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“Currently, or do you refer to my friends? Or my late husband?”
He turned around. She had introduced herself as Mrs. Wodehouse, but he hadn’t spent too much time thinking of the dead husband. “Mr. Wodehouse carried the mutation?”
“Mr. Chambers, actually. My late husband shared the same affliction as Miles. He, umm, was Miles’s progenitor in that regard.” She played with the stem of the wineglass, rolling it between her thumb and index finger.
“I prefer to think of my vampirism as a medical condition rather than an affliction, though it certainly has been that in the past,” he said. He itched to know more about her late husband. Who was he? How did he die? He must have been put down by a hunter because Draven could not imagine fighting with anything less than his entire being to protect such a lovely anchor. Instead, he said, “You must be quite the expert.”
“Hardly,” she said. The pretty flush was back in her cheeks. “I know about anchors and their importance, but I do not know much about your condition. Is it contagious?”
Ah, there was that indomitable curiosity.
“A simple bite will not trigger a mutation.” And had not in two long centuries. He did not know how to create another vampire like himself. If another had solved that mystery, they kept that knowledge to themselves.
He steered the conversation back to the issues at hand. “Let us discuss terms. I require an anchor, as my kind does. I’ve gone too long without. As my bride, I ask for a year to determine compatibility. If the arrangement is unsatisfactory, I will release you from your commitment. I understand that social mores nowadays require a public exchange of vows.”
“I don’t need a public display. I’ve had a traditional ceremony already and I see no reason to bother with another.” Coolness laced through her words as she spoke.
“It is for your benefit, so that no one will doubt your position,” he explained. As his wife, no one would question Charlotte’s presence or dare speak ill of her. Without that protection, the cruder residents of the Aerie would consider her little more than a prostitute.
“Only a year?”
No one had ever lasted the full year. They couldn’t obey the rules. The few he had were simple but vital. He desperately hoped Charlotte could abide by the rules. Rather than share this knowledge, he said, “That will be sufficient. At the end of the year, you may remain or leave. Your choice. The arrangement will be terminated.”
He paused, allowing her time to object. When she did not, he continued, “Typically I give my prospective brides a week to think our bargain over. However, as you may have realized, you are now here for the duration of the winter. Do not feel as if you must agree. If you decide against it, you will be my guest until the snow clears.”
“I don’t need a week. I knew that I would be here until the snow melted when I came up the mountain,” she said without hesitation. Her hand flexed and tensed. “How does one seal such an agreement?”
With a kiss. The words were on his lips. She did owe him one, after all. Instead, he said, “Your days are your own, but your nights will belong to me.”
The color intensified in her face. Embarrassment? Excitement? Did her heart flutter with anticipation? He wanted to pull her close enough to hear the blood rushing in her veins. Feel the warmth of her. To taste her. His fangs itched. His nails extended. She was his prey, offered up so prettily for him…
Enough of that.
Draven clenched his fist, his nails slicing into the palm of his hand. He needed to stay focused. Rushing a bond would be as disastrous as not forging a bond at all.
“Will my duties include,” she paused as if searching for the correct word, “feeding?”
The moment the word left her lips, he could imagine how she would feel against him in that intimate act, both vulnerable in differing ways. His lips to her neck. How her pulse would flutter under his tongue. How she would taste.
Luscious.
Indulgent.
His.
“No,” he said, holding onto his control. “I have others for that task. I seek companionship, Mrs. Wodehouse. An anchor.”
“Only companionship? Or will you have more…physical demands?” She held his gaze as she spoke. He expected a nervous bob of her throat as she swallowed. Instead, he saw nothing. Her body betrayed no signs of unease.
“I won’t deny finding you attractive, but you are under no obligation.” Draven did not bother to hide his smile. If the flash of his fangs caused Charlotte to rethink her position, her expression did not betray her. Her gaze flitted down to his lips, but she did not look away.
He strode from the fireplace to her side of the table, stopping directly in front of her chair. The color drained from her face, but she continued to hold his gaze.
“I intend to collect the kiss you owe me,” he said, leaning down and resting his hands on the arms of the chair, trapping her there.
Her pulse fluttered in her throat, her skin shivering. The urge to lick her there and bite, to taste her and consume her, rolled over him. His grip tightened on the chair arms, fingernails digging into the wood.
“Tell me to stop,” he warned.
