Page 72 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“I’ve been thinking,” he said before I could get another word out. “About our conversation the night of Iltsar.”

My pulse quickened. “And?” I whispered as he lowered my leg gently beneath the warm water.

I yelped as he pulled me into his lap, the soapsuds sliding off my naked frame. He brought his lips to the hollow of my throat, tracing the gentle slope of my collarbone with his tongue.

“And I think it’s time we give it a try.”

I sucked in a breath. I’d anticipated this moment ever since that night, hoping every time he held me in his arms that he would finally relent. Beneath the water, his hand tightened around my thigh, sending chills skittering up the muscle.

“Why now?” I asked, sliding my hands around his neck.

He grinned. “The sharing of blood is not something vampires should take lightly, although many do. I needed time to think it over and give myself the space to do it right. I’m ready now.”

I pressed my forehead to his, drinking in his scent.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind?” he added.

“I haven’t,” I promised.

He pulled away from me, fixing me with a stern look. “You’re absolutely certain?”

I nodded vigorously. “I’m certain.”

His fingers slid along my hairline before curling around the back of my neck. A shiver rippled through me in its wake. I wriggled closer until our bodies were pressed together, anticipation pooling in my veins like magma.

“Will it hurt?” I whispered.

“At first, perhaps, but the pain will fade to pleasure fairly quickly.”

“And what will happen to you? Will it be—” I hesitated “—pleasurable?”

He chuckled. “It will.”

I glanced pointedly downward, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Are you certain about this?” he asked once again.

I had never been more certain about anything in my life. I kissed him in response, slipping my tongue between his lips.

“Yes.”

I sucked in a breath as he lowered the sharp points of his fangs to my skin. We were pressed so close that I could feel his heart beating an urgent staccato against my own. I supposed that even a vampire king could be nervous. His breath tickled my skin as he paused, giving me time to become accustomed to the sensation of fangs against my throat. I wasn’t certain how long we remained there, entangled like a wolf and its prey, but my desire swelled with every passing second.

I whimpered as he finally sank his fangs into me. I curled one hand around the back of his head, arching my back as blood rushed to the surface of my skin.

The sensation was nearly indescribable. He ravished the wound in my throat with his tongue, taking with him all the tension that had been boiling up inside me. Enhart, Genevieve, and even my magic seemed to simply fade away. As he drank, the sharp pain of the bite slowly surrendered to pleasure, just like he’d promised. Why in the name of the gods had we waited so long to do this?

My eyelids fluttered shut. It was as if I was teetering on the edge of the world, the sting of his bite the only thing that kept me tethered to this plane.

He released me with a growl and leaned back, a grave expression on his face. His tongue flitted over his fangs as my blood dripped from his lips into the water.

“Mordric?” I asked, my brow creased in concern. I shrieked as he lunged for me with a carnal snarl, pressing me backward. Pain exploded at the base of my skull as my head collided with the cold porcelain. Frothy water sloshed violently onto the tile. I bucked in surprise as he buried his fangs in me again. There was no pleasure in his bite this time. Only his raw, overwhelming thirst.

My eyes grew wide with realization. “Mordric,” I said sharply. “I think that’s enough.”

He growled in response. Instead of releasing me, he gripped my throat with both hands, tilting my head at an uncomfortable angle.

The temperature of the water seemed to plummet as he pinned me there. My vision narrowed to a point. The stream of blood flowed feverishly into his mouth now. It spilled from his lips, turning the water crimson.