“Every instinct tells me yes. But I could never hate my intriguing forge maiden,” he whispers, eyes dropping to my lips. “I don’t want to. I’ve acknowledged every reason why I should and now I will let them go. I forfeit them for you.”
There’s the truth of it. We thrive on our hate because it is our survival. And yet…yet…what if there was another way? What if I could find it, forge it? I am strong enough, capable enough…maybe, just maybe…
“I wish I could ignore all of this,” I breathe.
“I wish I had never taken you here.”
“I wish I had never become bloodsworn to you.”
“I wish I had never tasted you.” He licks his lips.
“Is it consuming you, too?” I don’t have to say what “it” is. We both know. I’m certain the memory of the night we shared has been on his mind almost as endlessly as mine.
“With every waking minute. I didn’t head to our chambers to even attempt sleep because I knew you would haunt me there too.Youhaunt me every moment I’m not touching you.”
I hadn’t even thought of sleep. The idea was the furthest thing from my mind and I wonder if that’s because of him. Did he plant the thought without realizing? Or did his energy alone drive me to the conclusion?
“How do we free ourselves from this torment?”
“I don’t know if I want to be free.” His gaze drops farther, to my neck. “You might be torture and temptation incarnate. But you are strength and power. You are damnation and salvation trapped in curves that should be forbidden.”
A tickle of pleasure slips down my spine like an invisible fingertip. I swallow. He’s looking at me again with those ravenous eyes. And, once again, I don’t want him to stop.
I give in. “Do you want to?”
He lets out a low groan, pulling me closer. Our hips are flush. One arm wraps around my shoulders; the other hand is in my hair. I am pulled taut with delicious tension. More.More. Then release.
“I want to more than I’ve ever wanted anything. So much it terrifies me.” His fangs are little crescent moons determined to dig into me. I quiver. I want them to, even though there’s no reason for it. He’s not wounded anymore. I can’t use the excuse of survival to explain this away.
“Did you drink the blood with the rest of them?” The mere idea of another’s blood touching his lips ignites an ugly streak within me.
“I couldn’t, all I could think of was you. I don’t want anyone else—in blood or body. Nothing will ever taste as sweet as you.”
“Well, you need to keep up your magic to fight off the curse.” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s deeper, almost sultry.
“Floriane…” he murmurs, eyelids growing heavy.
“One condition.” I rise to my toes to murmur in his ear. My hands splay across his strong chest for support. “I taste you after. Give me your power. Keep me drunk on it.”Give me that sweet haze of magic.I’ll need it for what I want to do in the smithy. I need it for my own satiation.
“I will until your body gives out and you can no longer handle me,” he repeats his words from the night of our vow and descends on me. His hard body presses against mine, pinning me to him. Ensnaring me with muscle and velvet.
I bite my lower lip in pain as his fangs pierce my flesh; I exhale delight as all sensations fade away. There are no aches in my muscles, no bruises or scratches from our long journey into the depths of the castle. My corporal form is gone, locked in his arms for safekeeping, as my consciousness dives into the well of power between us.
This magic, blood magic, is fed by us both. By the exchanging of power—his and mine. My fingers creep up the firm plane of the front of his shirt, seeking out the mark at the base of his throat. He growls, biting harder as my nails outline my blood mark on him.
A moan escapes me.
He grips my rear, hoisting me up onto the table. My legs are around him on instinct. Ruvan tips me back, better exposing my neck and chest to his mouth and hands.
It should hurt. I should be screaming. But heat drips down my torso like blood, and pools in the pit of my stomach. All the racing thoughts I had from before are stilled.Thisis exactly what I wanted.
The gift of his bite and body is over too soon. He pulls away. I try and hold on, but he won’t let me and I slip off the table. Ruvan locks his eyes with mine. His hair has fallen into his face, a moonlit mess. His golden eyes shine from the shadows his furrowed brow casts, contrasting with the sharpness of a painter’s brush against his pale flesh—as striking as his bloody lips. Ruvan moves his hands to my face. One of his thumbs glides over the swell of my cheek a little too easily. Lubricated by blood.
He drags his tongue slowly across his fangs, carving a line into the muscle and filling his mouth with his own blood. I realize what he is about to do a mere second before he does it. A whimper escapes my lips. Needy. Shameless.
I love it.Make me beg for you, Ruvan. My insides have turned molten.Give me power, give me life.
His lips crash onto mine.
