Page 23 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

What the fuck had I done?

"What did Shiv mean when he was talking about you taking a mate?" Dante asked. "He said you might need to take a mate to strengthen your magic."

"I really don't want to talk about that right now."

"Alright." He didn't push me.

A little bit of silence was enough to do that for him. Which he probably expected, after spending the past twenty-four hours with me.

I eventually admitted, "Angels can only reach the deepest parts of their magic after they seal a mate bond. Arranged mating is extremely common because of it. I've never been interested, and I've definitely never needed more power."

"Until now."

"I guess."

Dante nodded. "I want to make it clear that if you have to take a mate to get us out of here, I'm willing to do it. You'd be stuck feeding me for the rest of our immortal lives, but I could make myself scarce the rest of the time."

"I don't want to think about that. For now, I have sketching to do."

Dante handed me the small, thin notebook and stubby pencil that someone had given him earlier, and I got to work.

The next day was a little calmer.

River and Jazz stayed in their cell with the notes and diagrams I'd made.

Dante played up the possessiveness.

I clung to him like I was nervous, and it seemed to help sell the story.

I was kind of nervous, so it wasn't all a story.

We didn't talk about anything real or serious. He taught me about the prison. I continued feeling horrible for trapping so many innocent people inside it.

We discussed our favorite foods in real life—the flavorless prison slop was truly depressing—and argued about our vastly different tastes in clothing.

He was a slacks guy. Slacks. Blah. Hard to believe, right?

I'd tried to picture him in his fancy, pressed slacks and a button-down a dozen times, and failed.

He teased me about my overalls frequently. The teasing was lighthearted enough that there were no hard feelings. We were just friends, after all. And not everyone had to like the world's most perfect form of clothing.

I was pretty sure he'd grown up rich and elegant, even though I hadn't come out and asked. Some things were better left unsaid.

As someone who had grown up rich, elegant, and abused, excessive money and fancy shit no longer had a draw on me.

Dante was quieter on the third day. I could tell the bloodthirst was affecting him. He was a big guy, and he probably needed a lot of blood to survive.

Despite the fact that he had looked like a zombie for the last few hours before dinner, he insisted that I had to eat before he bit me, so that I had a better chance of recovering.

I finished my food, and ducked away from his fake-possessive hold on me long enough to leave our dirty dishes where they belonged.

He was leaning heavily against the table while barely managing to stay upright when I got back to him.

The man was not in good shape.

And not thrilled that I'd ditched him.

I took his hand and slid my fingers through his, like we'd been doing for the past few days. It sold the story, and honestly, I kind of liked it.