Page 35 of The Ballad of the Vampire Prince

If his touch hasn’t unraveled me already, that tender look certainly does.

His sincerity pokes at the heart I’m supposed to be protecting. I hate how I’m completely vulnerable to his charm.

My heart begins to hammer wildly until my ribcage starts to ache. I touch that tender spot on my chest. Pain is not foreign to me. I’ve been through the worst of it when I was young, and I dealt with it every day because of my maimed leg. I know I can handle most pain, but Svenn can hurt me in a way I didn’t know I was capable of hurting.

I don’t want to fall apart. I don’t want to shatter into pieces.

If I trust him again, he’ll destroy me the way he did the last time. That cold fact makes it unbearable for me to continue indulging in his kindness.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, but I have a council session early in the morning.” I try to find my voice.

He removes his hand abruptly and my body chills from the loss of his touch. I climb onto the bed, and like always, Svenn doesn’t join me.

I sneak another glance at him from under the blanket. “Goodnight, Svenn.”

“Goodnight, Rhianelle,” he whispers quietly.

I am dreaming.

At least, I think I am.

I’ve been trying to figure out what this strange experience means ever since the first time I’ve had it. Lady Deirdre said dreams could be premonitions for the things to come.

I hardly think this is a memory or the future.

I’m still in my bedchamber in Lord Wesley’s keep. Everything is the same as it was just before I went to bed, from the placement of books on the shelves, to the half-eaten porridge on the table, my bottle of salve on the dresser, and the crumple of the rug over the hearth. Not a single thing out of place.

Perhaps I’m just stuck somewhere that exists between dreams and nightmares.

And I say nightmares because I am now staring into the merciless eyes of a handsome, broad-shouldered male, with raven black hair that seems to swallow the light in the room.

Perched on the long table in nothing but his leather breeches, the Strigon looks as if he just came straight out of hell, ready to carry out the devil’s bidding.

I call this vampire Dream Svenn.

I assign him a name because he is like a different beast from my husband in real life. This version is somehow more cruel and vicious. I have the inherent need to run away from him.

A sardonic smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “You’re not still mad about last time, are you?”

I shoot him a glare.

The last time he was referring to is a dream in which he chased me through the entire keep and finally made love to me in the Great Hall.

“Fine. Stay mad at me, Nel,” he says, his rough voice edges against my skin. “It’s more fun to fuck you this way.”

His slow prowl raises the hairs along my arms.

“Go on, run. I’ll give you a longer head start this time,” he taunts, eyes glittering in the light.

“I’m not playing your games anymore,” I tell him.

He lets out a dark, cruel laugh. “You seemed to enjoy our last play.”

I will my legs to move, to run, to do something. But it’s like I am spellbound by his presence alone.

In the blink of an eye, he is in front of me, his arm wrapped around my waist. “Guess I’ll just catch you then.”

My heart is still racing, but it’s for an entirely different reason now. His expression smolders as he hauls me against his chest. “Come here, sweetheart.”