Page 60 of The Vampire's Bride

Normally, I’m careful to maintain some distance from him on days that he must take my blood, for I know how much it tests the control that he ruthlessly keeps in check.

Although I’ve touched him many times before, a flash of confusion crosses his features, as if he still has trouble believing I would willingly reach for him.

There are many who would consider him a monster, but he isn’t. Not to me, anyway. Underneath his daunting presence and unearthly beauty is a man who has lost and suffered, mourning the life and the family that was taken from him.

“And I am sorry for yours.” He curls his fingers around mine. “And I imagine it must be difficult to be so far from your family.”

“I do miss Mother and my brother.” I look down at our joined hands. “But I think the same can be said of any new bride. Perhaps we could visit for the summer solstice?”

It was not part of our bargain, but I ask anyway, hoping he might agree.

“Perhaps.” Something akin to guilt shadows his features before he hides it behind an impassive mask and changes the subject. “I finished your story.”

“And what did you think?” My stomach twists in a nervous knot. I’m so afraid he’s going to say it’s terrible.

“I enjoyed it.” A handsome smile curves his lips. “Immensely.”

My heart soars. “You did?”

He nods. “Except for the fact that it is not yet finished, and the sword fighting scene was a bit… difficult to imagine.”

“What?” My happiness dissolves in an instant. “What do you mean?”

“Please.” He rests his other hand atop our joined ones. “Do not think I am discouraging you in any way. Your story is wonderful. It is simply that your fight scene is… different from what one might actually see or experience in that situation.”

“How so?” I ask, mildly offended. I thought my sword fight scene was rather riveting. It certainly made my heart race even as I was writing it. “What’s wrong with it?”

Frowning, he lowers his gaze as if trying to determine how best to answer. While I appreciate that he doesn’t wish to offend me, I need to know the truth.

“Tell me,” I press. “Whatever it is, I can take it and use it to improve.”

“As we’ve only recently begun training with a blade, perhaps it would be easier to show you,” he says. Taking a small step back, he releases my hand, and I’m surprised by how much I already miss the contact. He scans the ground and picks up two long, thin branches and holds one out to me. “Here.”

I take the branch.

He holds his up like a sword, and I do the same.

“When Sir Danric is attacking Lord Soryn, he rushes forward and then flips in the air,” he says. “But a simpler and more realistic tactic would be to do this.”

He moves forward slowly, brandishing his fake sword, and I meet each pretend strike until his branch catches mine. With a flick of his wrist, he knocks it from my hand. Lightning fast, he twists to the left, coming up behind me in one solid move, bringing his branch up to my neck.

“You see.” He leans in and my pulse quickens as his minty breath fills my nose and his lips brush over my ear. “Sir Danric could easily disarm Soryn in this way.”

The warmth of his body radiates to mine, and I fight against the urge to push back into him as desire courses through my veins at the memory of his touch when he drinks from me.

He dips his head to the curve of my neck and shoulder and pleasure ripples through me as the tip of his nose skims across my sensitive skin. He draws in a deep breath and then quickly steps back.

Shocked by the sudden movement, I spin to face him. “What’s wrong?”

His crimson eyes swirl with black, the dark desire in his expression unmistakable. He shakes his head, and the normal red coloring returns. “Forgive me.”

“It’s been three days,” I say, guessing at the problem. “There’s no need to apologize. I understand.” I tilt my head to one side, offering him my neck. “You may take from me now, if you’d like.”

Guilt flickers across his face before he looks away. “It would be best to wait until it is time to sleep. So you may rest afterward.”

I gesture to a wooden bench behind him. “Then, would you like to sit for a while?”

The wind blows through the gardens, rustling the leaves, sending snow flurries scattering all around us. “Are you not cold?” he asks gently. “Would you rather go back inside?”

---