Page 19 of Collected By the Crow

Qadaire was kneeling on the ground behind some trees a few paces away. Below him was a beefy buck. All of his hands gripped the dead carcass’s fur coat, shrinking it to the size of Bambi. She ripped herself away and tried to breathe normally through the hand covering her face. Her heart thundered as she watched Zero, hoping he would hurry the fuck up so they could get back inside.

He really was a vampire, and he really did feed off of blood. Some piece of her had continued doubting it was true, easily compartmentalized with no proof. Was he liable to snap? Was he in a feeding frenzy? What if he was incapable of shutting it off and came for them next in a bloodthirsty rage?

Zero trotted back to her, tongue lolling. Cass hurried to open the door and follow him inside.

She shut the door softly, leaned onto her knees, and wheezed. By the time she’d finally caught her breath, the door swung open with a creak.

Cass went rigid. Qadaire glided right past her down the hall. Reluctantly, she followed, hoping she didn’t seem as rattled as she was. It was one thing to believe someone was an immortal vampire, and yet another to witness its truth.

“Gruesome, isn’t it?”

He spoke quietly, like always, but she didn’t have to lean in to hear the hard edge of his tone. She froze under his marble glower, blood still circling his lips.

“You think I didn’t recognize your heart signature before you even opened the door?”

“H-heart signature?”

“Every heartbeat has its own melody. Yours is like the soft misting of the morning grass. Little drops of dew washing the blood left by night creatures on the forest floor before the sun rises to shine a light on it.”

Cass took a stumbling step backward, then another. How was he doing that? Being so terrifying and yet so charming? Was there any cuter way for him to say she had a tasty-sounding heartbeat? Was he going to kill her now?

“I won’t harm you, Dr. Billing. We were about to play another game, were we not?” He stood so still he may as well have been a statue but for the occasional rippling of his feathers, though there was no breeze.

Cass backed against the wall. She splayed her fingers and took a steadying breath. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t so much as twitch.

She’d been warned that he was a vampire, that he fed on blood of living creatures. That improbability was proven true, so why not another? That she was safe in his presence?

She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured the version of him across the table, cards in hands, two more hands thrumming ashen fingers on the table or preening his feathers. The furrow in his brow that proved even immortal vampires had feelings, thoughts, worries. The version of him she felt safe with.

She looked at him again. “Yes. Another game sounds good.”

A flicker of something whispered across his granite features. She tried to smile at him, but her lips quivered. When he took a step forward, she pressed her back harder against the wall. He watched her reaction, then took another step, another, until he was close enough to smell his woodsy scent tinted with copper. He stood there, scrutinizing her, for long enough to slow the frightened beating of her heart. As she studied him right back, she noticed something else in his pained stare. He expected her to reject him. She suddenly wanted to reach for him, to smooth his feathers and tell him to relax. She’d always found wild animals to be better company than humans, anyway.

“Are you afraid of me, Dr. Billing?”

“First jokes, now asking obvious questions?” Her voice was hoarse. She pushed away from the wall and straightened her spine. “Yes. I’m afraid of you.”

“Do you wish to leave?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You promised me a formula.” Another flicker of something unreadable. She reached out, her hand still shaking, and swiped her thumb over the blood on his cheek, then brought it to his lips. Unlike his skin, the inside of his mouth was warm. His tongue was not quite as coarse as a cat’s as it laved her thumb. Her eyelids fluttered, but she held his gaze as he sucked longer than she thought necessary, heat pulsing between her legs. “We have work to do.”

A hand grabbed her wrist and flattened her fingers against his cheek, leaning into it heavily. Another cupped her chin. His gaze was all fire and heat and blood. She hummed in delight as two hands pressed her waist against the wall. Her heart fluttered once more, but this time it wasn’t with fear, at least not completely. She arched toward him, waiting with bated breath for those gray lips to claim hers.

They didn’t. Qadaire dipped his head into the curve of her neck, hungry nips blazing a trail from collarbone to jaw. Her head dropped back and his touch became more insistent, one hand driving through her hair. Her thighs squeezed together, a pool of heat steadily gathering there. She reached over his shoulder toward his undulating black feathers. They were as soft as they looked.

“Cassandra.” His voice was barely a rasp. It was so rough she wondered if it was like that from desire or from swallowing gallons of blood.

“Qadaire,” she responded, her own voice shaky.

“I want to unravel you.” He kissed the soft spot under her ear. She wanted him to travel higher, to kiss her, but he reversed course. An arm slipped around her waist, another firmly placed at the small of her back, making her arch into him more. “Tell me you want this.”

She whimpered. She wanted his kiss, wanted to be enveloped by all four of his arms. She could only nod.

That was all he needed. He pushed his knee between her thighs. A hand on the wall held him steady while another fumbled with her jeans. He was taking too long. She murmured and undid the button herself. He nuzzled her neck, strange, inhuman sounds tumbling naturally from deep in his chest. What was that? A warble?

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