Page 16 of Blood Tribute

He huffed. “Do I seem like a pompous, superstitious cleric from the Magelands?”

“N-no.” The smooth warmth of his skin reminded her how his hand had felt elsewhere. Oh gods, why couldn’t he have felt cold and clammy, as Hesperines were supposed to? “I’ve heard of the Empire across the sea, but I thought it was only a tale.”

He gave her a bemused look. “It was quite real when I visited last year. The Empire has an alliance with Orthros, and people travel freely between for trade and education.”

“So you chose to become a heretic so you could…study?”

“Can’t fathom me giving up my soul for my books, can you?”

“Surely there was something in your mortal life you wanted to stay for.”

“My time as a human taught me that no matter how much we learn about the mind, it is still the most mysterious frontier of exploration. It will take us Hesperine lifetimes to learn how to truly heal such a complex part of ourselves. I want to be a part of that research. Don’t you think it would take you centuries to learn everything there is to know about every architectural style in the world?”

She pulled her hand away.

Dav brushed his fingers across her temple. “Imagine. You could study with Yasamin herself and be admired for your expertise in architecture.”

Nora’s chest ached.

He tugged at a curl that was trying to escape her hair veil. “You could design and construct your own monuments that would stand for centuries. Generations of students would know your name.”

In that moment, she hated the Hesperines more than she ever had.

The curl sprang free, and Dav ran the tendril of her hair through his fingers. “Imagine if you could sit for hours, dreaming up your next project and sketching construction plans, with no one to interrupt or reprove you.”

Immortality…power…none of those things tempted her. But this?

What a fool she was, to think of giving up her soul for such a simple thing.

“Imagine…” he began.

She couldn’t bear to hear any more. Somehow, she had to silence his alluring voice, put a stop to these words so perfectly aimed at her heart.

He lowered his head toward her to murmur in her ear. “Imagine a male who finds your fixation on architecture one of the most beautiful things about y—”

She cut him off by covering his treacherous mouth with her own. She held his face in her hands and punished him for his words with her kiss.

He leaned into the rough strokes of her lips, his beard scraping her chin. Then he opened for her, and she fell, invading his mouth before she could catch herself.

Their tongues clashed, and every fiber of her being sang with their anger. His mouth gave her no mercy, hot and hard and overwhelming. His fangs pricked her. She bit back, taking his full lower lip between her teeth.

He closed his arm around her waist, locking her against him. Cupping the back of her head in his implacable hand, he tilted her face up and kissed her harder.

This was nothing like the one polite, hapless kiss of her life, which had gotten her into such deep trouble. She was in much greater trouble now.

Her arm stung, but he didn’t put his hands anywhere near it. He gripped her buttock and squeezed through her skirts. She braced her hands on his shoulders to push him off of her, but found herself digging her nails into him instead.

When he tore his mouth away, she heaved a breath. “Nora,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Offer me your throat again—on the bed this time.”

The air filling her lungs restored some coherent thought. She realized she had him right where she wanted him. One more drink of the poison, and he wouldn’t have the strength to hold her like this ever again. She pushed him toward the bed, preempting any negotiation with more kisses.

When the back of his knees hit the mattress, triumph glinted in his eyes. “Can you deny you want me under you?”

“I cannot.” She could scarcely believe these words were coming out of her mouth. But it was all according to plan, she reminded herself. “I’m offering to ride you while you drink from me.”

“This isn’t the Drink any longer. This is what we call the Feast.” He unfastened his high-collared robe, revealing his own throat. Then the golden-brown contours of his chest and torso, accentuated by black hair. He shrugged the robe off his broad shoulders.

A strange longing filled her as her gaze swept down his muscular arms. She could tell by his strength that he had once been a soldier. But not a scar blemished his immortal body.

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