“You said you wouldn’t,” I breathed.
“I lied,” he said lowly.
“Why?”
“Because you are mine.” Clicking bloomed in his throat like a purr, his cock still pulsing inside me. He leaned away to meet my gaze. The air around us was intoxicating. My consciousness swirled in a dizzy spell.
I had a hard time keeping eye contact. He grabbed my face and made me look at him.
“You said they were supposed to be for your?—”
“Mate,” he finished, resting his head against mine.
“But I’m?—”
“You are now.” He gave a satisfied hum.
“Sincewhen?”
“SinceI said so.”
“And when was that?”
“The moment you tried to poison me. Thefirsttime. I think the choice is fitting.”
“You were serious about that bloodline quip?”
“What reason would I have to joke?” He chuckled. “Though as much as it would delight me to introduce you to my bloodline, we both know that wouldn’t work,scientifically speaking.”
“Then what is the point of such a gesture?”
“So your body knows its place.”
He switched our positions so that I lay on top of him, my hips still straddling his, waiting for his spines to retract from inside me. I peered down and saw small amounts of crimson mixing with the semen that pooled out.
“What did I say about looking?” He grabbed my chin.
“How long until they let go?”
“Thirty minutes. An hour maybe.”
“An hour? No wonder you never use them. Who would want to be stuck with you for anhour?”
A chill shot through my spine the more I thought about the pain, the memory of it fading quickly from my mind and being replaced with a vehemence more intense than the last. It was like I’d drunk laudanum ten times over the recommended amount. Morphine paled in comparison to whatever was in those spines.
He pulled one of the fur blankets over us and held me close. The fire cracked and snapped, dying down to a simple glow of embers.
Was he insane? Is this why he wanted permission? While it was a bit of a blind side, I was flattered. It was humbling for a creature who’d spent all his life with no interest in this sort of thing just to choose me, the woman who had tried to kill him on multiple occasions. Maybe that was why he liked me. I couldn’t be sure. All I could focus on was the warmth of his body and hishands holding my waist as I faded into the sweetness of the night.
I satin the bay window of my old bedroom, the stained glass propped open so I could see out into the front yard. A long dirt trail extended far into the fog, lined with thin trees along the path. The air smelled like snow. Winter was nearing fast. By now, every blossom must have died in my greenhouse as well as my pink hydrangeas.
“What bothers you at the witching hour?” Silas’s deep, barely awake voice whispered, slipping behind me in the bay window nook to cradle me from behind.
“Everything.”
“Have the ghosts been bothering you?”
“Just one.”
