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Hunter is colder. Cleaner. A blade with the handle removed.
But… fuck it also hurts. More than hurts. It excavates something inside me that mocks the possibly-maybe-ness of what I know I feel for the Vampire King of New York.
Because somewhere along the way of being flung off buildings, shown the wondrous Heartshard Glass, drinking vampire blood and being fucked into the next millennium, I suspect I’ve fallen in fucking love with Valentin Moretti.
I lift my chin as much as his hand allows. ‘And did she also tell you I didn’t know?’
His gaze searches mine. For one suspended second, I think he sees something. Or wants to.
Then the king buries it.
‘You will tell me everything,’ he says, each word precise and lethal. ‘And when I am done, you will beg me to be merciful. You should pray I still remember how.’
15
EIRA
The threat is a blade pressed flat to my skin. Cold at first, then the sharpest lethal cut.
His hand is still at my throat, just shy of crushing, definitely firm enough that every swallow feels deliberate, an unwarranted gift he’s granting me.
My wrist is pinned above my head and stone bites sharply into my spine.
He has me stretched high against the wall in a posture designed for restraint, humiliation, and absolute clarity.
Just like the tower-leaping and flying jaunt the second time he summoned me, Valentin wants me afraid.
The worst part is that he almost gets what he wants.
Because for a telling and humiliating little stretch, fear flashes hot and ugly through my chest before fury rises and devours it.
I embrace it eagerly because fury lets me breathe.
I lift my chin as far as his grip allows. ‘Peeling secrets? That sounds suspiciously close to what your sired just did. Which is surprising since you’re the creature who once got very noble about promising he’d never force his way into my head.’
Something dark flickers across his face. ‘You dare to compare me to him? Have you not learned by now the many pleasurable ways I can bend you, hunter?’
Before my body utterly betrays me, I shove indecent thoughts away and press harder. ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time, vampire. Tell me, does that little principle survive incandescent fury? Or am I finally meeting the real Valentin Moretti now?’
The dungeon shudders, a subtle convulsion through stone and iron, the kind that says power is being held in check by force so violent it’s beginning to fray at the edges. Dust drifts from somewhere overhead as the wards hum louder.
His eyes narrow. Then, almost visibly, he catches himself.
The pressure of his hand doesn’t lessen, but something in him cools with terrifying speed. He has realised what I’m doing, realised that I felt something slip inside him. More than one thing. Fury. Hurt. A savage, almost disbelieving outrage that burned so hot it shook the room around us.
Because his blood still runs in me. When he bleeds, some part of me hears it and my pulse kicks harder. I hate that he knows I know.
Through the gap in his shirt I see the mark black and acrid against his chest.
‘We’re connected,’ I say anyway, because if the truth is already between us, I may as well drag it into the light. ‘You can threaten me all you like, but your blood is still in my veins. So yeah, a few things slipped through.’
His mouth curves in a lethal caricature of what a smile would look like on a creature invented solely to make people regret being born. ‘A few?’ he murmurs. ‘Should I be relieved?’
‘You tell me.’
He studies me for one taut second, then his grip on my wrist tightens. ‘Do you know what I should do with you?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve drawn up a whole dramatic programme.’
