Page 46 of A Betrothal So Bloody

Another shoot of anticipation courses through me. Fuck, why does it feel good, pleasing him? To have earned such a look? Am I truly so desperate for praise?

Without warning, Dante relents. He pulls his fingers out, leaving me gasping with spit on my chin that I hastily wipe away.

I’ve never done that before. Given the look on his face, he knows I haven’t. We stare at each other, each panting slightly in the charged silence.

Well… He’s certainly not laughing at me now.

I can see the question stirring behind his eyes—what kind of a virgin does that?

I don’t know. If I glanced at my own reflection right now, I wouldn’t recognize myself.

As the seconds stretch out, I think he might ask to fuck again. I’m terrified to realize that even now, even knowing he’s full of shit… A part of me arches toward him. It’s irrational, maddening. I want to strangle him. I want him to scoop me off the ground and kiss every place that aches. I want—

What do I want? Will I say no if he asks this time?

Of course I will. I hate him.

“What was that?” Dante finally rasps.

I chew my lip before smirking. I’m taking his searching look as my victory.

“I thought you thrived in the murky waters of the undefined and all that.” I put on a bit of pomp at the end, lifting my chin as I mock his arrogant drawl.

He snorts softly as I push him away, his unyielding body suddenly pliant to let me pass. My heart is still galloping as I extinguish the oil lamp, pulling back the quilt on the bed.

“Truce?” Dante calls after me.

In response, I shoot a vulgar gesture toward him without a backward glance.

fifteen

Despite exhaustion pounding behind my closed eyes, sleep evades me for hours.

I’ll be useless if I’m not rested; my reflexes will be slowed by precious seconds and awareness of my surroundings dulled. Weaknesses I can’t afford on the best of days—let alone now, when every moment could produce a fresh threat. My frustration is doubled when I hear Dante’s breathing turn slow and even after mere minutes. Even in sleep, he finds a way to annoy me.

As I roll onto my other side yet again, I consider getting up to draft my next update to Mother Superior—but what could I say?

We’re hastening toward the supposed cure on schedule, but I thought it was a fine time to give my very lethal target a finger blowjob in revenge?

My stomach knots as I relive every second, and I squeeze my thighs together tightly.

Fuck, I’m walking a very dangerous line.

This is precisely the effect vampires have on so many humans, drawing them in like moths to a flame. Violence wrapped in flattery and false promises. I am no better than any of those poor wretches until I atone for such vile behavior at the first opportunity. I have sinned before I’ve even touched him properly.

I need to push Dante from my mind entirely. He’s my mission, my guide toward a cure, and possibly the most irritating person I’ve ever met. Nothing more.

And what if the cure is real?

My eyes flutter open in the dim light.

What if it works, and Dante becomes human again?

My mouth goes inexplicably dry as I picture it—walking beside him in full, glorious sunlight. Not in disguise, not watching our backs. Would it be so terrible to want him if he was no longer a monster?

Don’t be ridiculous, I chide myself, fists balling on the quilt. You don’t want him, and he feels nothing for you. He’s probably had hundreds of lovers—vampire and human alike. Taller, prettier, less militant.

The Order would never permit it, anyway.