Page 57 of Wicked Chains
She steps back, tilting her head to expose the long line of her neck. An offering. A challenge.
"Rose," I say, my voice strained. "You don't know what you're doing."
"I think I do." Her pulse beats visibly beneath the delicate skin of her throat. "No more games."
Horror and temptation war within me. I have not fed directly from a human since Rose arrived at the academy.
Yet I cannot deny that I want this. Want her. My eyes must betray me, for Rose smiles.
"Do it," she whispers.
What’s left of my control shatters like glass. I move us to the wall in less than a heartbeat, pinning her against it, one hand cradling the back of her head to protect it from the impact. My other hand tilts her chin, exposing her throat further. I hover there.
"Are you certain?" I ask, offering one last chance to retreat.
Her response is to press her hips forward, grinding against the evident proof of my desire. "Yes," she says.
My teeth pierce her skin, as gentle as I can make them. The first taste of her blood hits my system like lightning. Pure, electric, potent, nothing like the mundane blood I normally consume. I drink slowly, savoring each draw, each swallow. Her essence floods my senses, and I can taste everything about her, her power, her fear, her desire. Her need.
Rose moans, and the sound vibrates through her throat, against my lips. Her hips rock against mine in small, greedy movements, her arousal in the air.
Each drink brings a new wave of euphoria. I could lose myself in this, in her. It would be so easy to take too much, to drain her dry without intending to. The thought terrifies me enough to force my head back, breaking the connection.
Blood—her blood—stains my lips. I can feel it there, can see it reflected in her dilated eyes. The twin puncture marks on her neck are already closing, healing faster than they should. A side effect of her natural magic, perhaps.
"Lucien," she breathes, and my name in her mouth is nearly my undoing.
I step back abruptly, putting distance between us. My hands shake. My vision swims red at the edges. I have not felt so out of control since my newborn days, when bloodlust ruled my every thought.
Rose straightens, adjusting her clothing with deliberate movements. Her eyes never leave mine. There is no fear there, only a fierce satisfaction.
"No more games, okay, Lucien?" She touches the healing marks on her neck, a gesture that seems both possessive and proud. "Come find me when you've calmed down."
And then she is gone, slipping out of my quarters as quickly as she came, leaving nothing but her scent and the lingering taste of her blood on my tongue.
I sink into the nearest chair, my legs suddenly unsteady beneath me.
In centuries of existence, I have never been so thoroughly knocked for six.
Rose Smith may very well be the death of me. And for the first time, I find I do not care.
Twenty-Six
Ash
I stand on the balcony overlooking the main quad, hands gripping the cold stone balustrade, watching as Rose emerges from the east wing. From Lucien's quarters. Her cheeks are flushed, and even from this distance, I can see the slight disarray of her hair, the way her fingers keep drifting to her neck. I know what happened in there. The blood mark binding us together ensures I know everything.
My grip tightens on the railing until my knuckles turn white. The stone beneath my fingers cracks slightly. Rose Smith, the witch who thinks she can defy me at every turn, is now collecting men like they're toys.
First the ghost, Drake. I thought I'd banished him properly, but somehow she pulled him back. I know they've been fucking.
Then Soren, the hellspawn who should know better than to touch what's mine. That connection burns brighter, more recent. Last night. I felt the moment he fed on her energy, the spike of power that surged through our bond as they climaxed together.And not just the two of them, the ghost was there too. Sharing her. Taking what is mine.
And now Lucien. The vampire who just drank from her, tasted her blood, marking her in another, intimate way.
My teeth grind together as I watch her cross the quad, head high despite the way she must feel her own power draining. These men, they're nothing but diversions, distractions from the truth, she belongs to me. The blood contract makes it so. Her magic, her body, her very life, all mine to command, to use, to drain if I choose.
I push away from the railing, decision made. It's time she learned a lesson about defiance and the true nature of our arrangement.
