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With her hands against his chest, Fey summoned Air, feeling the power rush through her and out her palms, flinging him off her and straight into the back wall of his office. His pained grunt brought her a small shiver of satisfaction, but Fey didn’t bother waiting to see him hit. She was already leaping over the desk, running for the door.
Fey’s fingers just barely grazed the doorknob when he slammed into her, knocking her off balance and sending her careening against the wall. He pinned her there, pushing her front against the wood while his hands struggled to find her wrists.
Fucking Vampire speed. Fey fought against him, knowing she couldn’t let him immobilize her hands.
He managed to catch one of her wrists, squeezing it in his grip and twisting her arm behind her back. The moment he managed it, though, Fey brought her heel down with her entire weight on the top of his foot. The Vamp roared in pain, and she managed to twist far enough to send another gust of air against his shoulder, throwing him off balance and giving her enough leeway that she tried reaching for the door again.
“Stop!” he growled, and her body went instantly rigid against his, every muscle tensing. Fey tried to move, tried to fight, tried to do anything, but her body ignored her.
No, no, no.
“Did you just use persuasion on me?” Fey snarled between her clenched teeth, forcing the words out. Her muscles were slowly relaxing, back under her control, but when she tried to struggle, tried to fight back, and shrug him off, they refused to listen. She was helpless. The Vamp took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, pinning her hands against her chest where they were useless against him.
Fucking vamp, Fey thought, filling with rage and power.
Very few Vampires still had the power of persuasion—the ability to force others to act against their will. It was an old talent, one nearly diluted out of their power set. Still, Dameon had trained them for it. Just in case.
Fey squeezed her eyes shut and focused, bringing her awareness to her body. At first, all she could feel was him, the hard muscles of his body pressed against her back, the strength of his arms pinning her against him. He smelled like whiskey and wood smoke, and the combination momentarily distracted her.
He felt… good pressed against her, like this.
The moment she thought it, her nerves flared to life, and she became aware of every point of contact between them, every place his body touched hers. It was an effort not to sink deeper against him, deeper into that smell, into the heat of him.
Focus!
Water.
Fey summoned her power, visualizing it as she gathered her strength inside herself. Water rushed through her, washing away his commands. She imagined his words as a sheen of oil, pooling in her, and she washed them away bit by bit until there was nothing left.
“Why were you in my office?” the Vamp growled, and his persuasion roared the command through her mind. Her tongue moved of its own accord to answer him, but Fey clenched her teeth together and let her power wash the words away. He could use all the dirty tricks he wanted, but she sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell him anything.
His arms tightened around her when she didn’t answer, and Fey couldn’t help but smile at the victory.
“Go fuck yourself,” she purred at him over her shoulder.
With a growl, he turned her away from the door and threw her back into the room, pushing her against the desk. Fey let out a gasp in shock, pinned between his body and the wood.
He released her arms, bringing one hand down to hold her in place by her hip, while the other swept her hair over her shoulder and off her neck.
“My people used to have a way of dealing with thieves,” he threatened. The heat of his breath against the back of her neck made her shiver. With him pressed flush against her back, she could feel every hard muscle of him, and her body responded with a flood of heat under her skin. His hips were keeping her pinned in place, making the lip of the desk press below her hips. Press against her in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Fuck.
He brought his hand up and curled it into her hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to wrench her head backward. Fey gasped in shock, completely immobilized against him.
“If a thief was caught in the act, they used to pay the price in blood,” he growled. His lips brushed against the skin behind her ear, and each word sent a violent shiver across her too-sensitive skin. She felt a heat rising in her and tried not to think about the last time she’d had a man this close to her. Tried not to pay attention to where the desk pressed against her, tried not to imagine what he would feel like inside of her.
Her tongue ran across her bottom lip, and she tasted blood from where he’d split her lip open.
Fey felt it, then. A razor-sharp whisper against her neck as his fangs drifted over her skin. It was a bluff, and they both knew it. Nonconsensual feeding was outlawed, and the Crown took the penalty seriously. By feeding on a Witch without her consent, he would be signing his death warrant.
A bluff, Fey tried to convince herself. He wouldn’t dare do it.
His fangs slid across her skin again and Fey couldn’t stop herself from letting out a whimper. Her skin was on fire, her pulse quick and panicked.
“Is that what you want?” he asked her. His voice was full of barely contained rage, and suddenly Fey wasn’t so sure he was bluffing after all. Her mouth went dry with terror. He might do it, he might bite her right here and now, and pinned between him and his desk, there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it. “Is that what you want?”
Fey felt his persuasion wash over her, and she could do nothing as she heard her treacherous voice answer him.
