Page 146 of Immortal Bastard

“Please do not hate me for this, pintura.”

He lifted her limp body and carried her away. No…Don’t leave me. Christian…

Seconds passed like eons when his touch disappeared. Her worst demons taunted her. He left her. That was it. She was too much and he was taking his love away. Her stomach cramped painfully. She wanted the pain to end.

The bed dipped and she was once again cocooned in his reassuring warmth. She shivered as he pulled her to his lap and lifted her.

“You’ve left me no other choice, little one.”

Her ear pressed to the solid wall of his chest. The familiar, steady beat of his heart comforted her through the darkness. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The first scent of blood awakened something inside of her, but she was still too weak to open her eyes. Her jaw slackened, her fangs punching through her gums when he smeared the blood over her lips. She struck like a viper, sinking her fangs into his flesh and latching onto his vein with greedy need.

He grunted, and those first few spurts of his warm, life-giving blood returned her strength. It trickled down her throat, and her hands curled around his arm, holding him to her mouth as she drank heavily.

“Take what you need, little one. I am yours.”

She drank like a babe. The involuntary response to the source of food as natural as a baby’s instinct to nurse.

Her lightheadedness subsided. The internal disquiet that had been punishing her for days uncoiled and repaired. The tension in her shoulders disappeared with the ache in her head, and a delightful euphoria took hold.

Gentle fingers stroked through her hair. Christian.

She’d recognize his touch anywhere. She welcomed it, and leaned into it because she loved when he touched her.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice no longer sounding miles away. “Take as much as you need.”

She gorged herself, moaning deeply as she accepted his blood into her body without inhibition. The longer she sipped the more aware she became. Her hips shifted, seeking purchase and her claws dug into the muscled flesh of his arm.

The scent of his desire crept into her, feeding her own. She wanted him. Needed him in every sense of the word.

Overwhelmed by gratitude for his offering, her chest tightened. This was what she needed. He knew she would, yet he refused to pester her about feeding once he gave her his word. He left the choice to her and tolerated her nagging hunger pains for days.

His perseverance proved his commitment to the truth—to her. He truly did want trust between them, because even now, as her cloudy mind awoke and her body repaired, she recognized that she was not under any form of compulsion.

Her lips dragged over his shredded skin and she opened her eyes only to gasp at his torn flesh. She’d been so starved, she’d ravaged him. Blood seeped and gathered at the raw wound As she looked up at him, her eyes brimming with regret. “I hurt you.”

“No, pintura. There was no pain.”

The gnawed pulp of his flesh was irritated and raw. He kept his wrist exposed to her, an ongoing offering to take more. She licked her lips, sensing his encouragement but sure she’d had enough.

“Take a little more. You’re still rather weak. It will make you strong.”

Looking up at him with uncertainty, she pulled his wrist back to her mouth and slowly opened her lips. She no longer needed to bite, and regretted tearing into him so brutally.

He watched her drink her fill. “Good, pintura. That’s very good.” The fingers of his free hand caressed her hair and shoulders.

Her gluttonous moans took on a carnal tone as his aged blood pumped through her veins.

He tasted rich and potent. As her strength returned, she softly purred.

“Ah,” he grunted as she finally let go.

“Did that hurt?”

He shook his head. “Quite the opposite.”

She blushed and instinctively licked over his torn flesh, cleaning away any mess and closing the wound. When his arm pulled away, the skin was unflawed. Perfectly unbroken, she wondered how such a thing could be possible. And how did she know to do that?

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