“Not as quickly as vampires.”
“That is not an answer.”
He’s like a dog with a bone. I don’t understand where he’s headed with this line of questioning. “Yes, I heal quickly.”
“And yet you have an injury like this.” His face takes on a forbidding look. “Explain.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I shove at his shoulders, but I might as well try to shove a mountain. Frustration bubbles up inside me, hot and cloying. “As I’m sure you’ve probably figured out, I didn’t exactly volunteer for this gig. I tried to run. My father made sure I wouldn’t be able to again.”
He goes still in that predatory way that makes every instinct I have scream at me to flee, which might be laughable under other circumstances. Flee. Sure. That’ll work out great.
Malachi’s thumb traces the most prominent bit of the scar, the spot where my father beat my knee again and again, until the bones were little more than pebbles. “There is no quick fix for this type of injury.”
“Thanks for that, Doctor Malachi, but I’m already aware. Even with my accelerated healing, I’ll never walk right again.” It’s something I can’t think too closely about or it might be the thing that breaks me. My entire life has been spent running, even if it was contained within the colony walls. I’ve escaped beatings and worse because of my ability to flee. No longer.
He presses a hand to the center of my chest. “Stay.”
“I am not your dog to command.”
“Stay,” he repeats.
I don’t know why he bothers to tell me what to do. He moves so quickly, I barely have a chance to tense before he’s back between my thighs again, this time holding a knife. I freeze. “A vampire with a knife. How novel.” Which reminds me. I narrow my eyes, trying to ignore the blade glinting between us. “Returnmyknife.”
“When I’m sure you won’t try to carve out my heart, I will.”
“Looks like someone already tried and botched the job.” I jerk my chin at the mangled scars on his chest. “I’m more than happy to do it properly.”
He chuckles, a dry rasping sound. “What’s your name, little dhampir?”
As much as I want to dig in my heels instead of answering, it won’t serve any purpose. I’m here for the foreseeable future. Might as well be on a first name basis with my captor, willing or no. “Mina.”
“Mina.” He says it slowly. “It suits you.”
“If you say so.”
Malachi reverses the knife in a smooth move and presses it to the side of his throat. “You seem like a smart girl.”
I blink. “Um.”
“Too smart to deny yourself a tool, even if I’m the one giving it to you.”
I don’t know he’s right about that, but I can’t help staring at his throat as he drags the tip of the knife over his skin, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. My fangs ache in response. I might not require blood the way actual vampires do, but the desire is still there. “What are you doing?”
“Blood is power, little dhampir.” He leans in, pressing against me, until his neck is a few spare inches from my mouth. “Drink from me enough and your knee will mend itself.”
“Impossible.” I throw the word out like a life preserver. “It’s healed already.”
“Not impossible.” He tilts his head to the side, baring his neck completely. “Drink.”
I shouldn’t. It’s another tie linking me to him. His bloodline’s power might not be glamour like my father’s, but sharing blood back is what vampires do to mind-fuck humans. I’ve never drank from a vampire before. I don’t know what will happen if I do.
But if he’s not lying… If itcanheal my knee…
My tongue snakes out without permission and drags over his neck. That small taste feels like a nuclear bomb going off inside me. I stop thinking, stop trying to rationalize my way through this. I simply act.
I bite him.
I have no finesse, like he demonstrated even when he was tackling me to the floor that first time. I’m too desperate for more.