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“Not if it hurts you.”
There it was. Their old argument.
“I am fine. It is not hurting me.”
She moved, lightning fast. With nails lengthened into sharp claws, she cut open his wrist. Then she was again at the bathroom door. He snarled at her; his body tensed for a fight. She snarled back, letting the vampire take her.
She was not afraid of him.
Her connection to him reopened, she could feel his various injuries. The wrist wound was nothing compared to the acid burning his shoulder where the bullets had lodged. How he had remained standing, not to mention making it back on his own, was nothing short of extraordinary.
Gabby fought off her survival instincts to shy away from the pain and drew small amounts of it into herself with stubborn will.
“Stop! I don’t need your help.”
“It’s my right as your mate.”
Red flashed over his eyes. He sneered. “You relinquished that right a long time ago.”
“Did I?” She bit back, anger and bitterness taking over. “Because the Council disagrees. Or they would not have wakened me at your behest.”
He straightened, his face a mask of maddening fury. A frisson of fear shot down her spine, but she stood her ground. She was sick of her fear and sick of running. The Council had sided with him, but it didn’t mean she would give up her freedom.
She would live her life on her terms. Not his. And if she wanted to ease his suffering at a cost to her, she’d damn well do as she pleased.
Gabby strode up to him, meeting him in the middle, refusing to be cowed. She shoved the bottles of blood against his torso, ignoring the electricity shooting through her from where her fingers touched him.
“Drink this.”
“And if I don’t?”
Her hands fisted at the urge to punch him. Must he make everything difficult? Rather than knocking him upside down in the head, she picked the diplomatic approach.
“Drink it. For both of us.”
For a second, she thought she’d gotten through to him. Then he said, “No.”
He moved fast, faster than someone should be able to in his condition. He grabbed her and lifted her onto the bathroom counter and squeezed between her legs. His head dropped to her neck, and she shivered from the feel of his fangs scraping her skin. Her core clenched, the pain forgotten as desire took over.
“I’ll drink it”—he licked the place where her pulse thudded in her throat—“if you feed it to me. With your mouth.”
The smile he gave her would have made ladies forget about rules and respectability. Gabby was not immune to its charms, either. Had never been. He was too close. The wild ocean scent of him wrapped around her, trapping her. Her body had a mind of its own and leaned into him. His hard length rubbed against the fevered spot between her legs and the ache to have him was agonizing.
“Feed it to me,” he repeated. He kissed her throat, licking, sucking, nipping with his tongue. Resisting was impossible. All she wanted to do was lean back and savor the heat of his mouth along her skin.
This was a horrendous idea.
Gabby twisted open a bottle with the last of her strength and took a sip. The blood was cold, thicker than she was used to. Pulling Felix’s head up by his hair, she kissed him.
Desire detonated within her like a timed bomb, sweeping away her reservations and thoughts. Her body and its needs took control. She wasn’t Gabriella Crawford, only a receptacle for the pleasure and needs of the mating bond. She opened her mouth and Felix drank from her. A breathy moan escaped her. She wanted to wrap tight around him and never let go.
“More,” he pulled back and growled, his voice husky with lust, his eyes shining a bright emerald tinged with red.
Gabby took another mouthful from the bottle and kissed him again. The pain was long forgotten, replaced by a burning desire engulfing them. His tongue plundered her mouth, exploring every corner and crevice and soaking up every drop of blood as though it were the elixir of life. A low and guttural growl rumbled from his chest, feeding the fire within her. She ground her hips against him, loving his hardness, but also needing more.
Her breasts were heavy and ached for his touch, so she took matters into her own hands and put one of his hands on it.
“Touch me,” she demanded, half delirious, her head swimming with pleasure.
