“Mhm.” His hum rumbled low, dangerous. “I would hold you for all my days.”
“And when the sun rises?”
“Then I’ll remember you,” he said against her lips, each kiss a mess of possession and reverence. “Every heartbeat. Every shiver. Every stolen breath—and it will sustain me until the next time.”
Her breath hitched as his hand traced wicked lines down her stomach, lower, to where he’d kissed her—claimed her—the night before. “And if there isn’t a next time?”
“If you want me, Penelope,” he murmured, voice dark—absolute, “there will always be a next time. For all eternity, if you dare ask for it.”
“Careful, Vampire. That almost sounds like a confession.”
“If you wish it,” he said, teeth grazing her throat, “then it is.”
She wished for it—she yearnedfor it, with a desperation she had never felt before. To possess his words, his touch, his gaze. To covet him entirely.
Yet no matter how intense her prayer, the sun was still rising.
“I will return tomorrow,” he whispered against her skin as his hand traced a path below her waist. In one fluid motion, he shifted her onto her back, pinning her beneath him, and she was trapped—breathless, shivering, and utterly his. “Promise you will not cry at my absence?”
Penelope laughed, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “You think yourself so important to me.”
“A vampire can only hope his prey thinks of him,” he teased.
She blinked, and he was already across the room, retrieving his discarded tunic—once again committing the sin of hiding the contour of his muscles from her.
“I am a prey, am I?” she asked, kicking her feet over the bed as she rose to him. Her hands roamed the expanse of his back while he secured his belt, a thrill running through her at the touch.
“Notaprey,” he said, turning to lean against the window. Then, with a sudden pull, he caught her hands again and drew her close, resting his head in her palms. “Myprey. My Lamb with skin whiter than any daisy. And all else that dares to come near will only ever scentmeupon you.”
She held his face in her hands, pulling him closer to kiss his cheek.
“Well,” she murmured, voice soft but firm, “this prey is telling you that you must leave. Else you might fall prey to those who do not know better—those who cannot understand your… gentle nature.”
“Do not call a vampire gentle,” he laughed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Then what do I call you?”
“Call meRomeo, and you,Juliet. For our parting is more sorrowful than any story ever written.”
Penelope could not stop her laughter from escaping her, completely unrestrained. “You cannot quote Shakespeare and think I will swoon for your honeyed words,” she answered, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Of course I cannot.” His gaze lingered on her, heavy, reverent. “All the poets, all the stories ever told, and yet none hold words so tragic as when I must bid you goodbye. For the only sweetness in parting lies in the syllables of your name—Penelope. Until tomorrow, I will think of your name until I can call to you again.”
“Elias! You must leave.”
“As you wish,Juliet.”
Before she could protest further, his lips found hers—brief yet claiming all the same. And then he was gone, vaulting through the window, swallowed whole by the light of the rising sun. By the real world reminding her of its hold on them once more.
Her lips still tingled. She felt light, untethered, as though Elias’ kiss had stolen her breath only to replace it with something far sweeter. He had held on as long as he dared—longer, perhaps—and she still felt the ghost of his hands at her waist.
She sank back onto her bed, the smile refusing to leave her face. For one stolen moment, she let herself bask in it—in him.Elias.
Yet before she could allow herself true leave to revel in this, this…feeling—
The door creaked. Her father stepped inside, and Penelope hastily pressed her hands to her lap, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her.
He gave her a knowing look, his brows furrowing. “I know you have been keeping something from me.”
