Page 118 of A Bond in Blood

My hands trembled while he held me against the wall, his chest heaving with my own. His hand rose and I flinched as he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. His finger brushed my cheek, causing me to gasp at the sting of his skin touching the cut from his blade.

“This outfit,” he muttered.

“I made a mistake,” I replied, attempting to shuffle away from him.

His hand landed on the wall beside me as he ground his hips against mine. “Do not move,” he demanded.

I froze, unable to come up with the words to battle with him.

The loudswooshof the curtains blocking out the moon startled me. The candles extinguished and the familiar sound of Ulrich’s mask dropping rang out across the room.

To my shock, he was lifting my hand, allowing me to brush it along his bearded jaw.

“There is a problem,” he whispered.

I continued to cup his face, wishing my eyes could see in the dark. Damning the wine for altering my senses in the most inconvenient ways.

“A problem?” I asked.

“I cannot rid myself of you,” he groaned, pressing his hips against me. “I cannot rid my senses of your skin, your voice, your smell.”

I gulped. “Smell?”

He pulled my hand away from his jaw.

“It’s a tempting scent. Like aged whiskey before the first sip. Like the smell of the earth right after rain. You smell like sin, Brenna."

“Like sin?” I whispered, wishing there was light in the room so I could see some of him, any part of him.

His voice dropped, sending shivers down my spine. “Yes, sin, Brenna, and I want a taste.”

My heart thundered in my chest. The promise in his tone was enough to send me over the edge. I swallowed nervously and placed my hand on his chest.

His hands slammed against the wall once more. The heat of his body pressed against mine had my senses running rampant. The low, near feral groan rumbling from the back of his throat caught my breath and my hand pulled at his bloodied shirt. One hand slowly moved from the wall, caressing the side of my cheek before stopping at my throat.

Breathing in, he leaned down, placing a soft kiss at the base of my neck. “I am fucking starving,” he whispered.

Words choked in my throat when his lips went higher, shocking me when his tongue ran up my cheek, lapping up the blood coming from the small cut.

It was all too much, making my hands shake, but my hold tightened on the fabric of his shirt. I had to hold onto something to keep myself from falling into the maddening oblivion he was tempting me with.

“I want to see you,” I whispered back, knowing what his response would be.

His fingers softly twirled against my skin and my eyes rolled at the touch. “You do not need to see me for what I’m hungry for.”

I lifted myself onto the tips of my toes and my hand rose again, reaching to brush his lips. But his hand stopped me, holding my wrist in the air.

“I did not get to complete the Rite,” he muttered.

I froze. “No, you did not.”

“I do not fuck women poisoned on faerie wine,” he whispered, pushing away from me.

The cold of the room was a shock to my senses when his body lifted away. Tears lined my eyes while I scanned the dark room.

I couldn’t feel him. His presence. That cold that was unexplainable.

Hands grasped mine and I yelled out, twisting around.

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