Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Until she begged you to fuck her.
Hunger beat through my heart, forcing my eyes closed.
“Hawke,” Avi whispered, stepping even closer. “Let me feed you. I can feel how hungry you are.”
My eyes flashed open. “Absolutely not.” If I fed from her, I’d fuck her. My tether on my self-control was already a fraying thread, and seeing that mark on her hand had snipped a few more strings.
“You’re dangerously close to turning mad.” Another whisper, but there was no reproach in her eyes, only concern. “Your body is going to reject any other source—”
“I fucking know that.” I stepped back, putting some desperately needed distance between us.
“Let me feed you,” she repeated, raising her ungloved wrist.
My mouth watered as I stared at the creamy skin. “How many males have you fed, Avi?”
“None, of course.” She blinked.
My laugh was anything but humorous. “Oh, sweet little Princess, then you have no idea what you’re offering. No clue about how feeding and fucking go hand in hand between mated couples.”
Color blossomed in her cheeks, but she didn’t lower her wrist.
I stepped dangerously close to her, and did something stupid, letting my instincts drive the movement as my fangs skated up the silky skin of the side of her throat. “And I wouldn’t feed from your wrist.”
She sucked in a breath, and her shoulders tightened.
I scented the blood on her fingers and jumped backward before I did something more reckless, like take her up on her offer.
Take her. Claim her. Taste her.
Stupid fucking instincts.
She drew a quick breath, studying her hand and the thorns that had breached the satin of her glove.
I got the fuck out of there.
4
Avianna
Weapons lined the farthest wall of the residence’s training room, everything from blades to crossbows to 45s. More than half the floor was cushioned with soft training mats, more for continuity than comfort. The temperature was set to a good ten degrees below comfortable, raising chills beneath my long-sleeved workout top. I wore workout gloves too, the nylon material a refreshing change to the silk or velvet I normally chose. The only skin beyond my face that was visible was that of my neck, and that was only because I had my hair pulled back into a tight top-knot.
“For someone who insists on running away from me,” I said, eying Hawke from where I stood on one of the mats in the middle of the room. “This exercise seems entirely counterproductive.” I raised my arms to indicate the space—vacant, thanks to Hawke scaring everyone off after ordering me to meet him for a training session.
Hawke’s powerful jaw clenched. “And you are way too fucking calm for someone who insists on moving into Deveraux Hall, unprotected.”
I swallowed hard, hating that his predator’s eyes tracked the movement. I knew he’d attended the meeting with Samuel the other day, but I hadn’t realized Hawke had been privy to the agreements laid out in the pre-betrothal contract. If I moved into Samuel’s residence, I’d be allowed a guard, but one the betrothal agreement was signed, I’d have to let them go. The Deverauxes would implant a bodyguard of their own line, someone they trusted, to stand watch over the newest addition to their family.
Anger sizzled like acid in my veins and I let it coat my tongue. “You’ve always underestimated me, Hawthorne,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised you think I can’t handle myself.” I folded my gloved hands over my chest, batting my eyelashes. “Whatever will a simpering princess like me do against a big bad vampire like Samuel?”
Hawke flinched like I hit him.
Good. Anger felt much better than what I’d just buried.
Hurt.
Because it fucking hurt that Hawke didn’t think I could handle myself. Didn’t see me as anything more than a breakable royal lady.
You would run screaming if you even glimpsed what I would do to you.
Hawke’s words from the other night whispered through my mind, sinking more painful little barbs into my heart. Not only did he underestimate me, he couldn’t even picture how good we’d be together. And we would be—God, he had no idea just how wonderful we could be if he gave us the chance. Maybe that’s what hurt most of all. He couldn’t see me well enough to know that, to acknowledge the truth staring him straight in the face.
He saw me as a princess that needed pampering, but in reality, I was the exact opposite. I needed someone to not treat me like a piece of fucking glass. And I always thought he would be it.
Hawke stomped across the mat, stepping into my space until he towered over me. “Only a simpering princess would see this training session as an insult to her abilities,” he fired the words like he would his blades, and they hit their mark.
I glared up at him, having to tip my chin to meet his lethal gaze. Fucking giant, broody bastard. “Oh, then please enlighten me, all wise and powerful assassin,” I snapped, stepping even closer still. “What the hell is the point of this, then?” He knew my power, Samuel and those outside our family did not. Hawke had to know that if things went south during my arrangement with Samuel, I could break free. Not that I would, since my entire family’s lives were at stake, but still. How could he doubt me so damn much?