Page 64 of Vampire's Choice
Merc had moved to the middle of the ring and now faced the vampire, drawing Daegan’s attention. He’d picked up the sheathed katana and held it before him. As Daegan approached him, he executed a bow, and the enforcer responded with the same, as well as a compliment.
“A good match.”
Merc handed over the blade, confirming it was borrowed. He then drew his own dagger, removing the smaller blade from the hilt and offering it to Daegan. “Take an equal measure,” Merc said.
“There’s no need,” Daegan said.
“A good swordsman is prepared for any eventuality,” Merc said. “I should have been prepared to pull back.”
He said nothing more. He simply waited.
The tent had gone silent. Daegan glanced at Gideon, a mind message spoken and received. His servant stepped back.
Daegan took the shorter blade with a courteous nod. Merc dropped to a knee, offering the same shoulder. Daegan swept the blade over it, a cut Ruth had no doubt was identical in length and depth, within a hair’s breadth. Merc didn’t flinch, but something eased in his expression.
Ruth moved to the stack of towels Gideon had found, placed next to the ladder leading up to the trapezes and high wire. As she picked up another one and came to Merc, she was aware of her brother and Gideon’s attention.
Merc rose to his feet. After the barest of pauses—not so much to be noticeable to others, but meaning a great deal to her—he nodded. Permission. She put the towel over the wound, applying pressure.
He would heal as Daegan did. She’d wanted to help, regardless, but now she had another problem. She kept her lips pressed firmly together, so no one saw her fangs elongate as she inhaled the scent of his blood and remembered its rich taste.
“A good bout,” Yvette said, breaking the silence. “Lord Daegan, if you will join me in my quarters, Marcellus will meet us there and I can update you on the Trad attack. Lord Adan, you are welcome to sit in if you feel it’s relevant to Guardian business.”
Daegan gave Merc a nod and turned, taking his leave with Gideon. Adan had joined her and Merc in the ring. She hadn’t moved, holding the towel on Merc’s shoulder.
“How could it not be relevant to Guardian business?” she asked.
“Guardians, like angels, have boundaries on what they can be involved in,” Adan said, but he didn’t clarify if this situation fell outside of it. “Regardless, you should go, too.”
“She would have invited me if she wanted me there. I’m part of the security detail. Dollar will tell me what I’m supposed to know.”
She wouldn’t overstep her role because of family connections. She wanted to work her way up the ladder. “Plus, this way you can ask Yvette if I’m really all right, without me there to tell you to kiss my ass.”
She said it mildly, a gentle tease, but Adan’s gaze had shifted to Merc. Before she could figure out what that was about, she felt a vibration under her hand and looked up, startled to see Merc expose his own fangs in a decidedly unfriendly way.
The aggressive testosterone surge wasn’t helping her manage the rising bloodlust.
I’m fine, Adan, she added, with a touch of urgency. Really. I’m safe with him. I promise. Males get him riled up. That’s all. Go see Yvette. Please.
Adan’s gaze narrowed, but he offered a curt nod. “I’ll be close,” he told her. “Call if you need me.”
When he departed, they were alone, the roustabouts and performers having drifted out of the tent to other duties. Covering her hand with his, Merc moved the towel out of the way. “Clean the wound in the way you wish,” he said.
His arm slid around her waist, fingers dipping into the pocket of her jeans to grip her buttock as she put her mouth on the still wet blood.
When she was younger, she’d experienced the “crush” born vampires sometimes developed toward their donors, a result of first discovering the intimacy of the act. Infatuation, not to be equated with “real” love.
With him, the desire to drink deeper, consume more, was strong. It nourished far more than the physical body. Watching Daegan drinking from his servant had been arousing. Merc’s blood, the taste of it, actually was arousing, as if his ability to command sexual desire permeated his blood, bones, muscle…all of him.
Merc’s head dipped as he lifted her off her feet. He moved his mouth to her shoulder, teasing her collar bone. He explored her throat as she licked his shoulder, his flesh, taking every drop of blood she could, coming back to his wound and tracing the cut with the tip of her tongue.
She wrapped her leg around his hip, the contact of his stiff cock against her core making her moan, which he answered with a growl. He tightened his hold on her waist, keeping her where she was. When she drove her fangs into either side of the wound, blood spurted into her mouth again.
Could someone get addicted to an incubus’s blood?
She was close to orgasm, her body quivering. She’d learned her lesson the previous night and restrained herself, even as she could feel the desire to beg rise within her.
He didn’t give her the option or opportunity.