Page 123 of Vampire's Choice

He curled his arm around her back, his wings closing over them, holding her inside that cocoon as his head rested against her temple, his harsh breath against her. As she managed to swallow his blood, he put his mouth to her throat, her shoulder, teased her collar bone with his tongue, caressed.

Nerves rippled, a sweet sensation. He moved to the rise of her breast, and a quiet gasp escaped her as he closed his mouth over her nipple and suckled. Gently, calling her back to life with the blood offering and sensual demand, the things a vampire was most likely to answer.

As the blood returned a measure of strength to her, she lifted a hand and clasped his wrist, holding it to her as she drew on it, biting and licking his flesh. His other hand moved to her waist, fingers gripping her buttock, lifting her up as he pushed inside her again, stretching sore but accepting flesh.

You surrendered to me, Ruth. I honor that surrender now by giving you back the life you offered to me.

She felt that overpowering incubus energy swirling around her, but this time, instead of drawing energy away, it was sinking into her, joining with her blood, restoring her.

He was feeding her with what nourished him.

He was stroking inside of her, slow. She licked the puncture wounds on his wrist until they closed, then slid her arms around his shoulders, fingers against his feathers. When she wrapped her legs over his hips, his buttocks flexed beneath them, the slow thrust and withdrawal that had her body lifting to him, asking for more.

She dug in her nails, giving him the fight he liked, and his expression changed. Became fiercer. There was a quality to it that twisted her heart, because it wasn’t just the warrior she saw. It was everything else she’d seen in his soul, every face he’d had to wear, created by the experiences he’d had, the weight of the lives he’d taken to survive. The embedded emotions all of those things had given him.

The sensations expanded, taking over until she thought they would kill her, this time in a way she welcomed. He shuddered, telling her he felt it, too. She held on, giving him whatever strength she could, but knowing he could carry them as far as they needed to go. Then she made it official and formal.

You honored my trust, Master. I give you my submission.

They climaxed together, explosive, intense, mind-scrambling, but not life-threatening. When they came down, he was braced on one arm, and his wings were fully spread over either side of the bed, a feathered tent that delighted her. She ran her fingers over the arch and the primaries she could reach, as her body trembled in the aftermath.

“Do you want to lie down?” She offered a small smile, her voice a whisper. “Vampires are known to wear out their sexual partners.”

He wasn’t ready to smile yet. He settled onto one elbow, but still held most of his weight on the other arm as he traced her face. “You said a vampire coming into a servant’s soul could be excruciating. It was. I didn’t expect that. I reacted wrongly.”

“I’m all right. You made sure of it. I don’t care about having a safe life. Just an interesting one. Would you…would you kiss me again?”

The glimmer of his usual expression reassured her. Amused, exasperated and ready to admonish her. But at her request, he leaned in, giving her what she’d asked. She murmured against his lips, and his hand cupped her cheek, fingers on her temple as they sank into it together.

Her fingertips drifted over his shoulder, under his arm, feeling the brush of feathers against her knuckles. And then something else.

He felt the difference when she did, and they both drew back to exchange a look.

So uncertain if the marks themselves would take, she hadn’t considered the possibility that one of their effects would happen.

“Um…all fully bound servants get a mark somewhere on them. It looks like a cross between a brand and a tattoo. It never fades.”

It might not be that. But what else could it be? If he’d sustained an injury from earlier events, it would have already healed. And if she’d scratched him in the heat of passion, that would feel different. He would know it was a wound.

Sliding back from her, his gaze resting on hers, he shifted, putting himself on his stomach. He lifted his wings to remove them from her field of vision. When the wings jangled the strings of feathers and beads in her canopy, he glanced up and adjusted them outward to avoid tangling them.

“I guess I might have to rethink that setup, if I share my bed with an angel incubus.” She pushed herself up on an elbow and looked. He definitely had a mark on his back, below the joining point of his left wing, above the small of his back. It was a good size, nearly the length and width of his own hand. Larger than hers.

“What do you see?” he asked, his voice hard to read.

“I’m not sure. Hold on.” She sat up and scooted down the bed, turning so that she was looking at the mark from the opposite direction. A small smile touched her lips. “Now it makes sense.”

The mark had the silhouette of a type of cat she recognized, but she didn’t know if he would.

“Show me in your head, Ruth.”

It was a thrill, doing that for the first time, and knowing from his response it was successful.

“A caracal,” he said, surprising her. “Your father and I tended to them.”

The caracal was leaping for a bird. Not the caracal’s usual prey. It was a much larger bird. Rather than seeming to be attempting to escape, the bird’s talon was outstretched, making contact with the caracal’s reaching claws. Connecting.

“It’s always something that makes sense to the two people.” She traced the outline. “Even if not at first.”