Page 37 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

“Don’t,” I warn, feeling her gaze burning against my face, aware that it has slipped to my hand.

“Is that my blood?”

“You’re menstruating,” I grind out, not because it disgusts me, but because it doesn’t. My fingers twitch with the urge to lift them to my mouth and taste the rich decadence of her blood.

“It’s been months since my last… I thought that had finished… This is so humiliating…”

She chokes on the words, and I feel her shame expanding between us like a balloon about to pop. I want to tell her I’m not reacting this way because I’m disgusted, but because I’m fighting so hard to maintain control, I can’t even begin to find the right words.

“You need to leave.”

A bitter laugh slips past her lips. “So this is how it’s going to be.” She pauses, dragging in a tremulous breath. “I believed everything you told me earlier. I hoped you were different, but you’re exactly like every other man selling pretty lies to get what he wants, until what he gets disappoints him.”

She’s out of the car before I can respond, the door slamming behind her. I track her movements, waiting until she disappears inside her house.

“No. I’m not like every other man, and that’s the fucking problem,” I murmur. Then I reach down, unzip my trousers and pull out my cock, fisting it.

My fangs instantly drop as Edie’s blood smears my dick, its rich, metallic scent filling my nose as I violently jerk myself off. It doesn’t take long before my orgasm breaks and I’m spilling all over my hand, Edie’s essence mingling with mine. I don’t hesitate, I lift my fingers to my mouth and taste her blood. The second I do, my eyes slam shut and the back of my head hits the headrest.

Fuck. Me.

Starlight. That’s her flavour. Pure, unfiltered starlight.

The taste of her blood hits like the smoothest vodka, sharp and powerfully charged, sending an electric current through my veins and making my whole body hum. Underneath, there is a thread of sweetness, deep and decadent as dark chocolate, and below that, something I cannot name. It is not a taste but a sensation, a surge of awe and wonder, of mysteries waiting to be discovered.

Every human carries their own distinct flavour, but none has ever come close to this. No other blood has ever painted galaxies behind my eyes.

In that instant, I know Edie belongs to me, irrevocably and without question.

Chapter 9

Edie

Elizabeth reaches for her mug of tea, her gaze slipping to the boxes stacked against my kitchen wall, one of her immaculately plucked brows arching.

“Don’t say it. I could do without your judgement today,” I say, swiping the wet cloth I’m holding over the kitchen counter and scrubbing at it furiously.

It’s been a whole forty-eight hours since Dorian made me come in the passenger seat of his car like he wanted nothing more than to give me pleasure, then acted like a complete arsehole afterwards. He hasn’t even attempted to contact me to explain himself, and that’s only angered me further. In the last couple of days, I’ve moved through the hurt and disappointment. Now I’m just feeling incredibly stupid.

“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for the last ten minutes, Edie,” she remarks, swiping a strand of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear.

She’s the only one who was gifted our mother’s beautiful hair. In fact, she’s the only one who takes after her. I wasn’t granted such exquisite looks, taking after my father, his Italian heritage giving me black hair, and a more olive skin tone. Not that my mother’s beauty prevented my father from walking away almost thirty years ago after he chose to make a new life with another woman. I don’t even know if he realises mum is dead.

“So? It’s dirty,” I snap, shaking my head free of those thoughts.

“I could help you sort out those boxes if you’d like?” she offers.

“For the last time, I don’t want to sort out the bloody boxes,” I say, throwing the cloth in the sink and glaring at her, a sudden, inexplicable rage making me lose my cool.

“Aunt Edie, why are you shouting?” Nina asks, stepping into the kitchen, a pencil gripped in one hand and a picture she has been drawing all morning grasped in the other.

“I’m not shouting,” I reply, puffing out a breath as her pretty cornflower blue eyes, so like Elizabeth’s, blink up at me.

“You were,” she accuses, stamping her foot just like Elizabeth used to do when she was a child. The two are like peas in a pod.

Elizabeth smirks and takes a sip of her tea.

“Okay, I was. I’m just feeling a little out of sorts, that’s all. I’m sorry.”