Total pages in book: 182
Estimated words: 165649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 828(@200wpm)___ 663(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 828(@200wpm)___ 663(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
“Drink, piŋe sarnanak. You need to take my blood in the way I took yours.”
Her eyelashes fluttered before she could stop them. Curiosity was one of her worst traits. It always had been. Sergey Malinov had known that about her. She had tried so hard to suppress that need to find out every little thing, and she still couldn’t help herself at times. Like now. Her lashes lifted and she found herself staring into her lifemate’s face for the first time.
She had known he was dangerous. Lethal even. His face could have been carved from the stone, etched out of the hardest rock known to man. His jaw was set, stubborn, his eyes the color of iron ore, a light, almost silvery color, although she could see streaks of the lightest blue and just the faintest jagged lines of rust spread through the irises. His lashes were dark like his hair, although his hair had streaks of silver running through it. He had high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose and a dark shadow along his jaw where most Carpathian men were clean-shaven.
His gaze drifted possessively over her face. He didn’t smile at her, but he bent his head and his lips moved over her eyes, pressing kisses over them.
“You’re very brave, Elisabeta.”
She wouldn’t call it bravery. The moment she opened her eyes and saw his face, saw all that male power, she knew she was in trouble. She’d had to fight her first inclination to hurl herself to the ground and try to burrow into the soil fast. She knew from experience there was no running away. She was always captured, and the repercussions were terrible. Still, the admiration in his voice, that respect, was totally unexpected and caught her off guard.
“Take my blood, piŋe sarnanak. You are very pale. I can feel your hunger beating at me.”
She was so used to being hungry she barely noticed anymore if she’d gone weeks without blood. He pressed the back of her head very gently, urging her face toward his bare chest. She transferred her gaze there. He had a thick chest, with heavy, defined muscles. He wore ancient ink, the kind etched into his skin. It was difficult to tattoo a Carpathian. Ink didn’t stay. Carpathians rarely scarred. Ferro had ink pressed into scarring on his chest, arms, shoulders and, she was certain, his back.
The back of her head fit into his palm easily and he pressed her close to his skin, to those heavy muscles. At once she caught his intriguing scent and drew it deep into her lungs. Something about the way he smelled got to her on a molecular level. She instantly wanted to taste his skin—no, needed to taste him. Without thinking, she lapped at him with her tongue. An exotic, perfect flavor burst in her mouth on her tongue and slid down her throat, bringing a heat to her belly. She almost keened with delight. Nothing tasted like he did. Nothing.
Her teeth scraped back and forth over his pulse while she contemplated what his blood would taste like. Would it be that good? Would it live up to the promise of his scent? The mere flavor of his skin? He had fed her before, when she was beneath the ground and he slept above her, but he hadn’t claimed her, hadn’t joined them together. Was there a difference? She had been too terrified to notice then. She was terrified now, but . . . He groaned. It was just a soft sound, but it went straight to her sex. Like an arrow.
“Elisabeta, take my blood.” He growled the command at her. His voice was velvet soft, but still, it was a growl. An order.
She sank her teeth instantly. Deep. Without preamble. Shocking him. Shocking her. He threw his head back, his hand locking her head to his chest while the other pinned her hip to his, holding her still, forcing her to realize she was squirming on his lap, her bare cheeks sliding over his fully erect cock. She would have been mortified, but already his blood was in her mouth. Not just any blood; an aphrodisiac, the finest thing she’d ever tasted in her life.
Ferro would never have enough blood to give her. Never. She would forever crave his blood. Nothing would taste this good and she knew it. She tried not to be greedy. She’d been trained not to take what she needed. If she tried, Sergey beat her into submission. Twice, she tried to pull back, but Ferro murmured his displeasure and held her to his chest. She continued feeding, grateful he allowed it, grateful for the rich sustenance from a true ancient, but more importantly, grateful for the amazing gift a lifemate’s blood provided.
“That’s enough, Elisabeta,” Ferro said finally, gently stroking her hair. “In all the years of my existence, no one has ever tasted the way you do. I hope it was the same for you.”