Кристин Фихан: Dark Song

His lips wandered down the side of her neck, and then he was suddenly shifting his body out from under her, so she lay in a fine mattress of rich minerals with his heavy body blanketing hers. His lips kissed both closed eyelids.

“Are you ever going to look at me and see your lifemate, piŋe sarnanak ?” There was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

She pressed her lips together. Only if you command me. I mean, yes. But . . . She couldn’t. Not yet. As long as she had her eyes closed, she could enjoy his touch. Pretend her world was going to be all right. If she opened them and the world was too big or she panicked, and everything frightened her, he would realize just what he had tied himself to for all eternity.

He didn’t command her to open her eyes. His lips continued a slow travel from her eyelids along her left cheek to the corner of her mouth. Her heart stuttered as he brushed across the curve of her lips and then down her chin and throat. He continued lower over the curve of breasts. For a moment she thought to bring her hands up to cover herself, but it seemed a little silly. Her body belonged to him. She had scars. He had already seen them. He had already seen how thin she was.

His lips moved back and forth in a mesmerizing way, pushing out coherent thought. She didn’t know what he was doing. She was feeling, but she wasn’t quite certain what. She wanted to bring her arms up and touch him, to put her hands in his hair. She could feel it sweeping over her skin, a thick mass sliding over her, sending ripples of awareness and adding to the slow heat building in her veins caused by his mouth moving on her body. The scrape of his teeth sent a dark shiver down her spine. Unexpectedly, her sex clenched. In all her years of being alive, that had never once happened. It was shocking. Maybe even a little mortifying, mostly because she didn’t know what it meant.

His teeth sank deep and she bit back a gasp at the shocking wave of pain that instantly turned to erotic pleasure, spreading flickering flames through her body. She could have sworn flames licked at her skin and the insides of her belly, smoldered between her legs and threatened to build an inferno in her deepest core that could never be put out if he didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop her arms from creeping around him, no matter how hard she tried. She cradled his head to her, needing him to feast on her, to sate himself on her blood. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the way it felt with him taking her blood. He could drain her dry and she would be happy. When Sergey had taken her blood, it had been painful; a terrible, torturous experience. With Ferro, it was a wonderful, sensual, shocking encounter. He held her in his arms as if she meant something to him. His mouth moved over her like she was priceless.

Again, her eyes burned, when she had no tears to shed. No one had ever treated her the way he did, not that she could remember. If she had to have a new master, no matter if he turned cruel later, she had this moment, this one moment, to hold on to and treasure. Did she believe that he would stay kind to her? No. Not really. She’d lived with terror for so long that she didn’t know how to live without it, but she was determined to hold on to every decent moment life gave her. This one was unexpected— a true gift.

His tongue swept across the pinpricks, closing them, and he shifted back and to one side, taking her with him, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a feather and settling her onto his lap. He swept her hair back and pressed her face to his chest.

“Drink, piŋe sarnanak . You need to take my blood in the way I took yours.”

Her eyelashes fluttered before she could stop them. Curiosity was one of her worst traits. It always had been. Sergey Malinov had known that about her. She had tried so hard to suppress that need to find out every little thing, and she still couldn’t help herself at times. Like now. Her lashes lifted and she found herself staring into her lifemate’s face for the first time.

She had known he was dangerous. Lethal even. His face could have been carved from the stone, etched out of the hardest rock known to man. His jaw was set, stubborn, his eyes the color of iron ore, a light, almost silvery color, although she could see streaks of the lightest blue and just the faintest jagged lines of rust spread through the irises. His lashes were dark like his hair, although his hair had streaks of silver running through it. He had high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose and a dark shadow along his jaw where most Carpathian men were clean-shaven.

His gaze drifted possessively over her face. He didn’t smile at her, but he bent his head and his lips moved over her eyes, pressing kisses over them.

“You’re very brave, Elisabeta.”

She wouldn’t call it bravery. The moment she opened her eyes and saw his face, saw all that male power, she knew she was in trouble. She’d had to fight her first inclination to hurl herself to the ground and try to burrow into the soil fast. She knew from experience there was no running away. She was always captured, and the repercussions were terrible. Still, the admiration in his voice, that respect, was totally unexpected and caught her off guard.

“Take my blood, piŋe sarnanak . You are very pale. I can feel your hunger beating at me.”

She was so used to being hungry she barely noticed anymore if she’d gone weeks without blood. He pressed the back of her head very gently, urging her face toward his bare chest. She transferred her gaze there. He had a thick chest, with heavy, defined muscles. He wore ancient ink, the kind etched into his skin. It was difficult to tattoo a Carpathian. Ink didn’t stay. Carpathians rarely scarred. Ferro had ink pressed into scarring on his chest, arms, shoulders and, she was certain, his back.

The back of her head fit into his palm easily and he pressed her close to his skin, to those heavy muscles. At once she caught his intriguing scent and drew it deep into her lungs. Something about the way he smelled got to her on a molecular level. She instantly wanted to taste his skin—no, needed to taste him. Without thinking, she lapped at him with her tongue. An exotic, perfect flavor burst in her mouth on her tongue and slid down her throat, bringing a heat to her belly. She almost keened with delight. Nothing tasted like he did. Nothing.

Her teeth scraped back and forth over his pulse while she contemplated what his blood would taste like. Would it be that good? Would it live up to the promise of his scent? The mere flavor of his skin? He had fed her before, when she was beneath the ground and he slept above her, but he hadn’t claimed her, hadn’t joined them together. Was there a difference? She had been too terrified to notice then. She was terrified now, but . . . He groaned. It was just a soft sound, but it went straight to her sex. Like an arrow.

“Elisabeta, take my blood.” He growled the command at her. His voice was velvet soft, but still, it was a growl. An order.

She sank her teeth instantly. Deep. Without preamble. Shocking him. Shocking her. He threw his head back, his hand locking her head to his chest while the other pinned her hip to his, holding her still, forcing her to realize she was squirming on his lap, her bare cheeks sliding over his fully erect cock. She would have been mortified, but already his blood was in her mouth. Not just any blood; an aphrodisiac, the finest thing she’d ever tasted in her life.

Ferro would never have enough blood to give her. Never. She would forever crave his blood. Nothing would taste this good and she knew it. She tried not to be greedy. She’d been trained not to take what she needed. If she tried, Sergey beat her into submission. Twice, she tried to pull back, but Ferro murmured his displeasure and held her to his chest. She continued feeding, grateful he allowed it, grateful for the rich sustenance from a true ancient, but more importantly, grateful for the amazing gift a lifemate’s blood provided.