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“A dhampir.” He placed his palms on his knees and leaned forward. “It makes me a dhampir. Same as you.”
10
ZAQ
“Take it back.” Reaper flowed, lethal as a ninja, across the cell.
Her tone was cold, but her breath was agitated. She crouched and touched the switchblade to my throat.
What the fuck was wrong with her? I eyed her from beneath my lids, too damned exhausted and hungry to fight.
Let her cut my damn throat.
She pushed the point deeper. “Take. It. Back.”
Blood trickled down my neck. We both smelled its coppery scent. Her nostrils flared. Her breathing sped up.
I cocked my head to the side, trying to ease the pressure. “Take what back? That you’re a dhampir? You are, aren’t you? Same as me.”
Reaper’s gaze locked on my bleeding neck. Blue rimmed her striking gray eyes. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. Fangs gleamed whitely.
Yeah, she was definitely a dhampir. Blood excited her, brought her vampire to the surface.
And that excited me. Incredibly, my cock hardened.
I swallowed, itching to sink my fangs into her plump lower lip and draw a little blood myself.
Her gaze lifted. We stared at each other, arrested. For a few seconds, I forgot where I was or who she was. I even forgot the blade pressed to my throat.
All I knew was that I wanted—no, needed—to drag off her pants, pull her onto my lap and sink my dick into her sweet little body.
My stomach growled, the sound loud in the small cell.
We took a ragged breath in unison.
Hatred flashed across Reaper’s face. It was more effective than a slap. My excitement withered.
She pressed the blade deeper. “I’m nothing like you syndicate vampires. I don’t drink from thralls. I don’t use my wealth and power to prey on humans and make them into slaves and blood addicts. I protect humans from people like you Krals.”
“Okay, okay.” I leaned my head back against the wall. “You’re nothing like me.”
Reaper’s gaze darted to the knife she was holding to my neck. “Fuck.” Her eyes widened. She jerked back and closed the blade. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She scrambled backward and stood up, getting as far from me as she could and still be in the cell. She turned her back and put a hand on the concrete, head bowed.
“Hey.” I struggled to my feet and fought to clear my head. Something told me this was important, a key to the mystery that was Reaper. “I understand. It’s not easy for any of us. And for the record, I’ve never kept a slave in my life or turned a woman into a blood addict. My mom raised me better than that.”
“Don’t.” Her voice was a harsh scrape. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”
“Yeah?” The anger I’d held in for two long nights spilled over. “Why not? Because I’m a syndicate prince? I’m still a dhampir. The vampire spawn beat the shit out of me and my brothers whenever they could, and my father did nothing to stop them because he wanted to toughen us up. And he had to strong-arm the other vampires in our syndicate to accept us as his heirs—not that I even wanted to be his damn heir. But you don’t leave the Kral Syndicate.”
I heard the bitterness in my tone, and I didn’t care. Maybe to an outsider like Reaper, I looked like a rich, spoiled brat, but she didn’t know how confined my life had been. I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth when all I wanted was plain old sturdy, practical stainless steel.
I couldn’t even choose my own career. I’d wanted to go to medical school, but my father had said, “Syndicate princes don’t work as doctors.”
Mom had been more diplomatic. She’d taken me aside and pointed out that humans wouldn’t accept a dhampir in their hospitals. So instead, I worked on the edges of the medical profession, raising funds for organizations like Doctors Without Borders and helping out whenever I could grab a few weeks away from New York and my father’s demands.
Reaper kept her back toward me. I took a step toward her, still angry.
