The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Of course.”
She followed him to the cylindrical machine he’d been working on as she’d entered, then waved at an opening. “You can access it here.” He placed his hand on the smooth, metal exterior. “I can hear the bolt clicking when I turn the crankshaft.”
She crouched until she was mere inches away from him, then slipped her hand inside.
Chapter Nine
Marcus inhaled thefaintly soapy smell of Winifred’s hair and kept his gaze firmly on her face instead of the smooth expanse of her neck, where arteries carrying her rich blood pulsed beneath the surface. The moment she’d stepped into his workshop, wide-eyed and wearing little more than a wrapper, he’d forgotten exactly why he’d fled her presence earlier.
She shifted her elbow. “I’ve got it, but it’s caught.”
He wrapped an arm around the base of his invention to keep it from toppling over. Nursing a broken bone would be a fine way to occupy her wedding night.
She twisted, inching closer. “Almost.”
He should have moved away and supported the mechanism from the other side, but he was too fascinated by the warmth of her body and the wisps of her hair that caressed his skin. Faint, blue lines traced up her pale wrists and vanished beneath her sleeve. His mouth filled with saliva. A soft caress of her cheek and her resistance would vanish like sand flowing through his fingers. He could practicallytasteher hot blood trickling down his throat. She twisted her shoulder again and hit him square in the stomach with her elbow.
He winced but did not complain. For even considering biting her, he deserved it. No human had tempted him so in centuries.
“I think I have it,” she said.
Of course she had accomplished what he’d been failing at for weeks. They had only been married a few hours, and she’d alreadyproven her worth.
She started to remove her hand from inside his invention but only made it a few inches before she stopped. “My hand is wedged.”
“Release the bolt.”
“I did,” she said. “But I still can’t…” She squirmed around. “I’m… I’m stuck.”
Her rapidly increasing pulse riled his instincts and made his jaw ache with the effort of holding back his fangs.
“Look at me,” he said.
She stopped struggling and met his gaze.
“I’m going to help you,” he said. “To do that, I need to touch you in a manner that might make you uncomfortable. You must remain still, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”
Her cheeks reddened. “Yes.”
He positioned his long limbs until her head was nestled against his chest. Then he maneuvered his arm inside the mechanism beneath hers. After he freed her, he would take a sledgehammer to the damned thing, but for now, he had to hope his powers would not fail him. He tucked his arm more securely about her back, then forced his blood into his arm and through his pores until it pooled around his fingertips.
“What are you doing?” Winifred asked.
“Giving you more room,” he lied.
He willed his blood around her bruised flesh, then formed it into a solid mass that expanded until the pressure made the gears groan.
“Try now,” he said between gritted teeth.
She jerked her arm out in one smooth movement.
He released his hold on the blood and fell onto his rear, nearly taking his wretched invention with him.
“Marcus!” She grasped his upper arms. “Are you hurt?”
He tucked his battered limb behind his back for the few seconds it took for his wounds to heal. When his skin no longer itched, he pushed to his feet. She remained close, her outstretched handshovering a few inches from his chest, as if she expected him to collapse. He used the opportunity to examine her arm, which was streaked with grease but appeared otherwise whole.
“I apologize,” he said. “I would not have allowed you to help if I’d thought you might injure yourself.” He turned to his invention and kicked it. The pile of steel and iron tottered back and forth on its wide base but did not fall. “This thing has given me no end of grief.”
