At least one of my hopes came true.
My husband-to-be is indeed pleasing to look at.
No; he’s more than that. He’s perfection, even in his changed form.
I swallow the lump in my throat and cross my legs. That fluttering is still there; in my chest… growing warmer, slipping between my thighs.
He leans forward. “Finley,” he says softly; slowly, shaping my name with his deep, resonant voice. “I couldn’t care less about titles or status. I have enough wealth that marrying for it would be pointless. And to be perfectly honest, I find most of those that have been raised in the bubble of the Rahavan Court to be insufferable. But you… aren’t.”
“So… you do wish to proceed with this… our arranged betrothal.”
One pale eyebrow arches in amusement. “Does the notion really seem so terrible to you?”
My stomach flips. A little… because I don’t know what you’re capable of.
“And part of this arrangement is that you will want to…” My hand goes to my neck. With cold fingers, I feel my own rapid, shallow pulse. “You’ll want my blood again… and again.” My voice cracks a little. I can’t help it. The thought that he might put his sensual lips on my neck again and gently suck the life out of me.
This man.
Oh, my Goddess.
For a moment, his eyes come to rest upon my neck. His lips are slightly parted. I can see the sharp tips of his fangs.
“I won’t force you,” he says softly. “And I won’t take from you until your condition has improved.”
Force me? Like you did before?
What is this feeling I have? Of dread mixed with excitement? Along with a healthy dose of skepticism. “From what I can tell, you weren’t exactly in full possession of your senses. What makes you so certain you can control yourself next time?”
“I’ll learn to control it. And if I fail to do so before the thirst hits me again, I will keep away from you and seek alternatives. Unless, of course… you are willing.”
Am I seriously contemplating allowing this man to drink from me again? “The physician says I’m to take it easy over the next few weeks. I don’t want to be fainting in your arms again.”
Are you sure you won’t force me? I remember the look in his eyes just before he drank from me. In that moment, it felt like nothing in the world could come between us.
“Drink the wine, Finley. There’s no need to be suspicious. It’s just a finely aged Tusganes merlot, laced with a few drops of my blood. One of the few benefits of this infernal state of mine is that my blood appears to have healing properties.”
“I won’t be… affected by your magic?”
“If you’re worried that you’ll become like me, then no. That’s not possible. According to the lore, only the Goddess herself can create vampires. I’ve donated my blood before, time and time again. When your brother was close to death, I gave him some. It sped up the healing process immensely, and from what I’ve been told, he’s still as human as he ever was.”
A faint smile crosses my lips. He’s right. The last I saw of Aderick, he was sitting up in bed, wolfing down a hearty breakfast and bemoaning the fact that he was bored out of his mind from being stuck in bed all day. And he was so very human.
“Drink the wine, Finley. It’ll heal you. There’s no point in having you spending the next few weeks feeling weak, with the risk of fainting at the slightest exertion.”
He’s right. That sounds like hell. But he obviously has other motives, too. “And then you’ll be able to drink from me sooner, won’t you?”
“I do have a vested interest in your wellbeing, yes.”
“You know, for a royal, you’re rather shameless, Corvan.”
He smiles then; a bitter, wicked, and utterly charming smile, all perfect white teeth and gleaming fangs. “You think royals are supposed to be paragons of virtue? I hate to disappoint you, but we’re the most shameless creatures of all.”
“Well, at least you’re honest about it.”
It would be good to get rid of this feeling; this woozy light-headedness, this annoying fluttering of my heart, this restlessness, this strange, smoldering heat inside my body.
The glass of wine sits there on the table, right where Vinciel left it.
Dark, decadent crimson, staring back at me, taunting me.
Is he lying, or telling the truth?
Deep down, I know he could do anything he wanted with me. We’re bound by Rahavan law. I can’t run. I can’t defy him. Against his inhuman strength, I’m completely helpless. If he were a corrupt person… he could do depraved things. He could imprison me and take from me whenever he wants.
He has all the power here, and yet…
So far, he’s been surprisingly reasonable.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll drink the wine. I’ll consider allowing you to drink from me again. But I have conditions.”
He inclines his head. “Tell me.”
“Firstly, you will ensure my brother has all the care he needs to make a full recovery. You will prevent my father from taking him back to Ruen prematurely. Secondly, you must promise to protect me and my family. That includes my father, who is currently detained in your dungeons.” I pause, thinking about my father, who’s been harsh to me for as long as I can remember. Unlike the affection I receive from my brothers, I’ve never known even a sliver of warmth from him. “If you must detain him, then at least provide him with adequate food, water, and warm bedding.”
Corvan leans back, steepling his fingers, his gaze becoming hooded as he contemplates my requests. “I’ll grant you the first one. That is a given. As for your father… I can’t say I have any respect for a man who storms up to my gates unannounced and demands an audience with me. I have no tolerance for a man who disparages my loyal soldiers, especially Kaithar of all people. But what is most unforgivable is that he dared to strike you. And for that, he needs to face the consequences. I can’t grant your second request, Finley, but I will ensure he has the basic things you asked for. And I can promise you that I won’t kill him.”
“Be fair,” I put my fingers to my mouth, where father struck me. “Look. The injury isn’t so bad.”
Is it so bad that part of me wants Corvan to punish my father?
For a moment, his expression turns horribly cold, like a winter storm. But then, it passes. “That too, will heal,” Corvan says gently, “if only you will drink the wine.”
He’s dangerously persuasive.
Too much for me to withstand. I’m just a simple country girl from Ruen.
“Fine,” I utter at last, and it feels like a dam wall inside me is starting to break. “But you must stick to your side of the bargain.”
“I might be shameless, but I’m not dishonorable.” He rises to his feet and pads across the room, his movements slow and purposeful and graceful, like a big hunting cat. He takes the long-stemmed glass into his fingers and returns.
Then he kneels before me, offering the dark crimson elixir.
I stare down at the wine; into depthless, shadow-filled red.
Just like his eyes.