Page 54 of Dark Flame

“You’re learning to twist facts to your benefit. That’s good. But you forget, vampires are inherently attracted to flesh.” I shift my hold to her wrists, and her pitiful mortal strength resists when I go to tug them away from her chest. I allow her the modesty and stop pulling, even if any effort on my part would break her hold.

“I, I…you hate me.”

Releasing her wrists, I shift towards where the bra straps rest on her shoulders, petting the skin towards the curves of her breasts. “That may be true, but I can still appreciate your beauty.”

My strokes continue over the curves of her arms, over her stomach—which she caves in as though to avoid. I follow the line to the edge of the very panties I envisioned her in, pausing when she sucks in another breath, wondering exactly how long it’ll take before she breaks it.

“Get off,” she whispers, catching my gaze once more. She swallows roughly, her plea caught between her fake bravado and fear. Another scent rises, this one sweeter than anything else. Like blood and sugar and everything dark.

Her desire.

“Make me,” I taunt, trying to use the conversation to keep me focused enough so my fingers don’t slip beneath the edge of lace and discover for myself what Miss Sinclair tries so hard to hide. “What’s that human saying? You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out.” I pause, fake considering my words. “Yeah, that’s it. If you want me off you, use your magick.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“So you tell me constantly.”

She drops her arms from her chest, only to push me away while angling herself upright. “I’ll repeat it ’til you agree with me.” She manages to duck beneath my arm, leaving me crouched alone on the bed, and I let her. She dips towards the floor and snatches a plain tee from her bag, scowling. “That’s all this was then? Your fucked-up way to somehow spark my powers into returning? Newsflash: If they haven’t come back during all the other hell you’ve put me through, or what happened earlier, they wouldn’t for whatever the fuck that was.”

I twist until I’m seated on the edge of the bed, crossing my arms while observing her yank on jeans, her movements uncoordinated and jerky. “Is that your way of saying you didn’t hate it?” The scent from between her legs answered that long before she opened her pretty little mouth.

“Leave. Sun’s up. Don’t you have a coffin to crawl into?”

“You know the answer to that. Didn’t realize you care about my sleep habits.”

With a glare, she throws her dirty shirt at my face, but I catch it. “The first chance I have, I’ll be watching you burn in the sun, so no, you’re confusing annoyance with concern.”

“In my world, they’re the same.”

Her pants come soaring through the air. “Go away. Die. Burn. Sleep and never wake up.”

With both articles of clothing in hand, I turn for the door, not because she’s demanding but because I never intended to stay as long as I have.

“Always pleasant chatting with you, Hellion.”

“Asshole,” is her final grumble before shutting the door. I linger for a moment, listening as she crosses into the bathroom before locking her in and heading to my own quarters.

Inside, I drape her clothes over a wingback chair that’s beside the shoe box, as well as the picture of Sinclair I stole from the mantle, before heading into my ensuite for a hot shower to wash off the lingering blood on my arms and chest I didn’t get to earlier.

The water does little to burn away the flames licking through my blood after that match with the witch. Theneedto return and finish what I started, first with my fangs buried in her neck and then my cock in her cunt. I might have only been fucking with her for my own entertainment and her torment, but it took centuries of control to keep myself intact.

It also does nothing to quell the other source of my rage—subjects disobeyed laws long laid about entering this castle uninvited and believed they could take her.

If I was a minute too late…

I’m toweling off when my nose picks up another intruder. This one is becoming familiar, which is concerning on its own.

Tightening the towel around my waist, I leave the bathroom and return to my room, barely sparing Freya a glance as I cross towards my walk-in closet.

“How did you get in here?”

“You truly have no idea how much I can do. I’d start listing the ways, but we’d be here all night.Although”—she whistles—“I might make an exception if you don’t put on a shirt.”

“You’re not my type, witch.”

“Because I’m a witch or because my hair isn’t red?”

Ignoring the jab, I quickly dress and find Freya sprawled sideways across the wingback chair, her legs tossed over the armrest. Her hair’s different again, this time a shade of light purple that matches her eyes.