Page 18 of Outcast Island

His body is an incredible work of art, and it would be impossible to look away even if I wanted to.

He’s not skinny like the other vampires I had come across, nor is he pale. His skin has a healthy tan to it as if he’s spent time in the sun, and the caked blood on his skin does little to hide his perfection. My eyes sting even at the thought of the sun, but I know a vampire like Magnus can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. A little sun won’t stop him.

My eyes dip, taking in an erection he doesn’t attempt to hide. The swell at the base of his cock holds my interest the most.

“Do you like how my knot looks, little diamond?” he asks with a smooth smile.

I try to look away, but I can’t. “Yes,” I say honestly as I appreciate the masculine beauty that is all Magnus.

Feeling self-conscious, I glance down at myself, seeing my frail, malnourished form and my scraggly hair that’s sticky over my breasts, making it look like a spider web has taken over my chest. I’m not shy about my body, but it’s not much to look at.

When I glance up at him to see if he’s disgusted by me, I’m surprised to see the soft desire lurking in his gaze.

“You said we were magic-bonded?” I ask, because that must be clouding his judgment. I’m a horrid sight, to be sure.

He eases into the warm water across from me. When I start to shiver, he comes to my side and tugs me into his lap. His erection presses against my back, but he makes no move to take advantage of our naked state. Instead, he grabs some oils anda small bowl and starts lathering my hair with warm water and something that smells like lavender.

My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head when he massages my scalp.

“Yes,” he responds after a few moments of washing and rinsing my hair until he seems satisfied. He changes to a different type of lotion and massages my shoulders as he talks. “We are vampires. That means most of us have magic determined by our blood markers. It typically depends on the bloodline, but there are outliers.” He pauses for a moment, making me wonder if there are any others like him.

If there are any others like me.

“And our magic types are compatible?” I ask.

He hums in agreement. “Surprisingly, yes. My power resides in emotion, as does yours. They just work in very different ways.” Desire stirs in my core as his touch caresses me with a quality of adoration I can’t fully describe. “I’m an Alpha, so my magic pushes my emotions outward instead of inward, like yours seems to do. But there’s another part of my blood type that also gives me a surplus of rage and bloodlust to deal with. It’s something I’ve never fully been able to control—hence my exile.”

I tilt my head as I watch the bubbles simmer across the bath’s surface. Focusing on them is my effort to try to ignore the urge rolling through me to turn around and do something stupid, like kiss him. The urge to comfort him is almost overwhelming, and I want to do that with my tongue.

But he’s finally giving me answers, and the last thing I should do is stop him from talking.

“You were sent here because of your magic?” I ask.

“Something like that,” he says, his voice rumbling low with a hint of a purr, but he pulls it back before it can fully manifest. I realize that he’s fighting his instincts to claim me. Instead, he’s giving me this time to adjust and learn. “I am an Alpha,” herepeats, as if he needs to remind me of that dangerous fact, “and that means I require an Omega to shoulder the burden of my magic.”

“And Omega like me?” I ask hopefully. I find myself wanting to be that anchor he obviously needs.

I’m strong. I know I am, but I have the sense that my magic is just as difficult for me to control. While his magic is an outward projection that hurts others, mine is like a sponge.

And all it does is hurt me.

“If you deem me worthy,” he finally says.

He shifts me so that I’m flush against his back and he can work his strong fingers down my sore thighs where the bones had healed. My core burns at the proximity of his touch. He’s so close to where I want him, but he continues his agonizingly slow circles over my muscles while his knot pulses at the base of my spine.

“You said I ‘take’ your anger?” I press. I need to understand how this bond between us works. If I can help him control his power, maybe he can help me control mine.

“Yes,” he answers. His voice seems closer now as he practically purrs in my ear, but he’s not yet releasing that delicious sound. He seems to want me to fully digest what he’s telling me. “Your empathic powers draw in the emotions from around you. I’ve never met an empath, much less one who is an Omega. Given your accent, you must be from one of the neighboring nests in Greenland. There are many smaller ones, and I’ve investigated most of them—all except one.”

That piques my interest. “And which nest did you avoid?”

A growl vibrates in his chest, making me flinch before he immediately pulls it back. “The Älva Nest,” he says.

My vision sprinkles with red dots as the name seems to awaken something within me.

“That’s where I’m from,” I recall as pain slices through my head. Memories flood back without my permission, but hearing the name of my nest dismantles a barrier that was keeping them at bay.

It wasn’t the impact of the crash that took my memories.

---