Page 44 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“Ah-ah. Don’t lie. I could feel it. It must feel like a betrayal to everything you are.”

Of course it does. But I’m not going to weep and grovel over it in front of him, humiliating myself further. I rub my lips together as I chew my next words, folding my arms over my chest. God… Am I completely crazy? Or do I just enjoy that dumb flicker of surprise when I catch him off guard?

“What do I taste like?” I ask.

Dante’s eyebrows lift, eyes sparkling with approval. “An incomparable, rich wine with a note of something sweet. Like a rare Vernaccia.”

He runs his teeth over his lower lip, and I hate that I’m mesmerized by the motion, even knowing he’s looking at me again like that’s all I am—dessert.

I grimace, but snort a soft laugh, shaking my head. “I sincerely regret asking.”

He smiles back as if to say what did you expect?—but he’s still staring with that strange intensity, like he’s working up the courage to say something.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” he finally asks. “Inviting me back to your pretty neck?”

“As always, you find the most unsettling way to put it,” I mutter. “Go find a stray cat. Or a rat—I saw plenty of those in the gutters.”

“Don’t make me do that,” Dante whines, tipping his head back. “I only need a taste, I promise.”

I grind my teeth in thought, unconsciously rubbing the fang scars on my neck. As much as I loathe to indulge him, the idea of Dante prowling the alleys of Terralta with an appetite doesn’t soothe me, either.

I sigh out through my nose. Dante’s already halfway across the room by the time I beckon him—like I might change my mind if he doesn’t reach me quickly enough. His footsteps scarcely make a sound on the floorboard; the grace of a killer.

He draws close to me, then closer still. My back hits the bannister of the four poster bed frame, his hips glancing against mine. I should be used to the proximity, but it feels different when we’re alone, without an audience.

“If you push like last time,” I warn as I pull my braid to the side, “I’ll force holy water down your throat.”

“Just a bite,” Dante agrees in a hush.

He sets a hand on my shoulder, brushing his thumb over the fang scars left on my skin. His mouth twitches at the sight—pride. He’s reveling in his handiwork, having marked me.

Dante’s grip tightens then, and I catch his eyes blanch—pure, feverish whites—as he bends to sink his teeth into my neck with no further preamble. No matter how he cradles me, it fucking hurts. I flinch at the first puncture, toes curling. My hands jump to his shoulders on instinct, balling in the linen of his shirt.

At the first pull, my eyes flutter. That delicious numbness crawls over my senses, silencing the pain—but I can still feel the blood leaving me.

Run, my body growls.

I dig my nails into Dante’s shoulders—whether to cling to him for support or shove him off, I’m unsure. His hands are firm on my waist and the back of my head, and twitch slightly in response to my tension, pulling me a little closer.

As if you could get away, his grip seems to whisper back.

I count just three long swallows before Dante surfaces. He hovers over my neck, breathing raggedly with the restraint of prying himself back. For a moment, I’m certain I’m going to have to wrestle him to the floor again. Relief seeds quietly in my chest as he releases my head. His eyes flick to mine as he straightens, sapphire irises returning under a fan of dark lashes.

Already, I can feel the difference compared to last time; my feet are still rather steady beneath me, and I can think with relative clarity.

“Satisfied?” he asks, voice rough.

I nod. “Good boy.”

Dante’s brows lift. Fuck, where had that come from? I can’t tell if I’ve impressed or insulted him. He holds my gaze unwaveringly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Crimson smears off his lips and over his skin. The movement is unhurried, like he wants me to see his ownership of every single drop he’s taken from me.

I hate myself for it, but it’s fucking mesmerizing.

“Out in the hall… It almost seemed like you were worried about me,” I say, breaking the charged silence. I offer a small smirk, lifting an accusatory eyebrow. “Pulling me out of the way like that.”

Dante snorts softly, blood-stained teeth flashing in a vicious smile. “Only because I couldn’t let you have all the fun beating my dear little brother to a pulp. When we cross him next, he’ll be wishing he’d let me end him here.”

His hand shifts, and I realize with a jolt that it’s still on my waist, his long fingers spread lightly over the small of my back. My teasing smirk fades, heat crawling into my face. Dante’s usual hollow amusement is darkening before my eyes. He’s looking down at me with an intensity I’ve never seen on him before, and it steals the breath from my lungs.