Page 63 of Prodigal Son

“I didn’t come here on purpose. My brother was driving. I… It felt familiar. That’s all.”

Perhaps it was because he had healed her. He’d already burned off her blood, and he’d been too weak and unable to compel her to offer any of his own, so there would be no bond or instinct shared between them, but perhaps his actions left an imprint of their own. Something the bishop couldn’t see to remove. Something private and solely theirs.

He glanced down at her body. The rough scrape of his jaw had marked her tender flesh. Rosy blooms showed where his mouth had suckled, and spatters of purple tinged her hips where he’d gripped her too hard. All of which reminded him she was merely a fragile mortal. She wouldn’t have the power to override the bishop’s compulsions.

Perhaps she truly returned by coincidence. Disappointment wove through him like a delicate thread and he wanted to snap it away. Whatever possessiveness he felt toward her was misguided and dangerous. He knew better. He needed to worry less about protecting her and more about protecting himself.

“Did you love him?”

She frowned. “Who?”

“The ex that betrayed you.” He held his breath, fighting back the unwelcome sense of possession that took an instant dislike to this male of her past.

“On some level—regretfully.”

“How so?” He couldn’t make sense of loving someone halfway.

“Everything we shared was a lie, so I loved someone who wasn’t real. In the end, that makes my feelings fake, too, I guess.”

But those feelings hurt her all the same. Mortals had such a short time on this earth. How did they find time to heal from the pain of heartache?

“I also lost someone recently.” Why was he telling her this?

“Oh?”

He nodded, desperate to unburden himself. “She fell in love with my brother. I’m forced to witness their happiness every day.”

Her lips parted. “How do you stomach it?”

“I try not to feel anything anymore.”

Her hand flattened on his chest as if to comfort his broken heart. “Except pleasure.”

He met her stare, understanding that she was giving him an escape from the emotional bludgeoning he started. “Yes. Pleasure.” As much as he wanted to share these emotions, acknowledging his feelings came with a great deal of pain. There was no way around it.

“Let’s not do the personal thing, Cain. I think we’re better off the other way.”

Perhaps she was right, but he couldn’t evade the sting of rejection. One more person uninterested in his pain. It was nice to have a choice. He lived with the pain every day, without choice. A solid reminder that he had no one and could only rely on himself.

Whether in agreement or not, he wanted to punish her. He needed to give her exactly what she requested, intercourse without feeling, pleasure without pain. Were such things even possible?

Fisting his hand in her hair, he yanked her head into the pillows, exposing her neck. He licked up her throat. Her heels dug into his back as his tongue found her pulse. He could show her how little he cared by sinking his teeth into her and allowing her fear and panic to take over, but that animalistic side of him remained in check.

Deep down, he feared letting it escape. Feared becoming like his uncle. No one, including him, knew what his future held. There were absolutely no guarantees.

Her fingers raked through his hair. He captured her wrists once more, prying her hands open and pinning them to the bed beside her head, so his fingers could intertwine with hers.

She surrendered to him, arching invitingly and rocking her hips to take him deeper. He smirked, pressing her wrists harder into the bed, and her body tightened around his.

The transient need rushing through him screamed how temporary her presence was. They only had this moment in time, and tomorrow she would be gone so he had to take his fill while she was still in his arms. Yanking her body closer to his, he slammed his cock deep inside of her and she moaned. He wanted her cries of pleasure and her body wild beneath him. His mouth crashed over hers, a blatant display of dominance, but she met him bite for bite. They mated like animals in hedonic disorder so untamed and unguarded that instinct took over.

Her nails clawed down his back. Cain growled, exerting his strength as his fangs punched through his gums. His self-control trembled. Just one taste of her and he’d explode.

He buried his face in her neck, his fists coiling in her wild hair as he bucked into her, greedy and wanting. His jaw opened, releasing a natural anesthetic as his tongue traced her pulse, but he couldn’t drink from her.

Biting into his own lips, he tasted his blood. His body rammed forward, frustrated by yet another consequence he needed to respect when he so desperately wanted to drink the hot, life-giving blood from her veins.

He sucked her flesh hard, marking it with bruises as he resisted the urge to bite down. Fucking her into the bed like a greedy animal, he took what he could brutally, angry that he could not consume all of her.

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