Page 265 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

His hot breath is on my lips as he stares intently into my eyes.

“Bloodthirsty again,” he whispers, dragging his nose over my cheek. “Is that what you want, Minnie? To cut my chest open and see if my heart weeps for you?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” I point out wryly.

“Perhaps. But what if it wasn’t?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You seem to be having some doubts where I am concerned. First you imply that I could ever stray and that I can function just fine in your absence—both of which are false, by the way. Then you say I did not miss you enough because you did not see any tears. Now I am not a male who is prone to emotional displays. I keep my feelings close to my chest. But for you”—he licks the lobe of my ear—“for you I’d make an exception and show youinsidemy chest.”

“Mine… I think this talk has gone a little too far and?—”

He pushes me from him, and before I can say anything more, he takes off his shirt and places it to the side. He’s bare-chested now and I gulp down as my eyes slide over his hard, rippling muscles.

Why does he have to be such a beautiful specimen of a male? It’s not fair.

“Your sword. Give it to me,” he commands. And though I could very well deny him, I find I am unable to do so. I am the power, but I amnotin power.

Almost mechanically, I manifest my blade and place it in his waiting hand.

“If this is what it takes for you to stop doubting me…” He brings the blade to the center of his chest.

“Mine, stop,” I finally snap out of my trance. “You’re wrong. I don’t doubt you.”

“Oh, but you do, tiny darling. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have spied on me. You would have simplyknownthat I would never stray. But you doubted me. Is that not so?”

I bite my lip and give him a small, barely perceptible nod.

“You doubted me and youstilldoubt me.”

“I—”

“No lies.”

I take a deep breath.

“I suppose I am used to betrayal. Or perhaps I am far too used to people disappointing me.”

“And you thought I would, too.”

Another nod.

“Minnie, Minnie,” he chides in a low voice. The tip of the blade sinks into his skin.

“Stop! You don’t have to prove anything. This will only hurt you.”

“Maybe. But you can heal me, can’t you?”

“I can, but?—”

“No buts.” The blade cuts deeper in his skin. He drags it down his sternum until he reaches his belly button. His hand is steady, the cut straight. There is no trace of hesitation. No trace of pain.

“Mine, this is insane,” I say and call back the blade to me, manifesting it away.

Blood pools down his stomach. He’s already tired and weary. This wound would only make everything worse.

“You need more of my blood to heal,” I start, but he ignores me.

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