Page 4 of Stolen By the Vampire

The vampire's lips were on her neck, his fangs piercing her skin. His scent surrounded her, smoke and sin wrapped in one. Her hands were pinned above her head, and it was a good thing, because if not, she may have fallen to her knees.

And then… sensation. Unlike anything she’d ever known.

Esmae was no maiden. She’d had her fair share of experience with Jared and before him. She wasn’t a passive lover; she’d looked after her own pleasure.

The feelings the vampire unleashed on her were unlike anything she’d ever known. Heat exploded inside her, spindling from the source of contact into her chest where her heart pounded, then lower at her core, as though someone was set between her thighs about to feast.

Oh, fates. A gasp spilled from her against her will. It was all she could do to not purr against him like a cat in heat, begging for more. Her breaths grew ragged in a heartbeat. The vampire’s grip shifted, the hold on her wrists tight but not painful, while his other hand cupped the back of her neck.

She could lose herself in the sensation.

It was to her shame that, when the vampire pulled away, it was because he’d had his fill—while she hadn’t yet had hers. That same shame snuffed out her brewing desire, a chill skittering on her spine as the heat of the vampire’s bite faded.

“You taste divine.” His voice was low, guttural. Like how a male might sound after a rough roll in the hay. His tongue slowly rolled over the puncture in her neck, her pulse pounding beneath it.

The voice did as much damage to her as the bite had. Cheeks on fire, she snarled, “How dare you!”

If possible, the creature’s eyes glowed even brighter. They weren’t like normal eyes either, but rather a lizard’s thin black slits cutting through the burning red. Because he’d just fed? Vampires didn’t venture to her little town, one of the reasons her father discouraged her from ever leaving. All she knew was they had red eyes, drank blood, and despised witches.

But the vampire in front of her didn’t look like he despised her at all.

No, he looked ravenous for seconds.

Which was, objectively, worse.

This close, she couldn’t help but take in his features. The crimson eyes were unnatural, especially with the reptilian shape, yet they fit his face perfectly. Dark hair curled around his ears, reaching down to the nape of his neck. It would’ve looked boyish on anyone else; on the vampire, it made him roguish. As though he was a threat, not because he’d bite a woman—but because he’d lick her. The distracting thought was compounded by his lips, which were full and smirking. To add to the effect, there was nothing “boyish” about his body. The planes of muscle that had pressed against her proved he was a fit predator. Normally, Esmae was as tall as any man she came across, even when she wasn’t in boots. The vampire was tall enough she had to tilt her chin back, exposing her throat, to meet his gaze.

And meet it she did. He could bite her, he could overpower her, but he damn certain wouldn’t break her.

“I dare,” the vampire murmured, “because you came onto my mountain. You practically gift-wrapped yourself to me, little witch. I can’t be blamed for taking from what’s mine.”

Good sense would’ve had her cowering in the corner, begging for her life. Since her life was forfeit and good sense had never been counted among Esmae’s other (limited) virtues, what came out of her mouth was, “You must be joking.”

The vampire cocked his head, red eyes flaring just the slightest amount, as if he hadn’t expected her to reply again.

But did he really just expect her to nod along with his insane proclamation?

“I am not,” the vampire replied levelly. “Your blood is mine to take. You are mine.”

It was drafty in the cave. That’s why she shivered. Surely.

Three times, he’d said. Two more of those experiences. The way her body had felt under him… Could she survive it? Still, if he wasn’t killing her, that meant she had a chance. She hadn’t expected to face a vampire, so she’d only taken the old copper knife as a precaution. Her other weapons had been lost, but the copper was the only one that could hurt them. There’d be time between his feedings when she could try again.

All these thoughts swirled in her mind while she stared up at the vampire. His unnatural eyes bored back into her, like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen, something he’d never let go of.

No one had ever looked at Esmae that way. Why was it she’d finally found a male who looked at her like she might be worthwhile, and she had to kill him? Fate was cruel.

“What’s your name, my lovely witch?”

She’d tell him nothing. She tried to push past, but he held her easily against the stone, capturing her without actually hurting her.

The vampire sighed like she was being difficult.

“Tell me your name,” he commanded.

She tried to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from answering, but just as before, the compulsion rolled through her body. Vampires could enthrall witches who lacked magical defenses—like Esmae. Against her will, her lips parted and she said, “Esmae Mellodi.”

“Esmae,” he repeated, trying out the word.

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