14
The Vampire's Dessert
The library at midnight was a different creature entirely.
During the day, it was a place of warmth and welcome—sunlight streaming through the tall windows, dust motes dancing in golden beams, the soft rustle of pages turning as Azrael researched obscure demonology or Selene consulted ancient herbals. I'd spent countless hours here since arriving at the manor, curled up in one of the oversized armchairs with a book balanced on my knees, the hellhounds dozing at my feet.
But at midnight, with the candles burning low and the shadows stretching long across the polished floors, the library became something else. Something older. Something that felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for secrets to be whispered and desires to be confessed.
I couldn't sleep. The aftermath of the threesome with Selene and Azrael still hummed in my veins, a pleasant ache that made me restless and needy. I'd tried lying in my bed, staring at the canopy and replaying every moment, but sleep had eludedme. So I'd wandered here, to the one place in the manor that always felt like sanctuary, and pulled a random book from the shelves.
It was a collection of vampire lore—old, leather-bound, the pages yellowed and fragile. I'd opened it to a random section and found myself reading about blood bonds and claiming marks and the ancient rituals that bound vampire to mate. The words were archaic, the illustrations disturbingly detailed, but I couldn't look away.
The blood of the claimed becomes a sacrament,one passage read.To taste it is to know the soul of the beloved. To share it is to become one flesh, one spirit, one eternal devotion.
My fingers traced the words, and I felt the phantom echo of Lucien's bite on my shoulder, Azrael's mark pulsing on my thigh. I was already claimed twice over. Marked by wolf and demon. And yet—
"You should be asleep."
The voice came from the shadows near the door, low and smooth and instantly recognizable. I didn't startle—I'd felt him the moment he entered, that familiar weight of ancient power pressing against my senses. Darius emerged from the darkness like a ghost given form, his silver eyes catching the candlelight and throwing it back in shimmering fragments.
He was dressed down for once—no suit, no cloak, just a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark trousers that hugged his lean hips. His hair was slightly disheveled, as though he'd been running his hands through it, and there was something different in his expression. Something softer. More vulnerable.
"I couldn't sleep," I said, closing the book but keeping my finger between the pages. "Too much on my mind."
He crossed the room with that fluid, predatory grace that always made my breath catch, stopping at the edge of thearmchair where I sat. His silver eyes dropped to the book in my hands, and something flickered in their depths.
"Vampire lore." His voice was carefully neutral. "Researching your enemies?"
"Researching myfamily." I held his gaze. "There's a difference."
The word hung between us—family—and I watched it land, watched the subtle shift in his expression as he processed what I'd said. Darius was the hardest of them to read, the most guarded, the most controlled. But I was learning to see past the mask, and what I saw now made my heart ache.
"You consider me family," he said slowly. "After everything. After what I am."
"I consider youmine." I set the book aside and rose to my feet, closing the distance between us. "Vampire, crime lord, ancient terrifying creature of the night—I don't care about any of that. I care aboutyou. The man who wore a pink cloak because it smelled like me. The man who watched over me all night without sleeping. The man who's standing here at midnight, checking on me because he felt me awake."
His jaw tightened. "Lizzie—"
"I know you're afraid." I reached up and touched his face, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. "I know you've spent centuries alone, keeping everyone at arm's length, convincing yourself that you don't need anyone. But you're not alone anymore. You have Lucien and Azrael and Selene. And you have me." I stepped closer, close enough to feel the cool energy radiating from his skin. "You haveme, Darius. If you want me."
For a long, breathless moment, he didn't move. Didn't speak. His silver eyes searched my face, looking for something—deception, maybe, or weakness. Whatever he found there made his expression shift, the careful mask of control cracking just enough to reveal the hunger beneath.
"I want you," he said, his voice rough. "I've wanted you since the moment you stumbled into our ritual and looked at me like I was something other than a monster. But I don't know how to be gentle, Lizzie. I don't know how to want without possessing. I don't know how to love without consuming."
"Then consume me." The words came out steady, certain. "I'm not afraid of your hunger. I'm not afraid ofyou."
Something in him snapped.
He moved with that supernatural speed, and suddenly I was pressed against the library ladder—the tall, rolling thing that reached the highest shelves, made of dark wood and brass fittings. His body caged mine, his hands braced on either side of my head, and his silver eyes blazed with an intensity that stole my breath.
"You say that now," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "But you don't know what you're offering. The things I want to do to you. The ways I want to claim you."
"Show me."
He pulled back, his expression unreadable. Then he reached for the silk tie at his collar—when had he put that on?—and drew it free in one smooth motion. "Hands," he commanded. "Above your head."
I lifted my arms, and he wound the silk around my wrists with precise, deliberate movements. Not tight enough to hurt, but secure enough that I couldn't pull free. He attached the other end to one of the higher rungs of the ladder, stretching my arms above me and forcing me onto my toes.
