Page 39 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

TWENTY

Bliss. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her blood burned in his veins. And he’d never felt anything like it in all his centuries of life.

Raziel carried his wife’s unconscious form from the caves in his arms. He left the truck behind, there was no need for it, and should anyone want to try their hand at taking a truck full of weapons, they’d soon find it more trouble than it was worth.

Besides, he felt like stretching his legs after what he had just done.

Ivan and Hank had been told to bring a car to meet them. He was happy to have all the Iltani nonsense concluded, and it had ended surprisingly well.

He had dressed his little murderer in the black wool coat he had worn on the way there. As her clothes were in shreds, or covered in Luciento’s blood, it seemed only appropriate to redress her in whatever he had available.

She was alive. He had managed to stop himself from drinking her to death.

If just barely.

But the way she simmered in his body, the way every vein and artery seemed to burn with some new kind of life?

He couldn’t explain it. He had heard of some vampires finding mates that had this effect—something about the blood singing to theirs.

But he had thought it was only a myth. But now that he had tasted her?

It was the only thing that made sense. He would have to do some research.

Or ask his grandmother Lilivra about it, if he could get an audience with the old hag.

Either way, it made their situation far more complicated. Because whatever he discovered, he would still have to kill her.

There was no use attempting to delay. His mother would simply roll her eyes and see it as a sign of weakness, and demand he take the girl to the ancestral home and get on with the sacrifice.

With a sigh, he looked down at the woman in his arms. She was pale, her head resting against his chest, forehead tucked against his throat.

His body temperature would keep her warm, as he now had her blood in his body.

She would heal. And she healed quickly, which was convenient, seeing as he had likely bruised her badly enough she would limp for days with how hard he had rutted her. He couldn’t help it. Seeing her like that, after having murdered Luciento? There was no stopping him.

There seemed to be no stopping her either. Yes, he believed she had done it to earn some semblance of trust from him, or perhaps in hopes that he would spare her life. But to confess that she had done it also out of mutual lust? That he found truly remarkable.

Curious, mysterious, murderous thing.

But as of now there was one thing he knew for certain.

She was his curious, mysterious, murderous thing.

That was what had stopped him from draining her dry.

The little creature in his arms belonged to him.

As his own ecstasy consumed him, he had filled her, claimed her, and he had made her his bride in truth.

While he licked clean the bite marks on her throat and purred to her soothingly, he decided he would have as much of her as he could before time ran out.

Or, perhaps, he could find a way to stop the clock.

Because this creature felt special to him. Maybe it was how much she was still hiding from him. Maybe it was how murderous she was, and how useful that might be to him.

Because he had plans.

Big plans.

And the fun was about to begin.

Nadi woke up in Raziel’s large and comfortable bed.

Her first thought was, Well, I lived .

And couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed.

She was sore everywhere , though she shouldn’t exactly be surprised.

Raziel had fucked her like a train engine, and then drank her dry.

How else was she supposed to feel? Daylight was filtering in through the lace curtains pulled over the windows, casting a dim pale glow over the expensive bedroom.

Raziel was in bed next to her for the first time since they were “married.”

She still didn’t really consider them married, for a lot of reasons. First and foremost, she wasn’t really Monica.

He was on his side, facing her. He had showered, and judging by her slightly damp hair and the smell of soap, he had cleaned her up also. How thoughtful.

She watched him as he slept. The smoothness of his features, with their sharp edges. There was no question how handsome he was.

But this was the face belonging to someone that had haunted her nightmares for over eighty years.

Someone she’d sworn to kill.

Someone she’d made passionate love to.

There was no point in denying how badly she’d needed what they’d done. The desire had been more than mutual. There’d been no hypnotism, no ruse, no questionable situation to blame—just pure lust. Pure hunger.

Frame by frame, like the images in a zoetrope, she played the scene through in her head, searching for some reason to condemn him.

Something, anything , he had done that she could use to pin the blame solely on him.

He could have commanded her to her knees.

Could have used his belief in his control over her to make her do anything he wanted. Instead? He’d asked for her honesty.

He hadn’t wanted to take what would be given to him for free. With a wavering sigh, she climbed out of bed. Cringing, she arched her back and cracked her spine. Damn. He didn’t mess around, that was for sure. Heading to the bathroom, she decided she needed to find some painkillers.

Did vampires even keep painkillers around?

She knew drugs worked on them—but she only knew of them taking them for recreational needs.

They healed even faster than fae, so why would they keep painkillers?

But it was worth taking a look—her legs were sore.

And Monica would be in far worse shape elsewhere than she was.

The first barrier presented itself when she realized his mirror was way too large to be a medicine cabinet.

“First drawer closest to the door and in the back.”

Glancing to the door, Raziel hadn’t moved. But it was clear he wasn’t as asleep as she thought he was. “Thanks.”

“I don’t keep any for myself. But my…guests often need them.” He rolled onto his back, folding his hands over his chest. He slept shirtless. If he had trousers or boxers on, she didn’t know.

Opening the drawer in question, she rooted around until she found some basic painkillers.

Nothing too strong. She didn’t need to be drugging herself silly.

Taking two with some water from the sink, she ran a brush through her hair and examined herself for bruises. Nothing that wasn’t already fading.

There, on her throat, however—were two pinhole scabs, surrounded by darker purple-blue blotches of teethmarks. The telltale mark of a vampire bite. Touching it tenderly with her fingers, she was surprised at how little it hurt, though it was fairly tender.

“It won’t scar. They never do.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Throwing on a black silk robe that reached her mid-thighs, she headed back toward the bed. “It’d be too late to do anything about it, anyway. And it’s not like I’m going to be alive much longer.”

“Fair point.” He reached a hand out to her, beckoning her closer.

Intrigued, she walked up to him and slipped her hand into his.

He pulled aside the covers, revealing that he was wearing black silk boxers.

Damn. She was rather curious to see what had been the weapon of assault from the night prior.

He drew her into the bed with him, guiding her to lie down on top of him with her propped up on her elbows before pulling the sheets back over them both.

It was shockingly intimate.

She didn’t quite know what to make of that.

And it was clear her confusion was plastered all over her face by the smile that appeared on his.

“Hm.” His fingers traced over her cheek.

“I act the monster, threaten to kill you, and stage a mass murder, and it’s business as usual.

I show a little affection, and you act as if I’ve grown a second head. ”

“Actually? Yes. One is unexpected. The other isn’t.”

He chuckled. “Another fair point.”

He was warm beneath her—from her blood, she reminded herself—and his startlingly pale skin was smooth, feeling like velvet over stone.

He was built . Broad, but not overly so.

His body wasn’t bulky . No, he was efficiently muscular.

Much like his namesake, the Serpent. Powerful. Deadly. But streamlined.

Moons, it…felt good. It made her want to touch him.

Explore him. To roam her hands all over his body, to feel what it was like when those muscles moved and flexed.

To grab hold of the thing between his legs and really give it a proper road test on her terms. She wondered if he’d let her get away with that.

Raziel was known for liking one thing and one thing only behind closed doors, and it certainly wasn’t fairness.

He wrapped an arm around her as his other hand still gently caressed her cheek. “My family is coming over for dinner in a few hours.”

“Oh, great.” She dropped her head onto his chest. “More of your mother’s attitude.”

“You murdered Luciento in cold blood. I believe that may earn you points with her. It might even get her to change her mind about the sacrifice, who knows.” He stroked her back gently. “My siblings will be quite impressed.”

In cold blood. Nadi didn’t need the reminder. The look in the fae patriarch’s eyes would haunt her until the day she died. She lay down on Raziel’s chest, resting her cheek on his bare skin. He had a heartbeat—which vampires didn’t usually have. It must be because he had recently fed.

“I can’t avoid it by saying I feel like shit, can I? You did nearly kill me.” Now she was whining. She didn’t care.

“No, but it will excuse you early. So it will make it a brief affair. And it’ll keep my fangs from your neck and my hands from wandering until you tell me you’ve mended.” Raziel kissed the top of her head.

It was another…tender gesture.