Page 15 of It's in His Bite
“I think that might be best,” I offered, that same ashy taste on my tongue.
Her lips pursed, and then she shook her head. “You’re lying.”
“Excuse me?”
Indignation ripped through me. Indignation and fear. How could she possibly know that the last thing I wanted was for this to mean nothing, that what I really wanted was to splay her out across this bed and claim her in every way possible between two people. Nevermind that we’d both done all of that countless times before with others. I needed her body pliant under mine, needed her cunt clenching down around my cock and not just my fingers, needed to feed from her as I brought her to an indescribable orgasm.
“I said you’re lying.” This time, there was fire in the words. She took a step into the bedroom and dropped her arms. “I know that you wanted to do more than just eat me out last night. I know that you want to announce to the clan that I’m your Fated.”
All the blood drained from my face. “You know nothing.”
She rolled her eyes and then held out her hand, palm up. My bite was still bruising her skin, and it had that ravenous, primal hunger that had nothing to do with my blood thirst roaring up in me.
“Yes, I do.” She took another step closer, and I scowled, unable to pry my eyes away from my twin punctures. “It’s my gift.”
That had me focusing on her face again. It hadn’t even occurred to me that she might have a gift that would present like this. How could I have forgotten that all dhampirs had a special gift, the amalgamation of their unique genetics?
“You’re a verifier?”
It was a mediocre term for the ability some dhampirs had: the ability to know the truth of what someone said. The ability was more or less strong depending on the person. Some had to touch you to know, a living lie detector in truth. Others could taste a lie but not the truth. Each was wholly different, just like the dhampirs themselves.
She shook her head. Her gaze dropped to her hand as she clenched it and then spread it flat again. “I’m a reader.”
Holy fucking bloody hell.
Surprise ripped through me, my mouth dropping open.
Readers were practically myth, something discussed but never actually encountered. I couldn’t think of a single dhampir in the last century with a gift that fell under the umbrella term. I always thought it was a lucky thing, too. Being inundated with the thoughts of those around you sounded miserable. There was no privacy even when you wanted to provide it, even when all you wanted was quiet.
Harlowe was quick to continue, her words falling over each other.
“It’s by touch only, just in my palms. My palms have to touch bare skin, and then it’s only the surface thoughts. I’m not able to, like, dig around or anything. I don’t see images or anything, either. I just hear thoughts, just the words themselves.”
All at once, small behaviors fell together, morphing into a coherent picture. Her careful reserve with everyone, even her own parents. The quick grimaces when she thought no one was looking and the ones that made her seem uncomfortable with the person she has greeting.
And then her odd comment last night suddenly clicked into place.
“That’s why you said you didn’t hate me,” I said. My voice was oddly detached despite everything spiraling inside me. “You were touching me when I thought that. You…”
Bloody hell. How much else had she heard?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s not something I can stop. If I want to touch someone… if I want to feel their skin against mine…”
Her eyes closed and her throat rippled with a swallow.
“So tell me the truth, Landon,” she said, her voice suddenly strong and full of demand. “I deserve to know it.”
All at once, the desire I’d tried to hold back all day, the primal need to know my Fated in every possible way, in every possible iteration, sweeps through me. My fangs elongate, and my claws lengthen. My dick is so fucking hard it aches.
Her eyes brighten, but she doesn’t back down. “What do you really want, Landon? Do you want this to mean nothing?”
In answer, I crowded her into the doorway, lifted her until I could press my hips against hers, and buried my fangs in the unmarred side of her throat.
Chapter Eleven
Harlowe
The strike was blinding, stealing every single bit of breath from me. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry out, couldn’t demand he apologize. For one infinite, horrid second, my entire world was nothing but white hot pain.