Page 5 of Forever Bound

It's his face I see in the candlelight. His dark eyes, penetrating and intelligent. His beautiful, scarred face locked in an unreadable expression. "Dying," he says, his mouth forming the English words with visible discomfort.

Tears trickle from my eyes, and I can't speak, so I nod.

"I save you," he says, and he holds out his arm, pulling up his sleeve. He is built of muscle, and I flinch as he takes a knife and cuts his wrist. A trail of blood pools to the surface of his skin and he holds it to my lips.

I recoil back, but I'm too weak to make much of a protest. Still, he doesn't force me to drink. He holds his arm out, waiting.

I take too long in my decision, and I watch in wonder as the cut he made stitches itself back together.

He's expressionless as he uses the knife to once again splay open his own flesh for me.

I nod, not wanting to see him cut himself open again.

He presses his wrist to my lips, and the blood leaks into my mouth.

I expect it to cause more nausea, to taste of iron and salt, but the moment it touches my tongue, a surge of power hits me, and I'm flush with it, with him.

Half delirious, the pain consuming every thought, I wrap my lips more tightly around his wrist and suck in the blood, drinking greedily. It's rich and viscous, savory and dark. Molasses and red wine with a hint of oak and moonbeams.

My pain recedes, and the panic surging through me dissipates as the dark shadow of death retreats.

I feel myself being called back to my body, to this world.

To him.

My vision clears, and I pull away, but his blood is still on my lips. Still pulsing with me. I feel a strange and sudden connection to this stranger before me. This feared god of the woods.

I feel an ache.

A need.

A fire newly lit.

I move towards him instinctively. He has one arm still around me, supporting me in the bed. I rub my face against that arm like a cat. I swear to the gods I almost purr.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I flinch back, away from the beckoning temptation of his muscled body, away from whatever this is that's pulling me towards him.

He glances away, his face unreadable.

But there's one part of his body he can't control, and it's at full attention, straining against the buttons of his pants.

Blood rushes to my face, but not from embarrassment—rather from mutual desire. I suddenly crave him more than I've ever craved anything or anyone.

He pulls away, settling me onto the bed as he steps back.

The separation is almost painful, and this time his face flinches, mirroring my own pain at the lack of contact between us.

I don't know this guy. This…

Okay, I'm going to say it, even though I sound like a complete lunatic right now…

But…

I've seen the same movies and read the same books as everyone else.

This man is a creature of the night, cold to the touch, and has teeth that suck blood…

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