Page 69 of Taming Seraphine

Leroi has such beautiful veins. When he’s angry, they stand out against his skin like little rivers of blue. If I look close enough, I can almost see the hot rush of blood as it disappears beneath his mask.

I press the dagger’s blunt edge into his jugular, but he grabs my wrist. Warmth pools in my core, and the pulse between my legs pounds to the rapid beat of my heart.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.

My gaze snaps to meet his eyes. They’re dark pools that draw me in, daring me to run the blade across his neck and slice his throat. Heat radiates from his fingers into my skin, electrifying the blood coursing through my veins. He squeezes, the sudden pain pulling me back to awareness, but this time, I don’t drop the knife.

“Leroi?” I whisper.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his brows a deep furrow.

“No.”

He glances to my wounded hand and back into my face. “What do you need?”

I want to see why the blood beneath those veins colors his flesh that unusual shade of blue. I want to nick his skin and find out if the liquid beneath it is vermilion or crimson or magenta, but most of all, I want to clear my head.

Somewhere on the edge of my awareness, I know Pietro gave us another lead, but the last few moments are replaying on an endless loop. Leroi just flew into a protective rage because of a little cut. He strangled Pietro to death because he hurt me, and then he tended my wounds.

Men don’t protect women. They only stake their claim. They almost never care if a woman gets hurt unless it’s out of some twisted sense of ownership, but Leroi just did the unexpected. Could he be different? The only way I’ll know is if I get a peek at what’s running in his veins.

“Seraphine.” He moves my hand and the knife away from his neck.

“Yes?”

“Tell me what you need,” he says, his voice so deep that the muscles of my core constrict.

Shifting on the kitchen counter, I sweep my gaze up his muscular chest. “Touch me.”

“What?” He pulls off his mask.

“You said I was racking up the rewards,” I whisper. “I want my reward. I want my orgasm.”

His nostrils flare. “Bleeding turns you on?”

“Not when it’s my blood,” I say.

“Then what?”

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. “I liked it when you killed Pietro.”

His pupils dilate, and the hand encircling my wrist tightens. Without another word, he plucks Pietro’s dagger from my fingers and cleans it with some antiseptic wipes.

My breath quickens. “Let me do it.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“Cut yourself for me,” I reply, my voice breathy. “Let me see all that lovely blood.”

He chuckles, the sound carrying no warmth. “Is that what you want, little Seraphine?”

“More than anything.”

“Even more than that orgasm?”

I nod.

“My blood wasn’t part of our bargain,” he says. “But since you like blades so much, I’ll give you a choice. Do you want to come on my fingers or the knife?”

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