Impossible. "You've no' drunk another? Never killed?"
She cast him an anguished expression. His question had hurt her?
"Of course not."
She wasn't a predator? There were rumors of a small faction of rebel vampires who didn't kill - of course, he'd dismissed the tales immediately. What had they been called? Forbearers? Could she be one? But then he frowned. "So where would you get blood?"
"Blood bank," she murmured.
Was that a joke? "What the hell is that? Is there one nearby?"
She shook her head.
"Then you've got to take from me. Because I just signed on to be your breakfast."
She looked too weak to take his neck, so he sliced his finger with a claw. She turned her face away. "Put it in a glass. Please."
"Do you fear I'll turn you into a Lykae?" He would never attempt that grueling ritual on her. "Or do you think you'll turn me?" Surely she didn't believe that. The only way to become a vampire was to die while one's blood was in your body. Only humans believed one could be turned from a vampire's bite, while those in the Lore knew one had a better chance of turning by biting the vampire.
"It's not that. A glass..."
He didn't understand what the difference was. Then his eyes narrowed. Did she find the thought of drinking from him objectionable? Galling. She had no idea what he was sacrificing for her. He snapped, "Take it, now," then dripped the blood across her lips.
She resisted for longer than he would've if he'd been starved. Finally she dabbed the tip of her tongue at her lip, then licked there. Her eyes turned silver. To his shock, he went instantly hard.
Her small fangs shot longer. She had sunk them into his arm before he could blink.
With the first draw, her eyelids fluttered closed and she moaned; he went dizzy with sexual pleasure, feeling on the verge of coming. Stunned, groaning, he reached out and yanked her gown down, exposing her br**sts, covering one with his palm. He squeezed harder than he'd meant to, but when he stopped she raised her chest into his hand, her hips undulating, never hesitating her sucking.
With another groan he leaned down, opening his grasp to hold her breast so he could take her nipple with his mouth. Licking desperately, his tongue swirled around the throbbing peak. When he drew it between his lips and sucked, he felt her tongue flicking against his skin at the same time.
The pleasure he derived was indescribable, and her every draw intensified it. She clung to his arm so sweetly, holding it between her br**sts. As if he'd ever take it away. Her nipple was so hard between his lips.
He placed his hand on her thigh, rubbing upward, but she withdrew her fangs and flung herself away, rolling to her side. He sat on his haunches in shock, trying to compose himself, baffled by his reaction.
"Emmaline," he said in a broken voice as he took her shoulder and turned her to her back. His eyes widened as her wee fangs grew smaller. Her eyes turned blue once more, and she rolled them with apparent ecstasy, falling back, her pale arms over her head. As she stretched and writhed, her ni**les puckered tighter. Then she gazed up at him with her full, red lips curling. The lass had a smile such as he'd never known -
Euphoria, that's what he was seeing as her skin pinkened. His erection was growing unbearable - watching her skin warm was incredibly erotic. Every detail of this sordid act with her was erotic. Her face grew softer, her body fuller - God help him - curvier. If possible, her hair shone more.
He vowed she would drink him - only him - from then on.
And, sweet Christ, she needed it every night.
She rose to her knees before him, leaning forward, seeming hungry for something else entirely. Her uncovered br**sts were plump and luscious, as if begging his palms to cup them.
"Lachlain," she purred his name as he'd waited to hear for a millennium.
He shuddered and his c**k pulsed. "Emma," he growled, lunging for her.
The back of her hand connected with his face. Caught off guard, he flew across the room.
The second time he attempted to rise, he realized she'd dislocated his jaw.
12
Never taking his eyes from her, Lachlain punched himself in the face in the direction opposite of how she'd hit him. She heard his jaw pop into place as he loomed closer, his expression menacing.
With no shirt on to disguise how strong he was, every sculpted muscle in his chest and torso was visible as it tensed. He looked bigger without clothes on? How exactly did that happen? Yet for some reason she was unafraid. Emma the Lamb was scanning him for something else to dislocate. Vampires were evil. She was a vampire.
And she was on fire with his delicious blood.
He was on top of her before she had time to react, pinning her arms above her head and shoving his knee between her legs. She hissed at him, struggling, making a better showing than before, but she was still no match for him.
"You're strong from my blood," he said as he wedged his hips between her legs.
"I'm stronger just for drinking," she snapped, which was true, but she also suspected his immortal blood, taken straight from his body, was seriously high octane. "I was hungry for anything."
He gave her a patronizing look. "Admit it. You like the way I taste."
She'd tasted power, tasted him, and lusted for more. "Go to hell."
He adjusted his position on her, his chest rubbing over her naked br**sts. When he rested against her, she felt his erection hard as steel between them. "Why did you hit me?"