Page 47 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

Anything you can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than you…Arrogant much?

He viewed himself as her superior and spoke as if he hoped to be her master. Not likely.

“I don’t wish to master you. I only wish to help you. Your ability to protect yourself is important to me. Trust that I don’t want to suppress your autonomy. I want you to embrace your full potential and grasp the tremendous gift I’ve given you.”

I, I, I, I! Fuuuuuuuuck you, you Amish, sheep fucking vampire.

He growled and his eyes flashed silver.

Aww, poor widdle Dwacula. If he refused to get out of her head, she’d make her thoughts as inhospitable and unwelcoming as possible. She wanted him to suffer.

Am I not the obedient woman you hoped for? However will I learn my place, master?

His nostrils flared, and his fists clenched at his side.

He may be stronger, but she was no weakling. She would not be mastered.

The potency of her vehemence intoxicated her. Newfound strength pumped through her veins like heroin. Fuck him, and fuck his farm. If anything, maybe she’d meet a better mate, now that he brought her here.

Like a crack of thunder, a growl snapped from his throat, and he sprang, grabbing her by the shoulders faster than she could draw breath. She raked her claws down his face and he knocked her to the ground.

Snapping her teeth at him like a rabid dog, she tried to bite him. Snarls rent the air as they clawed at each other. Growls ripped from her throat in place of screams. They tussled, rolling over the planked floor, biting and scratching, hissing like animals.

Once he had her pinned to the ground, he snapped, “Enough!”

She tasted blood and took inventory of her body as she panted. Not a single scratch marred her skin. All the damage had been her doing, enough blood that it dripped from his face and pooled on her chest.

She thrashed and growled, arching up to bite him, but he maintained control, slamming her back down and demanding her submission. Outmatched, her fury subdued.

His expression bore no tells of anger, only hurt. He was injured. Bleeding. But it was not her delinquent behavior that upset him. It was her determination to hurt him.

She’d succeeded.

Shame overwhelmed her as she took in the damage she’d done. What was happening to her? She wasn’t a cruel person. She certainly wasn’t a violent one. The surface damage was only the start of his pain.

Swells of emotion bombarded her. He craved her compassion, her approval, and her rejection injured him more than any physical wound ever could.

“Stop,” she whispered. “You’re trying to make me feel bad.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

But he was. She had an empathetic link to his feelings and they were killing her. “Knock it off. I feel you inside of me.”

His hold loosened. “I’m hardly touching you.”

But he was in her. There. With her thoughts. Present in every nerve. Stroking parts of her she couldn’t picture from places she didn’t know how to locate.

A strange scent met her nose. Arousal. Hers and his.

Shifting under his hulking build, she tested his hold on her. She was hardly restrained, yet he’d tamed her with little effort as he straddled and pinned her to the floor. A purring growl murmured from both of them.

“Get off of me.”

“Do you think I can’t detect your desire, little one? I know what you want. Your stubbornness is costing you.”

She struggled beneath him but he didn’t budge. The hard press of his arousal weighed on her stomach. She recalled how deeply he’d filled her the last time he was inside of her.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“No. I’m doing nothing. Everything you’re feeling is your own body trying to communicate a need. You should listen.”

Her jaw locked and her thighs pressed tight, her sex practically weeping for him to take her.

“My body’s yours, Delilah. I freely offer whatever you need.” He looked down at her like he planned to consume her, and she resented the effect his desire had on her.

She wanted to be strong. Powerful. Independent and in no need of him whatsoever.

Then she noticed the deep gouge by his eye. Concern tore at her heart when she realized how deeply she’d cut him. Ashamed, she tried to roll away but, again, he held her down.

“It’ll heal. Your distance wounds me more than anything else.”

How, after everything he’d done to her, could he still cause such an unwelcome ache in her heart? She didn’t want to feel sorry for him or attracted to him or anything else. She only wanted to be rid of him, but even the brief thought of leaving him spiked a terrible sense of panic inside of her. How could she possibly feel so many contradicting things for someone she hated?

Fuck, desire was literally building and burning in her loins. Loins! What the fuck did that even mean?