Page 87 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

"No. We agree that my rescue plan went to shit in the prison."

"Do we also agree that you should've included me in that plan and taken me with you in the first place?" he asked, his voice measured.

"We do," I admitted.

"Then there are three things we agree on."

"New record," I mumbled, my eyes closing as Dante grabbed some soap and carefully began to clean my wings.

Every touch made me warmer, but he clearly wasn't trying to turn me on. He knew exactly how to touch me when he wanted to do that, and he was avoiding the parts of my wings that he knew were the most sensitive.

All of the tension in my body seeped away as he worked the soap through my feathers with one hand, holding my weight up with his other arm around my waist. A disturbing amount of dried clay fell when he did, but I was enjoying his touch too much to care.

Dante washed my hair after my feathers, and carried me back to bed half-asleep when I was done. My bare body was draped over his as he settled on the bed, my wings draped out on either side of us.

"This is my favorite way to sleep," I mumbled, barely conscious. "I missed it, after the prison."

His arm tightened around my waist. "I did too. You should've said something."

"Why?"

"We're mates, Angel."

"Doesn't feel like it."

His chest rumbled. "It will."

His quiet promise followed me into sleep.

I woke up in the same position I'd fallen asleep in, but one of Dante's arms rested lightly on my shoulder blade. I could hear the soft sound of his thumbs on the screen of his phone, a foot or so away from my head.

I breathed in slowly, and his scent filled my lungs. I felt... good. Really good.

Maybe even amazing.

Some deep, forgotten part of me didn’t want it to end.

I felt genuinely safe, for the first time in as long as I could remember. Maybe ever.

It was the kind of feeling a woman could get drunk on, or lost in.

It took me a few minutes to reassemble the walls I kept around my heart. To remember why I had distanced myself from everyone—and Dante in particular.

I reminded myself of him referring to me as an object he’d protect to get himself out of the prison.

The way I always felt vulnerable after screwing anyone—but especially him.

The way he’d abandoned me after reluctantly knotting me in the studio.

The way work always came first for him.

He was even working on his phone while he held me in the bed he claimed was going to be ours. Which was fine. He probably hadn’t even been tired.

But it supported a pattern.

I needed to remind myself of that, to protect myself.

After a few minutes, I’d retaken control of my emotions enough. I lifted my wings, stretching lightly, and raised my head.