Penelope drew a breath with difficulty, her chest straining against her stays, her ribs struggling as if her body resisted her own will. She forced herself upright, every muscle taut with resolve she did not feel as though posture alone might keep her from unraveling. “If you agree to my terms, then I…”
Her voice cracked, the words dying on her tongue. Shame and uncertainty wrestled in her throat. Her eyes flicked to the piano behind him, lingering for a moment as she steadied her breath.
“I will help you,” she whispered, allowing her eyes to find his once more. “With your desire to learn… and your hunger.”
For a moment, the silence became unbearable. Elias said nothing, his expression unreadable, his stillness suffocating. He only looked at her—looked through her—until she wondered if she had misstepped or misunderstood. The realization that she had just handed herself over to monster—a vampire—settling in her chest like lead.
Her breath came quicker. The longer he said nothing, the more her courage soured into dread. She wrung her hands until her knuckles paled, every instinct whispering that she should rescind, should push him out the window, should confess everything and beg forgiveness from her father. And yet, she stood there, waiting, praying he would speak.
“You will not run away from this?” Elias finally asked, taking a cautious step forward. Testing her.
“You have my answer. Yes, I agree. To all of it.”
“You agree,” he repeated softly. “And yet your heart thrashes as if in protest.” His lips curved into something not unlike a sneer.
Her breath stuttered. “I—I gave my word.”
“And I have lived long enough,” Elias murmured, leaning closer, his voice brushing her face, “to know a woman’s tongue does not always speak for her heart. No matter how deft that tongue may be.”
Her fingers clawed at her skirts, twisting fabric until the seams strained. She should deny him, shove him away, scream. Yet she remained rooted, trembling, trapped more by her own treacherous wanting than by his looming form.
“No matter,” he said at last, his tone solid again. “You have offered yourself. I will take you at your word.”
Relief—sharp and sickening—rushed through her chest, though it was short lived.
“How will you take my blood?”
Elias’ eyes narrowed as his smirk stretched wider still. His shoulders relaxed, only just, as he released a sharp and almost mocking breath.
Then, he moved. Not swift, but with that slow control he always seemed to possess. His hand wrapped around hers in what was becoming familiarity in the way his warmth would so naturally wrap around her.
“That,” he murmured, lowering his head until his lips hovered a breath from her wrist, “depends on you, Lamb.”
Her pulse rioted beneath her skin, betraying her, deafening her with its frantic rush. She forced herself to lift her chin, though her voice came out thin and frayed. Yet he stared at her with that damned smirk. He knew. Of course, he knew what this was doing to her. He could hear her heart from across her house. He could hear the way her pulse raced every time he discarded the space between them as though it were offensive.
“And how do you prefer to… drink?”
He smiled, cunning and unbearably soft. “I prefer to be completely as my nature demands. I am not one to have practiced much… care, before.”
And before she could flinch or flee, he traced a single finger along the softness of her wrist, pausing just above the fragile blue vein that pulsed life. Not piercing, not yet—only reminding her of where this bargain would lead.
Elias’ smirk curved deeper as though he could taste her hesitation. Then, with maddening leisure, he guided her trembling hand upward, until her fingertips brushed the sharp, gleaming edge of his fang.
Penelope gasped at the unnatural smoothness of it, the razor tip that pricked without piercing. Her breath caught as he pressed her hand closer, letting her feel the full length of one fang, then the other, as if daring her to recoil.
“Do you see?” he rasped, his voice dark. “This is no metaphor, no symbolism, no game, Lamb. This is what waits for you when you give me leave.”
Heat and terror wrapped around her core, strangling all sense of reason. She should have pulled away, yet, she didn’t. Her hand remained against his mouth, her fingertips grazing the sharpness that could end her.
“And if I asked for care?” she whispered, barely audible.
Elias pulled her hand back, kissing the tips of her fingers where his fangs had grazed. He closed his eyes, still pressing the pads of her fingers against his lips as though considering the idea in truth. “Then I would take less,” he finally said, lowering her hand but never releasing it. “Slower. It will never be my intention to harm you thus. Or to ruin you. But make no mistake, Lamb—it is still hunger. Still need. Care cannot sweeten the bite.”
Her skin prickled and a dangerous excitement worked its way lower and lower. Her body betrayed her with a tightening in her core. “And if I do not ask for care?”
The smile that fully unfurled on his lips was as sharp as his fangs. “Then I would take you as you are. No pretenses. You would feel exactly what I am, and what you are to me. And, I will tell you something else.”
Her chest tightened. Every instinct told her to retreat, to bolt for the safety of distance. But her body betrayed her, holding still, eyes locked on him. A tremor shivered through her, yet her voice emerged before she could stop it. “What?”
