It’s so, so tempting to confess what has me twisted in knots, but if I honestly believe he’s playing games with my mind, then telling him what I’m feeling is just opening a path for him to fuck with me further. I can’t risk it. “I’m tired. Goodnight, Malachi.” I shut the door in his face.
Even so, I clearly hear him through the thick wood. “I am not the enemy.”
I want to believe him. I want it so badly I can taste it like the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. But there’s one lesson my father taught me, one I cannot afford to forget. Not even with Malachi. Especially not with him.
Everyone is the enemy.
7
The rest of the week falls into an increasingly familiar pattern. I wake up, wander down to the newly shiny kitchen for a meal and coffee, and then explore the house. At some point Malachi shows up and drags me to spar and train. When I’m shaking with fatigue, he bites me. I always orgasm. I always bite him back.
But he doesn’t kiss me or offer tokiss it betteragain.
Even as I tell myself to be grateful, my irritability rises with each passing day. I want him and I don’t want to want him, and it was easier to live in my head when I told myself I didn’t have a choice. Malachi is effectively undermining that narrative, and I’m not in the mood to be grateful. More, I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t wanthim. Desiring Malachi is just playing into my father’s plans, which is the last thing I want.
I’m so distracted by my tumultuous thoughts, I don’t realize I’m not alone in the library for a moment too long. I catch sight of the blond vampire and jump off the couch I was sitting on, but I barely make it a step before he’s on me. He digs his fingers into my hair and shoves me back onto the couch, following me down. He gets a knee between my thighs and grins at me. “What a delicious little thing you are.”
Fear clamors in my throat, but I refuse to show it to this stranger. “I don’t know who you are, but you have five seconds to get off me or I’m going to cut your fucking head off.”
“So vicious.” He says it slowly, like he’s savoring it. “I like it.”
In the flickering light of the fire, his features seem exaggerated. High cheekbones. Hollow cheeks. Freakishly pale eyes which still seem encased in shadows. His blond hair is cut into a short mohawk, and though he’s smaller than Malachi, he’s still stronger than me.
I am so fuckingtiredof everyone else being stronger than me.
“Who the hell are you?”
His grin is a little deranged, flashing fang. “You can call me Wolf.”
Wolf. The name tingles a memory, but I can’t quite grasp it. Not when I’m in immediate danger of getting my throat ripped out. He’s not one of my father’s, though. I know that much. Which means he’s a wildcard and I can’t anticipate what the hell he’s going to do.
Except bite me.
That’s all but guaranteed with the way he’s watching my pulse thrum beneath my skin. “Malachi will kill you.”
“Nah.” He laughs. “We’re old friends.” Wolf raises his voice. “Aren’t we, Malachi?”
“Wolf.” I didn’t see Malachi enter the room, but then I’ve been more than a little distracted. I turn my head as much as I’m able and find him standing a few feet away, his hands casually tucked into his pockets as if he’s not witnessing a trespasser pinning me to the couch. “It’s been a long time.”
“Your choice. Not mine.” He transfers my wrists to one hand and turns to keep Malachi in his line of vision. “Imagine my surprise to find you’re accepting sacrifices from that jackal Cornelius again. Tsk, tsk, Malachi. No one likes a hypocrite.”
“Extenuating circumstances.” His gaze flicks to me. “You have something of mine.”
Wolf laughs again. The sound is downright sinful. It sounds like good chocolate tastes, decadent and a little bittersweet. “You’ve been alone too long, my friend. You’ve gotten greedy and forgotten how to be a good host.” He licks his lips. “I’m positivelyparched.”
Malachi hesitates for a long moment, and a traitorous hope whispers to life in my chest. Surely he won’t let this stranger bite me. Surely he can see how much I am not onboard with this idea. Surely…
“Help yourself.” He drops into the chair across from us. “Biting only.”
Wolf looks back at me, and the cruelty in his pale eyes matched only by the amusement lingering there. “Did you think he’d step in? Poor thing, you’ve really done a number on her, Malachi.”
“Wolf.” The warning in Malachi’s tone seems not to register.
Wolf runs a single finger down my neck. His eyes flick to mine, and his grin softens the tiniest bit. “Don’t worry, love. It’ll feel good.”
Which means he’s a bloodline vampire, too. I don’t care. “A chemical reaction. That doesn’t mean a single damn thing. I don’t want it.”
He contemplates me, pointedly ignoring the way Malachi tenses in the chair at the edge of our vision. He inhales and goes still. “Ah. Not a human at all, are you? Dhampir.” He settles down on top of me, using his body to keep me in place. He smells faintly spicy, like cloves and cinnamon or something similar. I hate that I don’t hate it.