I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you?” I asked.
The man dropped his sword, as if he no longer perceived me as a threat, which made me want to be a threat, except that I dropped my arm too, my fingers loose around the hilt. I tried to tighten my hold but couldn’t.
“I am many things,” he said. “Man, monster, lover.”
This time when he spoke, I detected a faint accent—a slight clip I couldn’t place.
“That’s not an answer,” I said.
“I think what you mean is that’s not the answer you want.”
“You are toying with me.”
His smile stretched, and he looked wicked in a sinful way, in a way I wanted to taste and feel. Those thoughts made my skin prick, and I felt myself growing warmer beneath his gaze.
“What is it you want from me?” he asked. His voice was low, a purr that coaxed a shiver from the depths of my stomach.
I swallowed hard. “I want to know why you’re here.”
“I was tracking the strzyga when it changed course.” His eyes lowered to my chest. “I see why.”
Self-consciously, I lifted my hand and hissed at the sting of my shredded skin. The sudden flare of pain made me feel light-headed.
“I killed it,” I managed to say, though my tongue felt thick in my mouth.
The corners of his lips curled. “I see that too.”
“I should go,” I whispered, holding his gaze. I wanted to move my body but felt too relaxed. Perhaps it was infection, already rooted in my blood.
“You should,” he agreed. “But you won’t.”
An alarm sounded in my head as he spoke. And as he stepped toward me, I suddenly regained my ability to move. I drove my hand toward his stomach, releasing my knife, but his hand clamped down upon my wrist. He yanked me forward, his body pressing into mine, despite my wound, despite the blood. He bent over me, grasping my head, fingers digging into my scalp, and for a moment, I feared that he would either kiss me or break my neck. Instead, he gripped me harder, eyes never leaving mine, thumb brushing my lips.
“What is your name?” he asked. His voice shivered through me, and I found myself speaking.
“I am Isolde.” The answer slipped from my mouth, at war with my mind, which raged against him.
“Who are you?”
Again, I answered not of my own accord, my voice the whisper of a lover. “I am princess of the House of Lara.”
“Isolde,” he repeated my name, a rough growl that vibrated against my chest. “My sweet.”
Then he bent, and his tongue swept across the wound on my chest. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t speak. The worst part was that this felt good. It felt possessive and immoral, and I found myself no longer trying to stab him but clinging to him as he worked.
When he drew away, his full lips were stained with my blood. He swallowed, and his eyes gleamed as he studied my eyes, my lips, my throat. The stare ignited something deep inside me, and the fire spread, making me ache. I was ashamed, because I knew this man was a soldier for the Blood King, a vampire.
I jerked in his grasp and was surprised when he released me. I stumbled back, my hand going to my chest, meeting smooth skin. I was healed.
“You’re a monster.”
“I healed you,” he said, as if that made him less so.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” I snapped.
“No, but you enjoyed it.”
I glared. “You were controlling me.”
That was why I hadn’t been able to grip my sword, why my body seemed to be at odds with my mind, why I suddenly felt desperate to be crushed beneath the weight of a warm body that could fill me better than anything I’d ever had before. I was out of control.
And it was his fault.
“I do not control emotions.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, it was hard to accuse him of lying.
I lifted my blade, and the vampire laughed.
“Anger suits you, my sweet. I like it.”
I scowled, but my anger just made him smile wider, his lips pulling back from gleaming white teeth, no sign that he’d just feasted on my blood. My hatred for him deepened.
“It is still daylight,” I said. “How are you able to walk among us?”
Vampires could only go out during the day in Revekka, where the red sky blocked the sun’s rays. Were they evolving? The thought brought a new kind of dread into the pit of my stomach.
“It is nearly sunset,” he said. “This time is not so dangerous for someone like me.”
What did that mean?
I did not ask, and he did not offer an explanation. Instead, he inclined his head. “We’ll meet again, Princess Isolde. I’ll make sure of it.”
His promise shivered through me like an oath he’d sworn to the goddesses themselves. I lifted my blade and charged, but as I swung, he vanished like mist in the morning sun.
Alone, I began to shake.
I’d survived an encounter with a vampire who had tasted my blood, and the worst part about it was that he’d been right.
I did like it.
Two
I had seen victims of vampires—humans who were on the cusp of change before their hearts were cut from their bodies and burned. I’d also seen bodies drained of blood, past the point of survival. But I’d never encountered an actual vampire.
“They look like us but are not us,” Killian’s father had warned during training. “They are fast. They will control your mind and drink your blood, and you will not survive. If you do, you will wish for death.”
Those were the truths I’d been told about vampires.
He’d never said how they were like us—that they could be beautiful, that their touch would inspire an acute desire beyond anything I’d ever experienced. Everything inside me was wound so tight, each breath was a reminder of how desperately I wanted to be touched.
“Isolde!”
But not by him.
Killian’s voice broke through the fog of my mind. He was close, and I did not want to be caught. There was too much to explain here in this clearing—the strzyga, my torn dress, the absence of blood.
I turned on my heels and fled.
The castle felt like it had doubled in distance. The walk was agonizing, and I grew frustrated, still feeling the effects of my encounter with the vampire. My body was warm, especially between my thighs, and I was hyperaware of how heavy and sensitive my breasts felt, rubbed raw by the woolen cloak I kept close. By the time I exited the tree line, I ached.