He had little doubt that she could’ve taken care of the blond twerp, but as soon as he got word that Devon had been seen entering her building, he knew it was finally time to give him what he deserved.
It was too bad for him. Dahlia would’ve been more merciful. Felix didn’t do that sort of thing.
It didn’t matter that Devon didn’t know about Felix’s claim. What mattered was that he’d been bothering Dahlia and other women on his staff for a long time, and finally making a move on her had given Felix the perfect excuse to rid the world of his unique brand of garbage.
No one could fault him for it. A claim was a claim, and one placed on a blood bride was a beast all its own. Even if she’d just been his anchor, Felix wouldn’t have been judged for his quickexecution, but the fact that she was his blood bride made it more than justified.
It was expected.
Ignoring the body on the floor, he did a small circuit around the apartment, taking in all the little details she’d never shown him through the lens of her phone’s camera. Of course, he knew her shopping habits. He checked her payment records weekly, just to see what she’d been up to and make sure she didn’t need some help.
He didn’t do it to keep control over her but because he was a pathologically curious sort of person. Knowing things was his favorite hobby, and knowingDahliahad surpassed anything he’d ever enjoyed before.
Felix loved knowing that she bought the same coffee every week. He loved that she never splurged on anything new, but was willing to shell out her hard earned money at estate sales or thrift stores. He loved seeing what textbook she’d been forced to buy that semester and where she ate lunch with Cecilia that day.
Every single one of those purchases told him a story. It told him what she valued, what made her happy, and what she deemed necessary. More importantly, it told him what her weaknesses were. It was vital information for a man like him.
And he could admit that he just liked it. Because he liked her. A lot.
The roof of his mouth pulsed angrily as he circled around her bed. She still hadn’t made a sound, but the feeling of her awareness of him, her nearness, made the craving for her almost unbearable.
Dahlia had always smelled good. He noticed it the night they met, when Harlan Bounds so kindly handled his uncle for him.
She smelled of vanilla and brown sugar and suede and whatever fancy shit she used in her hair. One whiff of her and a flash of that scowl…
He’d been caught, hook, line, and sinker.
It was a beautiful kind of torture to be in her space, especially now. If she smelled delicious before, it was nothing compared to what Alastair’s blood had done to her.
All venom neutral vampires smelled sweeter than the rest of their kind. There was no instinctive disgust when he sucked in her scent. No instinct telling him to avoid drinking at all costs. No competitive urge to show dominance or strength. There was only hunger.
Blood brides were hard-wired to be delicious.
While vampires as a whole were designed to be predators,theywere designed to prey onvampires,and that meant everything about them was meant to appeal. To entice.
His mouth watered as he slowly turned to face his girl. The ache in his fangs was persistent and growing, along with other parts of his body, but it couldn’t quite distract him from the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows of her cheeks.
He was so happy to see her that he’d been briefly distracted from his fury. The sight of her standing there, trembling in her skimpy silk pajamas, brought it roaring back.
“You’re in some serious fucking trouble,” he bit out. “When were you going to tell me you were sick?”
The thought of what she must have been through in the last two weeks sent a wave of awful, prickly feeling over his skin. A vampire lived or died based on how well they cared for their anchors, blood bride or not. It was a hard-wired survival imperative. A vampire couldn’t feed on a sickly, neglected mate, after all.
It was his job to keep her safe. It was his job to provide for her. It was his job to see to her needs, whatever they were.
He’d been forced to keep his distance while his war with Yvanna dragged on, but that didn’t mean the instincts were muted. Even knowing he couldn’t keep her, he’d felt them like aknife between his ribs every day as he lay in bed, staring at his ceiling and gnashing his teeth.
To know she’d not only been on that roof the night of the assassination but also silently suffering as Alastair’s blood took hold really,reallypissed him off.
And when she still refused to say anything? A fuse lit.
Felix stalked across the room. Her cornflower blue eyes went wide as she watched him approach. Bare feet slapping against the cheap bathroom tile, she scrambled backward until her spine hit the edge of the sink.
He didn’t stop.
Felix crowded her against the sink. She leaned as far back as she could, but it didn’t do much. Cupping her cheeks, he pressed his thumbs into the corners of her mouth.
“Show me,” he growled.
