I give up pretending I don’t need his warmth and fold myself against his broad chest because dignity is for people who aren’t currently turning into human popsicles.
My muscles unknot one by one while my brain stops chattering long enough to process the smell of him. I wondered if I was imagining it down in the dungeon but no—he smells every bit as good as I remember. I had expected the smell of old blood and dusty vault air—after all, he is a vampire. Instead I get dark spice and smoke layered over cloves and clean skin with just a hint of leather.
It’s really unfair, I think, that he smells so good. I mean, he’s keeping me here against my will—I should hate him. But it turns out it’s really hard to hate such a big, handsome guy who smells like incredibly expensive men’s cologne and who looks at me like I’m some kind of gorgeous princess when in actuality I have probably never looked worse or more bedraggled than I do right now, still covered in an oily sheen of Wraith slime.
After the dirty water drains away completely, Lucian releases me and refills the bath. Steam rises around us and warmth slides back up my limbs like a tide returning.
“Relax,” Lucian murmurs. “You’re getting cleaner—we’ll rid you of the slime and bring you back to normal soon, my lovely one.”
“‘We’ implies teamwork.” I give him a pointed look. “You do realize this is not how most first dates go.”
“I am aware,” he says, perfectly grave. “Most first dates fail to include attempted soul consumption.”
“God.” I try to laugh but it comes out more like a sob. “Okay, you get a point for dark humor but I’m still cold.”
Which is true. Despite the heat of the bath, it’s like the core of me is frozen solid and I just can’t warm all the way up.
Lucian frowns.
“I was afraid of this—you were in the Wraith’s grip too long. Well, there is one other thing we can try.”
“What?” I ask apprehensively.
He doesn’t answer in words. Instead, he pulls a small golden knife from his pocket. The hilt is etched with vines and thorns. The blade, when he draws it, flashes in the ruby light from the chandelier.
“Hard pass,” I say immediately. “I feel like crap—you can’t drink from me now. Or ever, for that matter,” I add for good measure. It’s important to set some boundaries, since it doesn’t look like this is a dream, after all, and I won’t be waking up with Mr. Mittens beside me yowling for his morning wet food fix.
“I will not be drinking from you, lovely one. You will be drinking from me.” He draws the blade across his own wrist in a swift, clean line. Blood wells from the small wound, thick and dark. “My blood will help you recover. Only a little will do a great deal to heal you.”
“What? No!” I exclaim, my stomach turning into a fist at the thought of drinking blood. “Absolutely not—no thank you!”
Lucian doesn’t seem to hear me. He brings his wrist to my mouth and I try to push it away. Not that it does any good—it’s like pushing against a brick wall.
“You will drink of me, Julia,” he says, frowning sternly. “I won’t allow the Wraith’s evil to leech into your soul simply because you’re squeamish.”
“But I’m not like you,” I protest. “I’m a human—I can’t just drink blood.”
“You are cold to the marrow,” he says quietly. “This will heal you.”
He brings his wrist to my mouth. I turn my head in a last attempt to refuse because, hello, this is a lot, but my strength is paper-thin and the big vampire is about a thousand times stronger than me. He presses his bleeding wrist to my mouth, forcing my lips to part…and then the tiniest taste hits my tongue.
I brace for the coppery, metallic tang of blood. But what I get is completely different.
Creamy sweetness like salted caramel flows over my tongue. And with it comes warmth, flooding through me.
A startled sound comes from my lips. I swallow instinctively and then lap up some more, because my body has clearly decided to betray me. I drink a little more, loving the taste against my will, before he finally pulls his wrist away.
“Well?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Was it really so bad?”
“It…it doesn’t taste like I thought it would. I…I can’t…” I fumble, looking for words. “What the Hell? Why is it actually good?”
“Because you are meant for me and I am meant for you.” His voice goes softer…deeper. “My lovely one. My Curvy Queen.”
I stare up at him.
“You have got to stop calling me that.”
He shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders again.
