Page 12 of The Vampire's Bride

“The sun set several hours ago, so I imagine he should be awake soon.” She gestures to a door across the way. “The cleansing room is through that door when you’re ready to bathe. I’ll come back to check on you soon.”

Before I can ask anything else, she’s already gone.

A soft knock on the door draws my attention. “Come in,” I call out, expecting it to be Elsie, only to discover it’s Lord Greyvale.

He stands in the doorway, tall and commanding. My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I forget how to form words. His eyes are like glowing red embers as they meet mine.

“Lord Greyvale,” I stammer, my voice a bit higher than I intended. Heat rises in my cheeks as I stand to greet him. “I mean, Valaric. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, voice low and rich like velvet. “I can leave if you—”

“No,” I blurt out, wincing inwardly at how awkward I sound. “No,” I repeat, softer this time, trying to find some semblance of composure. “You may come in.”

The air seems to shift as he steps inside, and nervous flutters start in my chest.

I cannot deny that he is handsome. His broad shoulders taper into a narrow waist. He’s dressed in a black tunic and pants that accentuate his lean, muscular form. His wings are tucked close to his back, and he moves with a preternatural grace.

He’s taller than any human I’ve ever seen, and I’m not sure if it’s his size or the way he holds himself, but there’s something about him so inherently powerful that it makes the room feel smaller, more intimate.

He pauses when he reaches the table. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit tired,” I admit. “But otherwise fine.”

His crimson eyes sweep over me, assessing. Concern flickers there, but it’s quickly masked by an impassive expression.

“I’m surprised that I’m tired. Elsie said I slept for three days.”

“Elsie,” he says her name in a low rumbling growl as he narrows his eyes.

Worry fills me. Oh gods, I hope she’s not in trouble for giving him a sleeping draught. She’s been so kind to me, I don’t want to see her fired or worse. “She’s very nice,” I add, trying to redirect his foul mood.

“And very cunning,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She slipped something into my tea that put me to sleep.”

“She said she didn’t realize it would knock you out,” I offer. I don’t want him to be angry with her, so I change the subject. “She also said you stayed with me while I was unconscious.”

“You slept so deeply, I was… concerned for you. I stayed as long as I could.”

I’m not quite sure what to make of that last sentence, but I love that he cared enough to even stay by my side in the first place, no matter how short or how long. A faint smile crests my lips as I gesture to the empty chair beside me. “Would you care to sit with me awhile?”

Something akin to surprise flits briefly across his expression. “You are not afraid of me?”

Doubt begins to creep in. “Should I be?”

“I suppose it depends upon your fear,” he replies soberly. “You are my wife, and I would never harm you, but I must still partake of your blood regularly.”

Crimson eyes drop to my neck, and dread coils within. I’ve never had a high tolerance for pain, and I imagine being pierced by a set of fangs will not be pleasant. “How often? And how much?”

“Every three days. But only enough to sustain me. Nothing further.”

Subconsciously, I raise my hand to my neck, swallowing hard. I know it’s part of our bargain, but I still have to ask. “Can you not take from lesser creatures? Deer and such?”

“Hunting satisfies the worst of my hunger, but I must still have human blood regularly.”

I want to ask why, but worry stills my tongue as his gaze returns to my neck again, his pupils dilating until only a thin rim of crimson is barely visible around the edges.

His nostrils flare. “I can scent your fear. But I promise I will be gentle and will take no more than I need.”

Although his words are probably meant to be reassuring, they are anything but.

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