Page 59 of Vampire's Choice

“Ruth…”

She shook her head and rose on shaky legs. She moved a few steps and turned away. She collected the words in her head, arranged them in a way he’d understand. And reinforced it for herself. It was necessary.

“I can have a Dom, but only in moments like this. I can’t have a Master. I can’t commit to that. There’s no room in my world for it. But it’s okay. You and I are the perfect match. You have enough shit going on with you; you’re not really looking for commitment either. So this will work until it doesn’t. I’m good with that. Just so you know. It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Merc watched her have the conversation with herself. She was pulling herself back together, rubbing her face ferociously, pulling her hair back to redo her braid. She wasn’t aware of what that did to him, her slim arms raised, the delicate line of her neck and naked back and curve of her ass, the tense set of her shoulders.

He was used to women’s tears. When the survival instinct buried beneath the overwhelming weight of their arousal had recognized they were giving their lives to sate his hunger, his need for nourishment, they cried. Even as they were swept away on an ocean of pleasure.

Her tears were different. Self-contained, directed at herself, not an appeal to anyone. He knew about the vampire world’s hierarchy, knew none of them were naturally submissive. A female vampire was as dominant as a male one. They capitulated based on proven power rankings, not because they wished to do so.

Ruth was different. He’d picked up on it immediately because what he was gave him an in-depth awareness of the sexual core of every female who crossed his path, the unique shape and nature of it, and all the things connected to that core. He didn’t often follow those connections, not wanting that level of intimacy with his food, but, again…she was different.

Over the past few days, he'd listened and watched. From conversations he’d overheard, he’d picked up that she’d spent her life on her family’s big cat sanctuary, making only limited forays into the wider world. Which explained how she’d masked what would put her at risk of exploitation and harm in the vampire world. Until now.

She would have been safer if she’d stayed there, but it would deny what was equally a part of who she was. She might be vulnerable, but Ruth was not weak. And she had courage. With no hesitation, she’d protected Clara against a Trad who easily could have killed the younger female vampire.

He hadn’t found it so easy. The thought almost made Merc smile.

“Can you take me back to the Circus?” Her voice was calmer. She turned toward him, her expression quiet.

“Yes.”

She offered a tight smile. “Thanks for the flight. It was everything I wanted it to be.”

Merc moved to stand before her. Her fingers twitched at her sides. “We’ve covered this. You don’t lie to me.”

Her look became touched with despair. “It’s the best way I know to lie to myself.”

He stroked a fingertip along her sculpted cheekbone. The energy vibrating off her was so distracting. She had no idea the temptation she presented to him, to pull all that life energy to him, woven with her sexual desire.

Always before, his restraint had to do with self-preservation. An incubus who couldn’t control his hungers was marked for death. He’d carried that mark for some time.

This… He had a desire to protect her. Not to protect himself, but to keep her safe.

“You said you can’t have a Master. But here’s a thought to consider.” He touched her chin, drawing her gaze up to his.

“When you meet the Master who wants you, the right one, he won’t give you a choice. You’ll be his, no matter your fears.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

She would not become obsessive, an addict desiring more from him. Everything he’d done, she could do for herself, after all. With or without electronics. Except…

You don’t control the pleasure. I do. She could interpret that as an indirect command. Don’t give yourself pleasure. That’s my job.

A Master could require that. She’d told him he wasn’t her Master. Couldn’t be. She just had to tell herself not to act like he was, pathetically because she’d gotten her first taste of what she’d wanted for so long.

It was bad enough, how her mind dwelled on the ways he’d touched her, his unforgettable attention to detail. But then there were other things.

The very next night, she’d passed through the Big Top and noted a roustabout sanding the pipe where she’d cut herself.

“What are you doing?”

“There was a burr on it,” he said. “Merc pointed it out to me, and suggested I get it fixed.”

His expression said that “suggestion” had been delivered in a manner that catapulted it to the top of the to-do list.

How had Merc found the spot, in a maze of scaffolding? A trace of her blood would have been left on it. Of course.