“We’ll leave this place. You’ll go with me, won’t you?” he asked, and she gasped in response, a flick of his thumb making her hips buckle.
His tongue flashed between his teeth and she moaned, which seemed to please him very much. “I’d tear the world apart to have you. Say you love me.”
“I love you,” she said. He smiled, delighted.
His teeth carefully pierced the soft skin of her wrist and helicked the wound as she tipped her head back. There came a kiss between her breasts, and the sting of teeth once more, startling her, and she was caught between the twin waves of agony and lust.
“You’ll be mine, always,” he said, and lowered his head, sipping the blood from above her breast as he caressed the nipple.
She fought to breathe, to think, but her mind was growing hazy. When he slid into her, it was a smooth, easy motion, the twinge at her groin echoed by the pain above her heart. Time slowed down; she felt she’d been with him for an eternity. His movements were utterly unhurried, and her heart was hardly beating.
Her breath escaped in one low whimper as he surged into her. He embraced her tightly after his completion and she rested her forehead on his shoulder.
“You’re too pretty for words and you taste exquisite,” he told her. The honest contentment in his voice tugged at her soul.
He ran his hands through her hair, down her body. His knuckles traced the bumps of her spine, each caress gentle, attempting to erase whatever ache he’d caused her. He stroked her like one might pet a favorite cat. She was a lovely plaything he’d wanted for so long. Now he owned her.
Alba took a deep breath and turned her head to look at him.
He’d dozed off. In his sleep he was as beautiful as a statue, his whole body seeming carefully carved and devoid of imperfections. He slept peacefully. Alba lay at his side; the sweat covering her body had cooled and felt like a thin layer of frost. Her limbs were leaden and her eyes fluttered shut.
Alba curled her fingers and dug her nails into the softness of her palms, forcing herself to sit up. She remained perched at the edge of the bed for a few seconds. The bites on her wrist and breast stung, but he’d hardly drunk from her, a sip or two and nothing more. Yet the strength of him was a frightening thing.
She picked up her nightgown, slipping it over her head.
At last, she stood up and went toward the table with the mirror. She trembled. The surge of feelings overwhelmed her mind—he might wake in an instant, and even if he didn’t, what was she doing?
Hunters can be injured in the pursuit of their quarry. One wrong step, one wrong movement, and the chase may end in death.
When Alba reached the table, she had to lean on it for support. She took a deep breath. Arturo’s silver-plated grooming set glinted next to the light of the candle. Her fingers brushed the tops of the bottles, his comb, before settling on the razor.
She held it up and walked back to the head of the bed. Arturo slept on, eyes closed tight, and her hand shook as she bent down next to him, blade in hand. The anatomy books and encyclopedias mapped the veins and arteries in the human body. The carotids ran on each side of the neck.
She leaned down, closer, one hand grasping the razor, the other clutching the bedsheet.
He opened his eyes.
She gasped.
In an instant, before she could strike, he had sat up in bed and his fingers were around the hand that held the razor. Alba froze, mouth open, staring at his bright, amused eyes.
“I could sense your deceit the moment you stepped out of bed,” he said. “Let go of this toy.”
His hand tightened around her own, holding her with a bruising force, and she dropped the razor. He released her and she stepped away quickly, bumping into the table with the mirror in her haste, but just as quickly he was behind her, his chest pressed against her back and a hand at her waist.
“How should I punish you for this insurrection?” he asked.
She looked at their reflection in the mirror, peering into his large eyes, which shone in the dark like those of an owl or a cat. When he smiled, he showed her his teeth, ivory white and far too sharp.
She grabbed the candle upon the table and thrust it up against his face.
He let out a mighty howl of pain and unhanded her.
Alba ran. She rushed down the stairs and toward the door. Outside there were the fields of barley, turned gray and colorless underthe light of the moon. The earth was moist and soft beneath her feet; the mist that descended from the mountains had dampened it. It made her movements trickier. But she knew the land, could trace its contours with her eyes closed.
She must head toward the river, near the spot where she’d shot the thing that had been Tadeo. The barley rustled behind her, stirred by a breeze, and she ran down a narrow dirt path, pushing forward.
The chill and the dampness of the night did not cool her skin. It was on fire, and her heart was a smoldering coal. Her lungs burned as she stumbled and pressed on.
