The Red Lily (Vampire Blood #2)(20)

No words had ever paralyzed him like this-both from fear and longing. He'd taunted her back at the pub out of pure mischief. The predator inside him had sensed a particular emotion shining bright in her eyes at the thought of him feeding from another woman. Envy. The devil in him teased, thinking she might storm off in anger, an emotion he could use to lure her closer later on, by gentler means. Never had he thought she'd offer herself. And now, he was almost afraid to accept this precious gift.

He was well aware of the erotic potency of his elixir. Even women who had offered only their blood always changed their minds once he'd punctured their skin.

Unlike many vampires, Nikolai was a man of his word. If he promised a lady there would only be an exchange of blood for money, then he would not succumb to her moans and sighs and pleas for him to do more once his elixir was coursing through her veins. There were other women like Colette who gave consent up front, offering their bodies as well as blood. But Sienna didn't ask for money or pleasure in exchange. It was her wish.

Nikolai stood on the barn floor, looking up, while a mouse rustled in the corner and a cow munched hay in its stall. Fear racked his frame, telling him that he would not be able to stop himself once he started. Not with Sienna.

A flicker of that dark memory-of black hair, of a pale throat, of blood-washed over his mind. He shook it away. He could never harm Sienna. And while her scent stirred him to near madness, there was another concern beyond losing control when her blood touched his tongue. It was his acute desire to sink more than fangs inside her body that also gave him pause. He tilted his head, popping his neck, and breathed deeply to rein in the monster inside rattling his cage.

He'd given her privacy so she could ready for bed in modesty. Nevertheless, he heard every movement she made and every breath she took. He heard the fall of her cloak, the removal of her boots and stockings, the unlacing of her bodice, the unsnapping of her corset, and the slide of her day dress as she put it back on. The thought of her sleeping in nothing more than her thin day dress and that flimsy excuse for a shift sent his mind to a dirty, dark place. A place he wanted to go, bringing her with him.



       
         
       
        

He couldn't close his mouth all the way, his fangs were so far extended, yearning, aching for succor. She'd offered herself as his bleeder, his host. Not for any gain of her own but simply to feed him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fed without paying first in some form or another.

He shouldn't do it. He should march back into town and take Colette quick and fast, feed his hunger and leave Sienna's virgin throat unspoiled. Nikolai knew that ladies of her caliber didn't become bleeders for hire. She would be no such thing for him. He would take extra care. He would be gentle, if he could manage to rein in the beast prowling his cell. And he would keep his hard cock in his pants.

Though his primal instincts pushed him to leap from the barn floor to the loft, he refused to do so. He would not frighten her any more than she already was. The soft patter of her pulse echoed in the air like a sonar calling him home. He climbed the ladder, his control held by a thin thread.

The loft had been furnished with two small mattresses on the floor and a lantern. Sienna's quilt lay folded on the one to the right.

She stood at the barn window, watching wisps of gray cloud cover the stars and half moon. A light breeze wafted through the casement. The lantern cast a pale glow on her fair skin. That perfect, alabaster, milk-white skin that he would feel and taste before too long. He stifled a groan before it could rumble from his chest.

She stood there in bare feet. Nikolai examined the delicate lines of her ankles and calves up to where the hem stopped mid-calf. Her bare arms wrapped around herself, her fingers clinging to her own waist. She appeared remarkably vulnerable. So beautifully vulnerable.

His hunger was a feral beast clawing at his insides and demanding blood. Her blood. The lavender-in-the-woods smell of her was a drug all its own. An addiction he could gladly drown in and never come up for air. Even now, he held himself in tight control, straining to keep the monster locked tight.

"You may change your mind, sweetheart." He balled his fists at his sides, hoping he could walk away if she refused him. "Tell me now, and I will go. I will find another to feed upon." She had one chance to stop him. He could do no more. "But once we start, I won't be able to stop."

His senses told him she was afraid and … excited. She turned, the lantern light catching the soft lines of her cheeks, nose, lips.