He wants to be close too, I think. It’s not an assumption I’d bet on, but it’s one I have all the same.
“Catch me,” he hisses once we’re through the gates, and then he’s gone.
A growl rumbles its way through my chest as I realise he’s out of sight. He’smine, my prey, and I will have him.
I hear him in the distance, ears already attuned with as ready as I am to hunt, and I chase after him. Maurice looks surprised when I almost catch him the first time, but he slips out of my grasp with a smirk, and it takes everything in me not to roar with frustration.
There is more to this than simple hunger. I do not want him to leave. I value his advice, and I wish to maintain his companionship. And, perhaps, if he said the Huntsman had freed him of this task and he wanted to return to wherever he came from, then I would be less angry about it, but he did not, and so I am not.
Three more times he evades me, and I cannot feel his magic, but I wonder if he is using it to keep out of my grasp. The exhilaration of the chase does not temper everything else I feel and so, when I finally do take hold of him, bringing him down with my arms around his waist, I push him against the ground too roughly, pressing our bodies together.
He pants against my throat, and his fingers dig into my biceps tight enough to bruise. One of his legs wraps around my hip, bringing us even closer, and I let out a surprised grunt at the feel of him.
“Maurice,” I say, but he growls, snapping his fangs together.
“Bite me.”
I bury one hand in his curls, marvelling at their softness, before I yank his head back and sink my fangs into his throat. I expect him to go boneless much like he did last time, but he still clings to me, panting and groaning as though he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
More, perhaps.
I don’t take much. Just enough that my head starts to swim; just enough that I will always remember the taste of him. Maurice’s breath stutters when I pull my fangs free. His hand is in my hair too, gently stroking the back of my skull.
I want… The world spins around me, but when I look down into his face, it all settles. Maurice stares back at me, and it doesn’t matter that I can’t tell what he wants me to do. I canfeelwhat he wants, and not just in the way he’s pressed against me.
He groans when I kiss him, both legs wrapping around my hips with more intent. I rest my weight on my elbows and kiss him deeper, marvelling at the taste of him here, too. This feels right. Vampires don’t have mates like wolves—and I’ve never been one for the idea of a soulmate, not even when I was human—but Maurice fits in my life differently from anyone I’ve ever met.
He makes a muffled sound against my lips, and I lift my head long enough to frown at him. “What?”
“How much blood did you take?” he asks. He’s still breathing hard, and his pupils are so wide that I almost can’t see the grey of his iris at all. There are twigs in his hair, a smear of dirt on his cheek, and I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.
“Not much.” It’s the truth. I’m not entirely… sober, I suppose, but what does that matter?
“What does that mean?”
I try to kiss him again, but he tugs on my hair just enough to make my scalp sting. I hiss through my teeth, and he grins up at me, entirely unrepentant.
“Answer the question, Njáll.”
Just because I have him beneath me, it doesn’t mean I have the upper hand. Lust shudders through me at the thought of that—he wants to be where he is; he just wants me to answer the question.
“Less than last time. Much less.”
“You know what you’re doing?”
I smile down at him, and his eyes soften. “Are you asking if I’ve done this before?”
“Fucking vampires,” Maurice says, rolling his eyes, and then he shifts his lower body and I’m the one on my back, with him straddling my hips. I reach for him, but I can’t move my wrists. They’re pinned on either side of my head, and not by his hands.
No. His clever, clever hands are busy unfastening my shirt, and only when I make a questioning sound does Maurice pause, gaze darting to my face.
“…Here?” I ask.
“Sorry, did you want me to stop so that we can traipse all the way back to the clan house?” Maurice says, one eyebrow raised. He sits back on my hips, hands falling to his sides. “Where, no doubt, you’ll be waylaid by one or more vampires, maybe even that fucking arse Augustine, and we’ll have no time at all to pick up where we left off.”
He fixes me with a steady, almost condescending stare, and when I laugh, I am certain that I am as surprised as he is.
“You’re so clever,” I say, and Maurice blinks in surprise. “Show me what other smart ideas you have.”
