Page 150 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Shock silences her, but it lasts less than a second. “You—”

I catch her wrist before she can strike me, her palm halting a fraction from my face. “There she is,” I croon.

“I am going to kill you!” she screams, wrenching herself free and pushing past me as she stumbles off the armchair.

She drags her clothing back into place with furious, uneven movements.

I remain kneeling beside the chair as she goes to the door. There, she glances back. Not at me. Instead, she scans the room, searching…For the knife. The letter opener. She seems to be calculating the distance—whether she can reach any of them before I do.

“You can try,” I murmur. Part of me hopes she will. I am already imagining the instant I would catch her. Sweeping her into my arms as she fights me every step of the way.

The bed, my mind insists, my trousers straining once more. I would carry her to the bed. Not to tame her. To revel in her wildness.

“I meant it,” she says coldly, severing the fantasy.

“Hmm?” I blink distractedly. “Meant what?”

“You really are a monster.”

“Well, then…” Rather than stand, I settle back on the floor, one knee bent before me and an arm resting casually across it as I survey her from below. “You had best aim higher next time.”

“Oh, trust me, I will.” She glares at me for one long second, hatred, humiliation and confusion warring across her face. Then she bolts.

I remain where I am long after the door has closed, lamenting how far we have strayed from the path I carved for us, and I have no earthly idea how I am supposed to lead us back.

Chapter 23

Kira

Well, I wanted his blood on my hands.

The door closes behind me, and I run. For the first few steps, my legs threaten to fold beneath me. I catch myself against the wall, shove my bloodied hand beneath my blazer and force my knees to keep working. I do not wipe his blood away. I will need it.

The moment the dagger struck the floor, my plan to kill the Vampire Prince died with it. I failed. Miserably. But I have another plan. First, I need somewhere private.

My jaw aches. My throat feels raw, and there is a strange, loose giddiness in my limbs as I run, every hurried step sending an intimate throb through my body that is not nearly unpleasant enough considering what I endured. High on my inner thigh, the wounds left by his fangs have already dulled to a warm pulse.

It is horrifying.

A vampire fed on me.

Nathaniel fed on me.

I should feel sick. I do feel sick. Yet beneath the sickness, my body still carries the echo of his hand and mouth, pleasure lingering like the last heat of a fever.

I hate him.

I hate myself more for not hating every second.

My shoes slap against stone loudly as I hurry through the empty corridors. I expect his office door to open behind me, and to hear his cool voice telling me to stop, to go back. If he did, some curious, treacherous part of me might obey before sense returns.

I throw a glance over my shoulder, and the door remains shut.

I cannot escape him. I can still taste his release no matter how many times I swallow, and I can smell him everywhere. His scent clings to my hair, my skin, my clothes—cold and clean, tainted now with the sharpness of his blood and arousal.

I may have failed to kill him, but I didn’t come away empty-handed: I have his blood.

And if I’m right, that changes everything.