Page 25 of Bloodstained
His lips brushed there, softer now, reverent. The shift broke me. I gasped his name again, my nails digging into his shoulders. Ivan kissed me once more, slower this time, deep and lingering, like he wanted to brand me from the inside out.
When he finally drew back, my lips were swollen, my breath coming in ragged bursts.
“You hate me,” he said, his voice low and smooth and dripping with dark desire.
“I should,” I whispered, though it came out weaker than I wanted.
His gaze flicked to my mouth, and the corners of his lips curved slightly. “But you don’t.” It wasn’t a question. He dragged the pad of this thumb across my lower lip, soothing the flesh with the lightest touch. “Not really, isn’t that right, beautiful girl?”
I shut my eyes because the truth sat too close to the surface. It was too dangerous, too damning.
When he finally stepped back, the absence of his warmth hit me painfully. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep from shaking… from reaching for him and begging him to give me more. His stare lingered on me, steady and sure, the weight pressing deeper and consuming me.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured, that same promise-and-threat lacing his voice as he brushed his thumb along my cheek, “you will remember more. You will give me more, Clara.”
And then he was gone, leaving me in silence, lips still tingling and body still burning.
And a traitorous part of me ached for him to come back and finish what he’d started.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CLARA
The next day, I felt a weird anticipation. Ivan’s voice echoed in my mind… about how tomorrow I’d remember more.
I kept visualizing Ivan touching me. Even the ghost of a touch lingered like a phantom on my skin. I couldn’t explain it rationally, but my body remembered what had been buried so deep and for so long.
And every time I thought of him, my pulse betrayed me. When I closed my eyes, I saw him behind my lids, taunting me with a thousand promises of what could be again. The castle was silent but not still. It breathed. It listened. It whispered things I couldn’t understand, sounds that coaxed me to remember a time before.
I sat on the edge of the bed, firelight flickering across the carved posts. I noticed I constantly smelled him. It was the faint scents ofiron, cedar, and something darker, something that made an ache settle between my legs.
I hated that my hands shook. Hated the desire that came from nothing more than remembering the way he looked at me.
I hated that I wanted him to come back. I’d explored until the castle stopped feeling vast and started feeling like a gilded cage.
And when the door opened before I could banish the thought, I sat up straighter and felt my pulse race with… excitement.
He stepped inside, the corridor light spilling around him like a halo that only made the darkness following him sharper, more absolute. His white shirt hung open at the throat, his hair damp and a little disheveled, as if he’d just stepped from a shower.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, his voice a slow drag of dark sin. “You’re all I think about. Knowing you’re here, knowing your memories are waking piece by piece.”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. He moved closer, unhurried, until he stood right before me. I should have been afraid of the predator in him… of the creature who had been bathed in blood in the undercroft just days before. But fear wasn’t what gripped me.
The pull between us was magnetic. Undeniable.
“I thought vampires didn’t really sleep?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be, trying to break the spell seemingly cast over me.
That earned me a faint smile. “Yes, I sleep. I eat, as well. Garlic is one of my favorites. Regular food doesn’t sustain me as blood does, but I can enjoy the flavors.” His gaze swept over me. It was slow, meticulous. “The sun burns my skin after long exposure, but I’ve never tested if I burst into flames as the movies depict. And as for a stake through the heart…” His hand came to rest over his chest, fingers splayed. “It hurts, but it won’t kill me.”
I swallowed hard, not asking how he knew it wouldn’t kill him. I could assume being alive for centuries would take its toll and cause anyone to try and kill themselves. “But you’re immortal?”
“I don’t age,” he said. “I’ve never fallen ill. Not once in all the centuries since I let the darkness claim me. That’s all I know for certain.”
I looked down at my hands, twisting them in my lap. “Do you sleep in a coffin?” I asked before I could stop myself, instantly regretting how absurd it sounded.
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “No, Clara. I sleep in a bed. The same one you shared with me once, when you were still my wife. When you moaned my name as I moved inside you.”
My heart slammed into my ribs. His words slid over me like satin, leaving heat in their wake. A shiver raced up my spine, my breath catching as his meaning sank in. When I dared to glance up, he was watching me through half-lowered lashes, head slightly bowed, but his eyes—those glowing, unholy eyes—fixed on me.
