Page 68 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“My last letters to the order threw them off-course. I declined backup forces.”

Dante gives me a bemused smile, true surprise alighting behind curiosity. “Naughty. And why would you do that?”

I offer him perhaps the most valuable thing in my possession—an honest, unguarded expression. My shields lowered, I let him see it all: confusion, desire, the swirl of tenderness I don’t even fully understand myself. Rain continues to pound behind the window, filling the silence as I reach up to brush blood from the corner of his mouth with my thumb.

“Because I hope you don’t die again when we find the cure,” I tell him. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

I let my hand linger there, cradling his jaw. Dante shudders out a breath like I’ve punched him.

“Believe me, you couldn’t offer a greater gift,” he says, his voice low and ground down.

His eyes roam my face with an inquiring intensity, disbelief and something molten warring there. I’ve never realized how lonely I’ve been until he’s looking at me like this—like he’s drunk on me.

Even if I’m not sure he wants me the same way. If he ever could in a way that’s real.

I wait for him to laugh again, to close me out and pretend that the air isn’t suffocating the both of us with that invisible charge.

Dante’s arms wrap around me, a testing pressure, but still enough to make my breath catch. He leans close, cheek brushing mine. I feel his lips part, hovering close like an unresolved kiss near my temple—holding himself back by a single, straining thread. Anticipation grips me. For a few tense moments, it’s just our ragged breathing, the charge in me rising to a roar, drowning out everything else.

“Tell me you hate me,” Dante whispers against my skin.

Tears prick my eyes—the sheer truth of it spilling over me.

“I can’t,” I rasp.

Dante pulls back, just enough to pin me with a look so darkened with desire, I feel I could melt into the ground. Those perfect, pretty eyes.

I wonder if I’ll ever find forgiveness for wanting more than anything to taste him back. I feel like I’ll die if I don’t get to, and I don’t care that Dante is a monster, that there’s still my blood smeared on his mouth.

Fuck it.

Cupping the back of his head, I surge onto my tiptoes and kiss him.

twenty-two

Time stands still. I pray to live in that moment for much longer than I deserve.

Yet the smallest whisper at the back of my mind begs for Dante to be the sane one—to push me away, to stop this. I resent that voice and try to silence it, fearing it will get its wish.

But a miracle happens. When time swings forward again, Dante kisses me back.

One of his arms clutches me round the waist, the other cradling my face as he leans in hungrily. I slide my arms around his neck, cementing us together. The soaring in my chest is like sunlight itself is clawing out of me, numbing the shock of blood—my blood—mingling with the taste of the kiss.

His affection is all-encompassing, unraveling me moment by moment. My hands travel down his shoulders, not to release him, but to find the laces of his tunic. I tear at the knot until it comes undone. As I tug at his shirt, his tongue swirls against mine—desperate and starved for more, more.

When we finally pause for breath, Dante chuckles. “That’s not a terrible look on you,” he says huskily.

Frowning, I touch my mouth and find that our kiss has smeared blood across the bottom of my face. His eyes glint upon the sight before he leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth. Lips parting, he drags his tongue over my skin, cleaning the blood with a low growl at the back of his throat.

As my pulse throbs in my dizzy temple, I am aware of another throb at my neck. I gingerly touch the wound, finding that the fang punctures have not quite healed over. The venom is working quickly to seal me back up, but I am desperate to give him more.

The moment his lips leave my jaw, I smear more blood upon his mouth tenderly. He stiffens, catching my hand and staring into my eyes, wild with delighted surprise.

He licks his lips, savoring the crimson smear, before slowly guiding my hand toward his mouth. Dante’s thrilled hum rumbles against my skin as I offer my fingertips for him to suck the blood off. One of his fangs grazes the side of my finger as I pull it out. And then I surge forward and kiss him again, the coppery taste of my own blood blossoming over my tongue along with the taste of him.

A pleasant shiver travels up my thighs, making my hips bump against his. His hands squeeze my waist while I clench his open tunic. His smile turns searching, a question shining in his eyes. Are you sure this is what you want?

I nod impatiently. “Yes. Yes.”