “If you touch me freely, I’m not certain I can control my impulses. I could get carried away, and I could hurt you again.”
I trail my hands down his strong chest, across his defined abs, then lower, finding the hard ridge of his cock already rising beneath the towel.
I grin to myself as I slip a hand under the edge to wrap around his girth.
As far around as I can get it, at least– the guy’s so fucking huge my fingers don’t touch.
It’s a damn miracle that thing fits inside me.
“You could,” I agree, giving him a slow stroke. “But you won’t.”
He hesitates, which is fair. His whole life is data and control and keeping his inner monster leashed, and now I’m asking him to cut it loose and trust that I’ll be fine.
He shudders, a ragged exhale escaping him. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I’m your bond,” I say, bringing my other hand down to join the first. The towel falls away as I use both to pump his length, his velvety tip brushing against my belly.
He groans low in his throat, hips jerking as precum smears across my skin.
“And I’m ready to make that official,” I add with a wink.
His eyes widen, then his brows slam down, the clinical mask slamming back into place. He drops the ties and reaches down to catch my wrists, stilling my movements.
“You said you wanted time,” he intones, his expression deadly serious. “It’s not a decision to be made impulsively.”
“I mean…” I shrug a shoulder. “Impulsive is kinda my brand. And you killed a man for me, Eli. If that’s not proof you’re in this for real, then I don’t know what is.”
His jaw clenches as I start stroking him again. “But we haven’t taken more blood samples yet for the research,” he grits out.
“Oh, fuck off.” I let him go, stepping back and planting my hands on my hips. “What matters more, Eli? The research, or me?”
“You,” he answers instantly.
I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.
I’m not sure I knew how much I needed to hear that until right now.
Nobody’s ever chosen me– not the foster families that took me in, not the world while I was scraping my way through it, fighting tooth and nail to make ends meet.
Nobody but Taylor, but now she’s chosen James, and how the hell am I supposed to compete with vampire-induced orgasms and the promise of immortality?
She’s the most careful person I know, and she took the leap.
Now, the bitch is thriving. I’m not sure I believe in happily-ever-afters, but I know I feel safe with Eli.
Every day, he makes me feel special, adored, cherished.
Like I actually matter. He’s annoyingly attentive, he takes better care of me than I’ll ever deserve…
why the hell should I overthink something that I know feels right?
“Let’s do it, then,” I say, lifting my chin in challenge. “Bond with me, big man. If you want it, now’s your chance.”
“I want it,” he murmurs, stepping in close and catching my chin in a hand. “I want nothing more, Beatrix. But forever is a long time, and the gift of immortality can often feel like a curse.”
“Why does it feel like you’re trying to talk me out of this?” I huff. “If I walk out that door right now, will you let me?”
He stiffens, his expression twisting into something tortured.
“I’d like to believe I could,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
“But even before the blood, our bond… from the moment I first saw you, some part of me claimed you as mine. I watched, I waited, but none of that changed what I already knew.” He exhales through his nose, glancing toward the door.
“You can try to walk out, but you won’t get far.
The man in me may let you go, but the monster never will. ”
I stare up at him, my lips parting on a stilted exhale.