Page 82 of Vampire's Choice

“You are mine,” he told her. “You will. Come for me.”

Her climax exploded in her at last, and her scream vibrated through the forest, spooking several roosting birds to fly in a confused spin around them. With shaky fingers, she reached out to brush their wings, the way she liked to touch his.

She liked to fly. He wished he could give her a set of wings of her own, but he’d give her the next best thing. He’d take her flying whenever she wished.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he was not…as hungry. Being in her company, feeling that way, only made what they’d just experienced together more potent.

The climax was still coming through her in waves, but she had no more strength to cry out. He treasured the whimpers as much. Only when he was certain she’d experienced every last spasm of the release did he bring them back to earth.

Easing out of her, he sat them down against a tree, holding her between his legs. He lifted her face to see her condition, and found she was pale, her cheeks drawn, eyes dazed. But there was a vague smile on her lips.

He stroked her, traced her mouth and throat. His possessiveness had a new level, more complicated. More…permanent.

Committed.

The significance had him pausing, because it connected to something he’d downplayed, denied. Scoffed at. He suspected he was being delusional, caught up in the euphoria of the moment. Making more of it than it was.

He could speak to Marcellus about it if he was willing to be more…open, than he usually was with the angel. It would take some thinking about.

First, he had to tend to her. Because several minutes later, they found she couldn’t stand.

At all.

“So I guess beyond the utter stupidity of the risk you took with her, you didn’t think that we have a show tomorrow night and she’s a member of the security team and Clara’s protection detail? Dollar will be minus a team member.”

“I’ll be fine by then.” Ruth was sitting in a chair in Yvette’s tent, where Merc had placed her. His hand rested on the top of the chair next to her shoulder. “I’m healing faster than it looks like I am.”

Lady Yvette gave her a censorious look. “Be quiet. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

Ruth’s lips tightened, but she did respond appropriately. “Yes, my lady.”

Merc spoke before Yvette could continue to tear into him. “I made a decision, based on Ruth’s request and a measured evaluation of the situation. She may appear physically worse for wear, but she’s correct. She’ll heal. It’s something we won’t do regularly.”

The look he shot at Ruth held the same warning Yvette’s had. She pressed her lips together, with enough rebellion in the expression to intrigue him, but he turned back to his current priority.

Marcellus was standing a few paces away. The angel had so far remained silent.

“She’s a smart female and convinced me of the acceptable risks,” Merc continued. “If I have someone I can feed upon, to ease my hungers, without causing irreparable harm…” He locked gazes with Yvette. “If you’d had to endure blood hunger for centuries, how would that have impacted what you have learned and accomplished?”

A muscle twitched in her jaw. She looked toward Marcellus. “Are you going to weigh in on this, or are you playing statue?”

His eyes glinted with a warning of his own, but the Legion captain lifted a shoulder. “I will speak to Merc alone.” He tilted his head toward the yurt opening. “We will be back.”

As he moved past Yvette, Marcellus stopped and spoke to her. He was using sound interference, because even with his sharpened senses, Merc couldn’t hear the low volume exchange. Surprise flitted through Yvette’s eyes. Then the angel exited.

Merc drew Ruth’s gaze to him. “Rest and do what Yvette and Charlie tell you to do. I have things I want to discuss with Marcellus as well.”

The healer had been waiting outside, but when Marcellus left, she stepped inside, her attention going to Ruth.

“I would stick my tongue out at you,” Ruth said to Merc, “but I’m too tired to argue. I’ll punch you in the face later.”

As he gripped her arm, her fingers curled into a fist. He put his hand over it. “You won’t raise a hand to me without suffering the consequences.”

“Or enjoying them,” she said unrepentantly. She tried to lift her other hand and put it to his face. It didn’t work. She was too weak. He helped her do it. She stroked his face, an almost tender gesture. Before her, it had been easy to count up the number of times a woman had touched him that way.

Zero.

“I’m all right,” she said. “You know that, right? It was amazing.”