Page 113 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

He takes another step towards me, and I turn on my heel and run, sprinting towards the door. Of course, he gets there first, blocking my path. “You can’t escape. There’s nowhere to go.”

“Get out of my way,” I snarl, rage knotting my fists as I slam them against his chest.

He shakes his head, pain etched in his features as he grips my wrists. "I am who I am because of her."

“What?”

“She’s the reason I’m a vampire. She’s the reason I’m cursed.” He lets my wrists go and drags a hand through his hair.

“Basilia was a vampire?”

“No, she was my wife. She was the woman I hurt, and she was someone who came from a long line of witches.”

“Witches?” I scoff, my disbelief sharp as I shake my head.

“I’m a vampire, Edie. Is it so hard to believe that witches exist?”

“Of course I know they existed, but I always thought most women accused of witchcraft were, in fact, healers, not wretched creatures from fairytales with the ability to curse people. Men feared those women who healed because of their own failings and prejudice. It’s hard to imagine anyone is capable of that kind of magic.”

“And yet here I stand,” he says, sighing. “I didn’t know about Basilia’s heritage. Still, deep down, I did know I was hurting her. I was too self-centred, too cruel to care or to stop. In revenge, she cursed me, killing herself in the process. She died because of me. I have to live with that.”

“And now you want to keep me prisoner, too? You’re willing to leave me to the same fate?”

“I don’t want—” he frowns, his teeth retracting, the lines around his eyes deepening with pain.

“You don’t, what?”

“I will never do to you what I did to Basilia. I won’t betray you that way, but you have to understand. I can’t let you go.”

“You can. You can step aside and let me leave.”

“No.” He takes a step towards me, his knuckles grazing my cheek. His touch is tender, disarming, and for a moment I want to lean in, to let him soothe me. “You’re not leaving, Edie. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. You’re mine.”

Then he presses his lips against my forehead, tenderly, with affection, and for a moment I believe maybe Viktor was right, that maybe he’ll change his mind and let me go.

That changes the second he swoops down and lifts me off my feet, carrying me across his chest.

I gasp, my fingers curling into his hoodie.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t fight me,” he replies, his grip tightening.

“Dorian, whatever it is you’re about to do, don’t.” I struggle in his hold, my scream cut off as he slams his lips against mine.

His kiss isn’t tender this time, it’s hard, unyielding, possessive, but I refuse to melt into his hold no matter how much my body is screaming at me to do so. By the time I have the wherewithal to pull away from his kiss, he’s laying me down on the bed, his body lowering over mine. I feel his cock, rigid between us, and it’s all I can do not to moan with want, my body betraying me.

“Don’t fight this,” he repeats, pinning my arms above my head.

“If you rape me, I’ll never forgive you,” I seethe, my heart pounding so hard I fear it might shatter my rib cage.

He flinches. “Rape you? Fuck, Edie. I don’t want to rape you. You have to know that isn’t who I am.”

“I don’t want you to drink my blood either,” I yell, bucking my hips beneath him.

“I’ve already fed,” he says, my attempts to shove him off me failing.

“Then what are you doing?” I still beneath him as he adjusts his position, straddling my hips with his thighs and gripping both of my wrists with one of his hands. With his free hand, he unbuckles the belt at his waist, tugging it free.