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‘Yes,’ I whisper, because apparently I’ve lost every defence except honesty. ‘That would be a fantastic start.’
His throat works.
The great Vampire King of New York looks at me as if I’ve asked him to cut open his chest and show me the last human thing beating there.
Then he does. ‘I love you. Lyra. Eira. My breathtaking little hunter.’
My heart stops trying to be clever. It swells and soars.
He says it without flourish. Without poetry. The words come from some ruined, ancient place inside him and enter me like a blade turned into light.
‘I love the woman who ran from me before I knew what she truly meant to me,’ he continues, voice roughening. ‘I love the hunter who fought me, deceived me, saved me, enraged me, bled for me and called me a dramatic tyrant while nearly dying in my arms. I love your courage so much it frightens me. I love your mouth even when it is being used against me. Your defiance, your fury, your softness when you think no one sees it, and the way you keep choosing to stand when every cruel thing in this world has tried to make you kneel.’
Tears blur my eyes.
His hand tightens on my thigh.
‘I am obsessed with you. That word is too small, but it will do until language improves. I fear for you because there is no mercy left in me where your safety is concerned. I will rip my undead heart from my own chest before I willingly let you go. I will learn gentleness if you require it, patience if you insist on torturing me, restraint if the alternative is your fear.’ His mouth brushes mine, barely. ‘But do not ask me to pretend I am civilised about loving you. I am not.’
A tear slips down my cheek.
He watches it like it wounds him.
I cup his face with both hands. His skin is cool under my palms, jaw tight enough to ache for him. The mark at his throat pulses black-red, but his eyes are silver now, blindingly silver, fixed on me like I’m the only thing left in the world worth seeing.
My fingers tremble as he reaches between us and unzips his fly.
‘Valentin,’ I whisper.
His gaze burns.
I lean closer, lips brushing his. ‘I love you, Valentin. No poetry or pronouncements. Just my little hunter heart. I fucking love you.’
His eyes close. And then the breath leaves him in a shudder that moves through his whole body. Then they open again, darker, wilder. ‘Louder, tesoro,’ he says. ‘So the Tower hears.’
Heat and heartbreak break through me together.
He pushes my panties aside and surges into me in one deep, ruthless thrust.
I scream, the sound torn from pleasure and love and too many days of terror. My body takes him with a shock of fullness that makes my spine arch. His forehead drops to mine. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open and impaled, his cock thick and hard inside me as if he means to anchor us both by force.
‘Again,’ he commands.
I laugh and sob at once. ‘Bossy.’
‘Beloved.’
The word destroys me. ‘I love you,’ I gasp, louder this time as he begins to move. ‘I love you, you arrogant, impossible, terrifying vampire.’
The Tower shakes. Not from curse or collapse.
From him.
From us.
The bond flares wide, bright and dark, his pleasure surging into mine, mine answering with every helpless clench around his cock. He fucks me against the wall with raw, desperate force, but his hand cups the back of my head so carefully, guarding me from stone. That is Valentin. Violence and reverence in the same breath. A monster learning tenderness by refusing to hurt the thing in his hands.
His mouth finds my throat. No bite but a kiss. Another. Then his fangs graze skin and he stops, shaking.
