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He lifts his head, and his lips are stained crimson with my blood.
For the very first time, I see his face.
Of course.
Does it even surprise me that he’s excruciatingly handsome?
His dark brows are drawn together, crimson eyes fixed upon me, his gaze so intense I feel like he can reach into my soul and take whatever he wants.
He has high cheekbones and a strong nose with a slight bend in the bridge—as if it’s been broken and set at some point in his unholy life. He has a chiseled jawline and a cleft chin. His cheeks are ever so slightly hollowed.
His lips are sensual softness; the only thing about him that’s remotely soft, even though they’re painted with my blood.
His tongue darts out and he licks his lips clean. I catch a glimpse of sharp fangs.
He is most definitelynothuman.
My heart remembers to beat again, hammering so hard and fast it’s almost painful.
The red glow in his eyes has faded. Now, they’re a deep, dark crimson—one could almost mistake them for reddish-brown. If not for the unnatural hue of his irises and the marble-like quality of his skin, I might almost think he looked human.
He blinks, shaking his head ever so slightly. He whispers something under his breath.
It sounds like suspiciously like a curse.
His gaze is wide. Filled with heat and surprise.Notcold. For a moment, he seems almost as shocked as I am.
This isn’t the look of a man that wants to kill me.
I draw upon all my willpower to try and shake off the madness of what I just experienced. I force myself to resist the magnetic force of his aura. I don’t care if he’s a demon or a spirit or a powerful mage.
I won’t give in to his depraved desires.
And yet…
He didn’t kill me.
Andeverythingdepends on what I do right now.
Don’t panic. Whatever you do…
Do. Not. Panic.
Part of me wants to scream. I want to let my fear loose; to twist and writhe and fight, toshowhim how distraught I am.
Howdareyou devour me like that?
Howdareyou enjoy it?
The last one goes for him and me, both.
But instead of fighting him, I remain very, very still.
I look up, searching his elegant features, catching the last of the softness in his expression before his face becomes an inscrutable mask.
Who are you?
I don’t dare ask that question.
