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I distract myself by focusing on the weapons I’ve laid out on his velvet sofa. The crossbow, my silver knife, a necklace fashioned from garlic taken from Xavier’s pantry, and the vial that held water that I blessed with holy words. Unfortunately, the vial is empty; its contents have long since been thrown at Xavier during his morning shower. My bone knife is conspicuously missing from my arsenal because it has been disposed of, thrown into the trash where it belongs.
My gaze lingers on the crudely fashioned wooden crucifix and stake. In a desperate move, I destroyed one of Xavier’s dining room chairs to create the two weapons. I am as ready as I am ever going to be.
“Good evening, love.”
I spin around, startled by his sudden appearance. I forgot about his ability to scatter and materialize wherever he wants—undead bastard. Without letting him out of my sight, I fumble for my weapons, feeling the rough texture of the wooden stake and the sharp edge of my silver dagger, but my hand closes around the wooden crucifix first. I hold it up in front of me. “Stay back.”
His eyes glint with mirth as he regards me. “Little wolf, who is the person who has been filling your head with fairy tales? Your crucifix will not harm me.” His brows draw closer as he studies the crucifix in my hand. “Is that my dining room chair?”
I tighten my grip on the crucifix and take a step forward. “I don’t believe you, and if you come any closer, I’ll show you what this crucifix will do to you,” I warn. “And yes, it was your dining room chair.”
I stand my ground as he takes slow, deliberate steps towards me, ignoring my warning. He reaches out to snatch the crucifix from me, but I react quickly, pressing it hard against his forehead.
“Ah, it burns, it burns!” He screams, his anguish bouncing off the walls as he stumbles backward, clutching his head.
I hit him with a megawatt smile, satisfied that my plan has worked. Victory is mine, and my line of attack is unfolding just as I intended, but Xavier straightens to his full height, his screams turning to laughter.
The smile on my face melts like a snowball tossed into a bonfire. There is nothing on his skin, no scorch marks, or a crucifix-shaped hole burned into his forehead, and I am left feeling stupid.
“The crucifix should have burned you. It should have worked!”
“Oh, it did burn; only I wasn’t the one that was scorched.” He wipes away the fake tears from his eyes and grins at me. “Tell me, love, how badly did it burn to discover that you know nothing about vampires?”
Badly, but I will never admit that to him. The fang carver has betrayed me, and the crucifix is useless. The elders’ teachings are nothing but bullshit.
I don’t understand. Werewolves are not immortal, but they live longer than humans. The elders are over a hundred years old. I know they had run-ins with vampires in the past and lived to tell the tales, and they even managed to kill a few. So they should know their weaknesses and strengths better than anyone else. But nothing they said would work is working. Why am I not surprised that they set me up to fail?
Not one to be deterred, I reach for the crossbow; my fingers wrap around the cold metal of the trigger. It is already loaded, and I don’t waste time aiming. I take a deep breath and pull the trigger, feeling the satisfying kickback as the bolt leaves the bow. The silver arrow slices through the air, its tip glinting in the dim light of the living room. At the last moment, Xavier turns away. I don’t know if he is trying to flee, but it’s a mistake on his part. The arrow hits, and it pierces Xavier’s ass, sinking deep into his flesh. He doesn’t scream, but a grunt escapes his lips. I know it’s real pain, not the fake kind he tried to pass off before.
Xavier stumbles forward, his hand clutching at the wound. “Bloody hell, woman, you shot me in the ass.” He glares at me. “If I had not turned away, you would have shot my cock off.”
I wince; that would be a grave injustice to the women of the world because his dick is the only thing bigger than his ego, and he knows how to use it. Not that I am ever going to allow myself to experience it again.
“Tell me, love,” I spit out the endearment that he is fond of using. “Does it burn?” His scowl intensifies, but I’m not done. “Are you amused yet, bat brain?”
“That’s your most deplorable insult yet. Vampires don’t turn into bats, contrary to what popular culture may suggest.”
Blood seeps between his fingers, a dark stain spreading across his trousers. My inner wolf claws at me, but it isn’t from the scent of Xavier’s blood; it is almost as if she is trying to break her way out to help him. I know what it means, but I don’t want to let myself think about it. I ignore the feeling and load another silver arrow into my crossbow.
Xavier lets out a low curse and moves towards me, but the silver seems to be weakening him, and I am quicker and fire another arrow at him, this time hitting him in the leg.
“Stop shooting me,” he snarls, his eyes glowing red.
“Call your friend Marcus over to lift the spell, and I’ll stop.”
“You don’t understand, Lyra. We’re fated mates. I can feel it, and I know you can too.”
It is the worst thing that can happen to me. How can I be bonded to a vampire? My dad, my brothers, and my pack will never accept it. I’m as good as banished. “I don’t believe in fate, and I would never choose you as my mate.” I’m aware of the truth of it, though. I felt the earth shift when we came together the night before, but the clash between our two worlds, the vampire and the werewolf, is too much for me to accept.
He isn’t impressed with my rejection. “You’ll come around; I’ll show you that we belong together, no matter what it takes.”
I bare my teeth at him. “Don’t hold your breath; I’d sooner die than be with a vampire like you.”
In the time it takes to draw a breath, Xavier stands right in front of me. His obsidian eyes bore into mine with a gripping force. I can’t tear my gaze away from those dark pools, glittering like precious gems in the flickering light of the ancient forest. With lightning-fast reflexes, he rips the crossbow from my grasp and crushes it in his fist. The weapon that is my defense is reduced to nothing but a mangled heap of scrap metal.
“Don’t push me, little wolf. I’m barely holding onto the fraying threads of my self-control.” He leans closer, his words whispering over my lips and stirring up feelings that I don’t want to acknowledge. “Do you know that when you get angry, your heartbeat increases and your pulse races, sending the blood rushing through your veins? I can hear it and smell it, and it’s making it impossible for me to resist you. Don’t make me renege on my promise to you.”
A shiver rolls through me as his words pull me closer, igniting a spark within me that threatens to engulf me. I want to throw myself at him. I want to crush my mouth against his and feel his hands all over me. Most of all, I want him to feed on my blood. Not anyone else’s, but it is wrong.
