Page 48 of The Pureblood Princess
Nadia’s struggles are futile; his hands are like iron shackles around her wrists, and she’s already weakened from the poisonand the blood loss. With a heavy sigh, her desperation subsides, and Marek’s grip loosens.
“Are you done?” he asks.
She glares up at him, her face mere inches from his. “Don’t speak to me as though I’m a child.”
“Then stop acting like one. Control yourself.”
Anger flares through her, hot and fast, but she pushes it down. Marek is still hovering over her, his hands pinning hers to the bed, his face hard and cold. She’s reminded of that night in the garden, when Theodore made love to her beneath the sky and the stars, and she’s suddenly aware of howcloseMarek is to her.
“Get off me,” she snaps, struggling to pull her wrists free of his hold. The movement sends pain burning through her hand, and as she turns her head to the side, she finds fresh blood leaking from the wound and into the single scratchy blanket on the bed.
“Are you going to attack me again?” Marek asks.
Clenching her teeth, Nadia shakes her head, and then Marek’s weight is gone from atop her, his hands no longer pinning her down.
She sits up slowly, wincing at the pain, and again cradles her bloody hand to her chest. The skin is peeled open, red and angry, and tears pool along her lower lids as she hunches in on herself, trying not to whimper.
Beside her, Marek once again reaches for the basket, from which he removes a glass bottle of antiseptic and a clean cotton cloth.
“Give me your hand,” he says, still without emotion. Nadia shakes her head, tears dripping into her lap, and he sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Magdalena. If I wanted to do so, I’d have already done it. Now give me your hand so it doesn’tbecome infected. Silver inhibits the healing, and without blood, your body will be slow to repair itself.”
“Then let me drink,” she says, her voice tiny and trembling. She imagines her fangs sinking into his flesh, finding an artery, his blood filling—
No.She clenches her teeth, trying to shove her urges down.
“I can’t. This is the best I can do.” He reaches for her hand, and this time, she gives it to him.
Marek begins to gingerly clean the wound, and she flinches at the stinging sensation of the antiseptic. Her breathing quickens, and her body tenses as she struggles to maintain her composure without crying out.
“Why are you doing this?” Casting her gaze toward the dark ceiling, she tries to focus on anything but the pain. “Why help me?”
Marek doesn’t respond. He dabs at the wound with the cloth, then reaches for the bandage. With deft movements, he wraps the bandage around her hand a number of times, then tucks the tail end into the crook of her thumb. The pain is still unrelenting, but at least she’s not bleeding all over the place now.
Marek speaks again, his voice softer this time. “There’s no escape from this place, Miss Magdalena. You need to accept that.” With that, he releases her hand and stoppers the antiseptic. “I’ll leave this here for you. Change the bandage once that one becomes soiled.”
Standing, he adjusts his waistcoat, which became rumpled in their tussle, and then gestures to the dress draped over the chair.
“You’ve been invited to dinner.”
Nadia’s head snaps up; she forgot about the dress when her thirst took over.
“What?”
“Get dressed, and I’ll escort you to the dining room.”
“No.” Defiance flares once more. “I don’t want to eat dinner with you or your kin.”
Sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, Marek shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
He turns to leave, and the movement sends his scent swirling through the room once more. That vision of her lips on his neck flashes in her mind again, and she knows she’s being foolish; she must drink if she’s to survive.
“Fine,” she says, trying not to let desperation bleed into her voice, and Marek pauses, his back still to her. “I’ll go.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting in the hall.” He nods, then exits the room and closes the door behind him, leaving her alone in the darkness once more.
Chapter Twenty-One
Nadia stands in the middleof the room, her feet still bare, her bloody nightgown lying in a heap upon the floor. She was given a fresh chemise and stockings, and the cream-colored dress she wears is cut low in the neck and has a demi-train and long sleeves. Though it’s not warm by any means, the added fabric helps to chase some of the cold from her bones.
