Page 72 of The Serpent's Bride
There seemed to be no stopping her either. Yes, he believed she had done it to earn some semblance of trust from him, or perhaps in hopes that he would spare her life. But to confess that she had done it also out of mutual lust?Thathe found truly remarkable.
Curious, mysterious, murderous thing.
But as of now there was one thing he knew for certain.
She washiscurious, mysterious, murderous thing.
That was what had stopped him from draining her dry. The little creature in his armsbelongedto him. As his own ecstasy consumed him, he had filled her, claimed her, and he had made her his bride in truth. While he licked clean the bite marks onher throat and purred to her soothingly, he decided he would have as much of her as he could before time ran out.
Or, perhaps, he could find a way to stop the clock.
Because this creature felt special to him. Maybe it was how much she was still hiding from him. Maybe it was how murderous she was, and how useful that might be to him.
Because he had plans.
Big plans.
And the fun was about to begin.
Nadi woke up in Raziel’s large and comfortable bed.
Her first thought was,Well, I lived.
And couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed. She was soreeverywhere,though she shouldn’t exactly be surprised. Raziel had fucked her like a train engine, andthendrank her dry. How else was she supposed to feel? Daylight was filtering in through the lace curtains pulled over the windows, casting a dim pale glow over the expensive bedroom.
Raziel was in bed next to her for the first time since they were “married.”
She still didn’t really consider them married, for a lot of reasons. First and foremost, she wasn’t really Monica.
He was on his side, facing her. He had showered, and judging by her slightly damp hair and the smell of soap, he had cleaned her up also. How thoughtful.
She watched him as he slept. The smoothness of his features, with their sharp edges. There was no question how handsome he was.
But this was the face belonging to someone that had haunted her nightmares for over eighty years.
Someone she’d sworn to kill.
Someone she’d made passionate love to.
There was no point in denying how badly she’d needed what they’d done. The desire had been more than mutual. There’d been no hypnotism, no ruse, no questionable situation to blame—just pure lust. Pure hunger.
Frame by frame, like the images in a zoetrope, she played the scene through in her head, searching for some reason to condemn him. Something,anything,he had done that she could use to pin the blame solely on him. He could have commanded her to her knees. Could have used his belief in his control over her to make her do anything he wanted. Instead? He’d asked for her honesty.
He hadn’t wanted to take what would be given to him for free. With a wavering sigh, she climbed out of bed. Cringing, she arched her back and cracked her spine. Damn. He didn’t mess around, that was for sure. Heading to the bathroom, she decided she needed to find some painkillers.
Did vampires even keep painkillers around? She knew drugs worked on them—but she only knew of them taking them for recreational needs. They healed even faster than fae, so why would they keep painkillers? But it was worth taking a look—her legs were sore. And Monica would be in far worse shapeelsewherethan she was.
The first barrier presented itself when she realized his mirror was way too large to be a medicine cabinet.
“First drawer closest to the door and in the back.”
Glancing to the door, Raziel hadn’t moved. But it was clear he wasn’t as asleep as she thought he was. “Thanks.”
“I don’t keep any for myself. But my…guests often need them.” He rolled onto his back, folding his hands over his chest. He slept shirtless. If he had trousers or boxers on, she didn’t know.
Opening the drawer in question, she rooted around until she found some basic painkillers. Nothing too strong. She didn’t need to be drugging herself silly. Taking two with some water from the sink, she ran a brush through her hair and examined herself for bruises. Nothing that wasn’t already fading.
There, on her throat, however—were two pinhole scabs, surrounded by darker purple-blue blotches of teethmarks. The telltale mark of a vampire bite. Touching it tenderly with her fingers, she was surprised at how little it hurt, though it was fairly tender.
