Once I find a suitably soft fabric, I unbutton it and drape it around her petite shoulders. The length hits her thighs, making it resemble a dress on her. One I rather like since it’s my shirt and her wearing it makes her look like she belongs to me.
She says nothing as I fasten the buttons up her torso, just watches me with distrust in her gaze.
“In my home world, humans are aware that Strigoi exist. We’ve formed a society together, one where Strigoi protect the mortals and mortals feed the Strigoi. So while yes, humans are seen as inferior due to their weaker states, they’re not treated asslaves.”
I thread my fingers through hers and lead her from the closest but head into the bathroom rather than back into the bedroom.
Pausing at a set of drawers, I find a comb, then turn her to face the mirror while I begin to gently detangle her hair. It’s the least I can do since the dark strands are knotted from my ministrations.
Though, I may need to have her shower again, as I’m rather certain some of this is from my seed, not just my fingers fisting her thick hair.
However, rather than comment on that, I continue telling her about the Strigoi Kingdom and the relationships between my kind and humans.
“Strigoi often take mortals as lovers and mates because our kinds rely on the other to survive. The heart of the relationship is a blood exchange—Strigoi need mortal essences to stay alive,and humans can achieve true immortality by imbibing from a Strigoi’s vein.”
“I-immortality?” she stammers, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Drinking from you makes me immortal?”
“It can, yes. If you imbibe enough.” I find a particularly difficult knot and focus on it for a long moment, all while she watches me.
After the comb successfully goes through the cluster of strands, I continue explaining the mate-bond between Strigoi and humans. I tell her how it takes three blood exchanges to fully ignite, but a vow and sex to marry the souls together.
“Strigoi mate for life,” I inform her quietly. “Once we choose our other half, we don’t feed from anyone else. We don’t fuck anyone else, either.” I tell her that part while holding her gaze again. “Strigoi areverypossessive creatures, Ms. Dalca. We’re loyal, too. And our blood connections are sacred.”
She swallows, drawing my gaze down to her slender throat. I very much enjoyed how that felt around my cock. But I don’t tell her that now. I’ve upset her—something that’s far more evident to me now that I can hear her thoughts—and I want to fix it.
“As I told you, I’m new to this. No other human has tempted me like you do. It’s…” I trail off, searching for the right words to help her understand. “I feel overwhelmed with lust, Viviana. All I want to do is live inside you. To experience pleasure. To finally feel connected to another being.”
I finish combing her hair, letting my explanation settle between us.
Her mind seems to be processing the statements, her anger somewhat abating. However, I can tell the matter of verbal consent still bothers her.
So while she considers everything I said, I consider everything she’s said. Particularly about her desire to have asafe word. It’s an interesting concept regarding control, one I’m intrigued by.
“If you voice your word of choice, and I do not agree with the timing and don’t stop, that harms trust between us, yes?” I ask, wanting to be sure I understand the purpose of her needing this boundary.
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “If you ignore it, that defeats the purpose.”
“And will make you distrust me.”
“Absolutely.” Her eyes find mine in the mirror again. “And I already don’t trust you not to hurt me.”
Irritation prickles my chest. Irritation… at myself. Because I don’t particularly care for her distrust. “I’ve hurt you?”
“You’ve scared me,” she clarifies. “A lot.”
I frown. “You don’t seem to fear me.”
“I don’t fear what you are, King Negru. But I’m terrified of what you might do to me—on purpose or not.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to repeat my request to be calledCiprian. However, hearing the reason for it in her head forces me not to voice it.
The heart of our ensuing issue is trust.
She’s using my title to maintain a formality, a distance, to keep this conversation from becoming intimate.
Because she does not feel safe with me.
“I understand now, thank you,” I murmur, pleased that she’s provided me with guidance. This is probably the longest conversation I’ve had with a person who isn’t Marius. And I find that I’m also satisfied with that realization.
