Page 15 of Stolen By the Vampire

He wanted to know it all.

The hour grew late. As a vampire, he could sense it was well into the evening again. Esmae had been awake for a long time, longer than most mortals were used to by some measure. No doubt she was running on determination alone, but he wouldn’t let his mate be harmed, even if it was by herself.

“Now, you’ve had a long day, and no doubt you need your rest.”

His mate would no doubt argue for the sake of it, but when she went to protest, she was ironically cut off by a yawn. He stifled a grin. She was adorable.

Seeming to sense protest was futile—he’d have thralled her if needed—she followed him. There was a small cavern, more a carved out space really, where he could give her some space. Of course, since he hadn’t had time to make arrangements—and she wouldn’t be sleeping there for long—it needed furnishings. He made quick work, settling her in one of the more extravagant beds he’d sourced over the years, with four ornately carved posters and silk sheets spread over a massive mattress. Pillows were stuffed with pegasus feathers. A gossamer canopy of dark fabric helped offer privacy to his female. Mates needed none, but humans tended to be sensitive from what he’d read. He dimmed the torches to near darkness and Esmae eased towards the bed, eyeing him.

He stayed at the edge of the makeshift room. When she got under the covers, he let the torches fully go to darkness. Minutes ticked by. Her breathing leveled a bit as she relaxed, sinking into the bed, which was second to none.

A gentleman might have left her alone.

But then he scented her.

Chapter Nine

The trouble with kissing the vampire was even though he was holding Esmae captive, her body failed to understand that. It failed to understand they were mortal enemies and that he likely cared more for her blood than her wit.

No, all her body knew was that his hands felt right around her, possessive and strong, without bruising. His mouth was demanding, and yet her body loved to cleave to him, had matched his enthusiasm as she tasted him. Her heart had pounded from that searing kiss, faster than it ever had with Jared, even after a lay.

It had taken her mind too long to remember who he was. To look past his charming comments, his blunt observations which were, against all odds, favorable towards her, and his peculiar focus on seeing her hale and hearty. Her initial plan to clear away the fog—focusing on the memory of the bite—failed. Instead, it conjured memories of how her blood had heated from the contact, how he’d sucked her neck and the way her body lit up with desire and need unmatched by any previous inkling of desire she’d felt.

It was only when she recalled the way he brutishly overpowered her will with his vampire thrall that she shoved him away.

And yet—despite what his thrall and supernatural strength—he’d let her.

He’d even given her a place to sleep and withdrawn to the shadows.

He had rescued her, fed her, and now found a place for her to sleep. A bed more comfortable than the lumpy mattress she was forever patching, where she had to either curl her legs to her chest or let her knees fall off the space if she didn’t want to cramp. In the vampire’s lair, however, she was able to sprawl out, the gentle weight of the blankets keeping her warm and secure.

The only issue was sleep was not forthcoming.

No, because while she’d eventually overpowered her weak-willed body and broken the kiss, the effects lingered. Pressing her inner thighs together did nothing to abate her desire, and relaxing her legs only made the proposition of placing a hand there too inviting.

It’s the bite, gods damn him. That must be why.

The supernatural pleasure had been overpowering. The kiss had just reignited her desire.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating. For stubbornness alone, she should ignore the sensation and make herself sleep. It felt impossible, but Esmae had set off to kill the unkillable. She should be able to ignore this.

But he would bite her again and again, and if this desire was bottled up in her, it was liable to explode. She hoped it was her normal cold, rational thinking talking, and not the lust-addled part of her brain.

The only logical thing to do was to ease this brewing tension before it overwhelmed her. The vampire had left, likely going to his own quarters. It was dark inside the canopy of the bed, private. No one would ever know.

So, slowly, as if scared to so much as rustle the blankets, she slid a hand down, undoing the leather ties of her pants. She lifted her hips just barely, easing them down, and set one finger at her center. It was immediately coated with her wetness.

Gods, she’d never been this needful.

She began to touch, to tend to herself the way she had so often in the past. Normally, when she did so, she didn’t think of anything in particular. Positions, perhaps. Some scenarios inspired by gossip. But always with faceless specters. Even when she was with Jared, she’d never once imagined him when getting herself off. Yet this time, she did imagine someone with her. A male with a perfectly sculpted body, curled black hair, and red, slitted eyes. He had that same intensity as when they’d spoken before, but in her reverie, she wasn’t unnerved by it. She was aroused by it.

She could almost imagine his scent wrapped around her, smoke and sin—

“Thinking of me, little witch?”

Esmae gasped and her eyes snapped open.

In the dim light left in the dark, she found his form. Silas loomed at the foot of the bed, inside the canopy, staring down at her.

---