Page 39 of Marrying Bluebeard

“A lark?” I wave my hand at the blood staining her soaked sleeves. “You think hurting yourself is a good time?”

She shrugs. “You’re hardly one to talk. Or are you going to deny what happened the other night when I found you half-dead in the tub?”

“That was different.”

“Was it?” She stands, arching an eyebrow as she pads toward me. “You never did say what happened, so why don’t you tell me now?” The aroma of blood saturates the air as she stops a breath away, her injured arm lifting perilously close to my face as she cups my cheek. Like the finest wine, it begs to be tasted, and I can feel my fangs extending in spite of myself. Adelaide’s eyes flash, her gaze dropping to my mouth. “Or perhaps instead of talking, you could simply help me clean this mess up. There are bandages in the room…” Her voice drops to a husky whisper. “Or you could lick it clean right here.”

God help me, I want to, but something about this feels wrong. And I don’t want to hurt her. Anyone but her. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” I rasp, clutching the swell of her hips to keep from grabbing her arm and sinking my teeth into the primed flesh. I don’t need it. The monster is sated.

She nibbles her lower lip as she holds my gaze, driving the lingering anger away as her hand drops to her chest, fingers grazing her ruined décolletage. Drawing my attention to the way the translucent fabric clings to her curves.

Perhaps I’m being paranoid, and it really was only a bit of fun. Wasn’t her adventurous spirit one of the attributes that drew me to her in the first place?

My fingers sink into her softness, pulling her flush against me as I rock my hips. Her answering gasp is all I need. I scoop her into my arms and carry her back toward the castle, a growl rumbling up my chest as her hands clutch my hair.

Edgar’s eyes are wide as saucers as we pass through the foyer, dripping muddy water across the stone floor. They’ll be even wider once I get her in the room, and the echo of her screams fills the empty halls. Even the ghosts will blush at the sound.

I carry her straight to the toilettes and set her down beside the large, claw-foot tub. “You’ve ruined your dress,” I murmur, keeping my voice cool as she blinks up at me with innocent eyes. As if she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. “Take it off.”

Her lips curve, the faintest hint of a smirk dancing across them. “My hands are too cold to work the buttons.” She turns her back to me, and peeks over her shoulder. “You do it.”

I run my hand along her upper back, just above the line of her dress, and she shivers. Grinning, I dip my fingers beneath the row of pearl-shaped buttons and yank, hard. Bits and bobs careen across the floor. “There. Worked the buttons.”

“I’d say.” She starts to laugh, but it turns to a gasp as I slide my hands under the gaping fabric and cup her breasts. I roll the stiff peaks beneath my fingertips, and she leans back, resting her head against my shoulder.

“Warming up?” I ask, tracing her arousal as my mouth ghosts the line of her neck. Fangs brushing skin. Scratching—never breaking. Tasting, but never draining. Control. I have to maintain control. She moans an affirmation, and it’s all I can do not to give in. To sink my teeth into her flesh and feast upon the angel in my arms. It’d be so easy.

I rear my head back with a snarl and rip the gown off completely, scraps of sodden fabric falling in clumps at our feet. She’s bare underneath, her glistening skin a decadent display of pink and creamy white that begs to be consumed. I clench my hands into fists, frozen in place as I stare helplessly at the woman before me. Just the thought of her blood on my tongue is enough to drive me wild, but stronger still is the fear of hurting her. Of taking too much. Of finally scaring her away.

I can’t risk losing her.

As I stand there, desperate and immobile, Adelaide lets out a mew of longing. She shifts her hips from side to side, pressing her backside against my groin. “Bertrand, please.”

Two simple words, and my fear melts away. There’s no way on earth I’ll allow this precious creature to be hurt. Not by me or Celeste or anyone else. I will destroy them all before I allow that to happen.

Myself included.

“Such fine manners,” I murmur, grasping her hip as my other hand slides between her legs. I dip a finger inside her warmth and grin. “And so very wet.” I add a second finger, stretching the tight space as she whimpers.

“Please, Bertrand. I need you.”

You have it backwards. I’m the one whose existence hangs on your every breath. “Place your hands on the side of the tub. Just like that, good girl.” I shove my ocean-soaked pants to the floor and clasp either side of her perfect ass, spreading her wide before I slip inside. It starts slow and tender, but quickly builds, fueled by the desperate roar building in my chest.

Mine.

Her moans echo my intensity, and the gleam in her eyes as she looks over her shoulder shakes me to my core. It reminds of the simple truth—she may be mine for now, but I will be hers long after her life expires. This woman will haunt me for eternity, and I am helpless to do anything except welcome the sentence with open arms.

26

BERTRAND

We spend the rest of the day in bed. Well, not strictly in bed per se. We also linger in the bath, washing each other with meticulous attention to detail; lounge on the chaise, with Adelaide’s legs draped over my shoulders; and brace against the window sill, looking out at the ocean as our own waves crest over and over again. I embrace the power of Celeste’s blood as it works its way through my system, enjoying every last ounce before it recedes. Which, inevitably, it does, leaving me staring at the ceiling in the dark, sheets clenched in my fists, as Adelaide’s soft snores roll over me. Soothing, but not soothing enough for the monster clawing its way free of my chest.

I need another dose.

Creeping out of bed, I wince as the floorboards creak under my feet and again when I open the door, the wails of my past wives flooding the room. I slip into the hall on a prayer, clicking the door shut behind me. I can’t have Adelaide waking. Can’t risk her following me into the demon’s layer.

The key weighs heavy in my hand as I unlock the tower door, even more so than usual. I hate that I have to crawl back to her so soon, scraping and begging for scraps. I’ve grown accustomed to my flask, to the cask filled each month and tucked away in the kitchen stores. The facade of independence it grants me.