Dark Promises (Dark 25)

He would have killed her outside. Before. Before he'd uttered the ritual binding words and bound her soul to his. He should have. Another mistake on his part. A big one. Now, he couldn't kill her. It was impossible to kill one's lifemate after the ritual words bound them together. He either had to keep her or meet the dawn, something that was so against his nature that he had come here to this monastery, where others like him viewed it as a cowardly act.

He'd lived a life of honor to be brought to this, so close to his downfall he could feel it. The darkness spreading like a virus through him. A breath away. Waiting to take him. He had lived too many centuries and had skills not many had. He would make a terrifying vampire, one that would kill hundreds if not thousands before he was brought down. He knew that. He knew it with every fiber of his being.

He shoved the woman away from him, down to her knees. She had brought him to this. She was Carpathian and she knew the consequences of her actions to her lifemate should she betray him. Even her tear-streaked face couldn't stop the rush of fury at her. She would not only bring him down, but she would be indirectly responsible for the innocents he would kill should he turn. And he would turn if he didn't finish this and make this treacherous wench fully his.

He tried to shut down his emotions so her tears wouldn't get to him, wouldn't soften him, but his fury was too great, the darkness taking hold of him so firmly he feared if they didn't complete the bonding he would lose it and kill her and as many others as possible. Should the ancients have to destroy him, they would turn as well. Because of her. This harlot. She put them all in danger.

"Take off your clothes."

Every vestige of color drained from her face, leaving her skin pale and her eyes enormous. She shook her head, wrapped her arms around her body and bit hard at her lip.

He wasn't about to repeat himself. He stepped close to her, caught her hair in his fist and dragged her to her feet. It took a moment with her struggling to get her feet under her. He didn't help her. The moment she was up, he leaned in and sank his teeth into her neck, right over that tempting, pounding pulse.

She cried out, but he let go of her hair and jerked her tight against him. Her blood spilled into his mouth. Saturated his cells. Ruby red. The finest he'd ever tasted. Ever. In all the centuries of living, of surviving, of taking blood to sustain him, there had been no other blood that tasted so amazing. Nothing had prepared him for the taste of her. She burst on his tongue like fine bubbles, teasing and eluding his ability to name the mixture of tastes.

He knew he was instantly addicted. He would crave her for eternity. And that was just fine with him. She was his, and she'd earned her place as his slave. No more. No lifemate status for such a treacherous woman. He would feed on her. Enjoy every drop he took from her.

As he fed, he stripped the clothes from her body with his mind, taking great care not to enter her mind. He didn't dare. He didn't want to see her treachery, what she'd done with this other man. That would send him crashing over the edge. He knew it, those images, her feelings for another man. Her betrayal.

Deliberately he remained fully clothed, so that she was completely naked and helpless in his arms. He wanted her to know that there was nothing she could do. Nothing. He controlled her. He would have control of her life for eternity. She didn't deserve kindness or love. She deserved humiliation and to serve his every need. Her blood was exquisite. He hoped the rest of her was as well.

He didn't try to soothe her as he aroused her body. He wanted her to know he could bend her will to his. He was an ancient. She was very young for a Carpathian lifemate, but that was no excuse for her adulterous behavior. His hand went to her breast, to her nipple. Even as he rolled and tugged hard, he sent the impression of his tongue lapping over her breast, drawing her into his mouth and suckling.

She cried out. Squirmed. He smelled her heat and still he took her blood. Let himself indulge in his needs. Needs that were sharp and terrible, clawing at him now. His body was hard. A steel spike between his legs, growing into a monster of need. For her. For this woman who had betrayed him.

He closed the wound on her neck, but didn't take away the evidence of his ownership. His gaze dropped to the circle of lacerations on her wrists and, in spite of himself, he raised first one hand and then the other to heal them with his tongue. The fact that he had to do that--that he couldn't stand her hurt--made him even angrier. He opened his shirt with a flick of his wrist. "Feed." He uttered the command coldly.

She swallowed hard and shook her head, blinking up at him. Her tears continued to flow. He bent his head and deliberately licked up the trail of tears, drawing the flavor into his mouth. Just like her blood, the taste was exquisite. He caught the back of her head with his palm, opened his chest with a single fingernail and pressed her head ruthlessly to him. Again, he gave her no choice, and he knew, once the taste of him was in her mouth, on her lips, she would be just as addicted to his taste as he was to hers.

Her mouth moved against him and the spike between his legs grew even more monstrous. Thick. Greedy. So hungry for her he felt the darkness sliding closer. He had to get her body aroused, in a state of frenzy. His hands roamed over her, not gently, but demanding a response. He felt every swift intake of breath when he found an erogenous zone and he capitalized on it. Still, this was never going to be about her. This would always be about him, and he wanted her to know that from the start.

She could withhold her love and loyalty from him, but he would always have access to her blood and her body. He found both extremely pleasurable. Her body was all soft curves. Her breasts were extremely sensitive. He liked her nipples and knew he would spend hours playing with her body. No. His body. She belonged to him--all of her--and no other man would ever touch her again. He knew he could tie her to him through sex. He knew he could make her want him with every breath in her body. Not love, but sheer hunger. Maybe in a few hundred years he'd get past her betrayal. But for now . . .

His fingers slid down her belly. He loved the feel of her skin and wanted more against him. He got rid of his clothes with a single thought and allowed his hands to take in more of her. Heat emanated from the junction of her legs. Her body moved restlessly against his. Still, he wanted her more aroused. He wanted her to need to obey his every command in spite of the fact that she claimed she detested him.

He swiped his finger along her damp entrance, and her entire body shivered. He smiled above her head. She was definitely sensitive, and he was going to enjoy himself. He kept her feeding, knowing his blood would be an aphrodisiac to her. He slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling her slick heat, the grasp of her delicate muscles, surprised at how tight she was. Her protest was another moan, and the sound vibrated straight through his cock.

She protested, but in spite of her detesting him, her body wanted his. He had made certain of that. He controlled her senses. He wanted her to know he could do that. That he would become her world. The only things she would want were his blood and his body. He would be the only man she craved. She would do anything to have him by the time he finished with her. And he would never finish with her. This was a sentence for eternity--for both of them.

He took his time, circling her sensitive bud, watching her body shiver in reaction. Watching her face go soft and sensual. Her eyes fought him, but her body responded to the heat and hunger he created.

"Enough," he murmured. He wouldn't put it past her to try to drain him dry. He kept a hold on her senses, still refusing to enter her mind in the way of lifemates. He didn't want to see that man there--not ever. Daratrazanoff. Just the thought of him had him snarling. Growling. A nearly animal response. He was long ago gone from civilization. He was from ancient times and knew nothing of modern women. But she would learn her place.

Gabrielle licked at the small wound on his chest and just that lapping of her tongue sent heat curling through his cock. He wanted more. He pushed her off of him. Away from him. Arrogantly, he walked away from her, to the center of the thick c

arpet he'd installed.

"Get down on your knees."

Her eyes blazed defiantly. He smiled. Slow. Mean. Wanting her to defy him. Wanting her to hate this, because that would make her surrender all the more sweet. She couldn't talk. He'd given her the chance to talk and she hadn't taken it, so there was nothing more to say. Her eyes remained on his, and the defiance turned to despair when she could do nothing else but go to her knees and crawl toward him.

Aleksei watched her body move. She was truly beautiful. Had he seen her somewhere, he would have noticed her immediately. Picked her right out of a crowd. He would have known she was his even before he heard her voice. What he would never have guessed was that she could be so beautiful on the outside and so rotten on the inside.

She was at his feet, moving up his legs, her hands sliding up his thighs. He caught her wrists and held her still, an ugliness rippling through his stomach. Churning. He didn't want to see her like this. He was angry, and he was unfamiliar with such an emotion. He was close to turning, and he had no idea what to do with the dark whispers and need for violence welling up in him. But he couldn't see her like this. He couldn't do this.

It didn't matter that she was rotten inside. That she had betrayed him. She was still his lifemate and doing this--taking her will, forcing her to complete the binding by sharing her body with his when she clearly didn't want to--was every bit as dishonorable as becoming the undead.

He closed his eyes and drew her to her feet, his hands gentle. He had to let her go, and there was only one way to do so. One. He wasn't going without memorizing every inch of her. Without holding her body against his. He deserved at least that much. He didn't want to see her eyes. He didn't want to know she hated him with every breath she took. Or that she wanted another man.