Page 56 of Wicked Chains
"How considerate," I say, stepping back from the doorway. "Please, come in."
She hesitates for only a moment before entering my quarters.
She hands me the coat, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. The contact sends a current through my skin, and I wonder if she feels it too. I hang the garment carefully in my wardrobe, closing the door with a soft click.
When I turn back, Rose has made herself comfortable on the edge of my bed, as though claiming territory in this most private of spaces. She sits with her back straight, chin lifted in that defiant posture I have come to recognize.
One eyebrow rises of its own accord. "Make yourself at home," I say dryly.
"Thanks, I will." She meets my gaze directly. "So are we going to talk about this, or what?"
"This?" I feign ignorance, but I know precisely what she means.
"Whatever this is between us." She gestures between our bodies. "The thing where you kiss me and then run away. The thing where you protect me from Thorne but work for Ash. The thing where you look at me like you want to eat me, and not in a scary vampire way."
I allow myself a small smile at her phrasing. "I believe that would still qualify as a 'scary vampire way,' Rose."
"Don't." She cuts me off. "I'm too tired for games, Lucien. I want to know what you feel for me. The truth. I need to know."
Her directness catches me slightly off-guard, though I should know better by now. Rose has never been one for subtlety or patience.
I move to the window again, considering my response. Revealing my true feelings would be tactically unwise. It would paint a target on my back, more than the one already there. It would give Ash leverage he does not need. It could see me banished from the academy, and from Rose.
But Ash already suspects. His taunts in the hallway made that abundantly clear. He knows, or believes he knows, the truth. Perhaps honesty is the better strategy now.
"I have lived a very long time, Rose," I begin, keeping my back to her. "I have seen empires rise and fall. I have watched the world transform itself a dozen times over. In all that time, I have learned to guard myself carefully. Attachment is a liability for monsters like me."
"That's not an answer," she says simply.
"You fascinate me," I admit. "Your defiance. Your resilience. Your refusal to submit even when submission would be easier, safer. You remind me of what it is to be alive, truly alive, in a way I have not been for centuries." I take a step toward her. "From the moment you arrived at this academy, you have disrupted everything, my routine, my loyalties, my carefully constructed balance."
She stares at me. "So I'm what, an interesting diversion?"
"No." I shake my head. "You are a revelation."
The words hang between us. I did not plan to say them, did not even know they were true until they left my lips. But they are true. Undeniably so.
"I chose to remain at Serpentine Academy when others fled for a single reason," I continue. "You. I aligned myself with Ash because it was the only way to stay close enough to protect you."
Rose's eyes widen slightly. She clearly did not expect such candor.
"I don't need your protection," she says, but the protest lacks her usual fire.
"Need and want are different matters entirely."
She stands, taking a step toward me. "So you're saying..."
"I am saying that I want you, Rose Smith. More than I have wanted anyone in a very long time. Perhaps in my entire existence." The admission leaves me feeling strangely vulnerable, a sensation I have not experienced in centuries. "But I should warn you, it has been so long since I loved anyone that I am not certain I remember how. I will not promise you something I may be incapable of giving."
The silence stretches between us. I wait, unwilling to fill it with empty words. Whatever comes next must be her choice.
Rose crosses the distance between us in three quick steps. Her hands grip the lapels of my suit jacket, and she pulls me down to her with surprising strength. Her mouth finds mine, hot and insistent. She is a different girl than she was under the willow tree. This is a claiming.
I respond immediately, my hands finding her hips, pulling her body against mine. Her tongue traces my lips, and I allow herentry. The taste of her, sweet, vital, intoxicating, triggers my most base instincts. I feel my fangs descend, sharp and ready.
Rose pulls back. Her eyes drop to my mouth, to the fangs now fully extended. She leans in again, slowly this time, and runs her tongue experimentally over the point of one fang.
A growl rumbles from deep in my chest, unbidden and uncontrolled. The small taste of her blood, for she has cut her tongue, just barely, unravels my control. Her eyes darken at the sound, pupils dilating with arousal, not fear.
