Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(76)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

My thoughts did not remain there long as his hand slipped between my thighs, the other reaching for my breast, and the pleasure took over; I reached down, running my lips over his throat, tugging my teeth across his neck, knowing how different things would be if I could take blood. The gasps became moans as I sat back up, watching in satisfaction as his eyes fluttered shut and my own stomach fluttered in suspense of what I knew was coming as one hand joined the second between my thighs; hearing his groans my jaw locked as I gritted my teeth against a final moan, collapsing onto his chest as a searing pain shot along the lowest part of my throat, stars forming in front of my eyes. I felt myself slump against the hands engulfing my neck, before darkness intruded upon my thoughts.

* * *

It might have been minutes later, maybe hours when I came around. The room was a blur and I could feel the stiffness already forming in my limbs. I let out a shaky breath, hardly daring to smile as I rolled over to find him on his side, watching me and playing with a strand of my hair, twisting it in his fingers.

‘I knew I was good, but no one’s ever passed out on me before,’ he said, smirking, his tongue running across one of his fangs.

‘And in fairness, I don’t think I’ve ever been bitten whilst climaxing before,’ I retorted, rubbing my forehead, which was thudding as my eyes adjusted to the moonlight. I didn’t have the energy to properly argue that it was more likely the bite which had caused me to black out.

He chuckled, his smirk growing triumphantly. ‘I did tell you I would show you a good time.’

I smiled. Settling onto my back and staring up at the dark ceiling I sunk into the relaxed, almost numb state I had craved all those months back before the London Bloodbath, when the clubs had been my hunting ground.

But nothing … I mean nothing, could compare to Kaspar … and I would never feel it again, considering that in just a few hours the King would return and impose his new rule on touching. My heartstrings tugged, and I felt the tears well. I blinked them back, hoping he was not watching me.

‘She would have liked you.’

I turned to him, confused. He was looking straight ahead, his eyes, a mix between emerald and misty grey, fixed on the painting above the fireplace.

‘They’re your parents, aren’t they?’

He nodded. ‘This was their room, right up until she died.’ On the last word his voice broke and I instinctively took his hand, moulding myself to his chest and nestling up to him, trying to ignore the coolness of his skin. I was stunned though and trying to hide it. I had never heard him mention his mother in this way.

‘She’d be proud of you.’

He turned to me, looking as though he wanted to laugh but his eyes betrayed him. They were grey. ‘Proud of me for what? I’m heir to the throne but I don’t want it, I hate responsibility and I fail miserably at everything a Prince should be, apart from being handsome. What the f**k is there to be proud of?’ His nails dug into my skin, but I don’t think he noticed. I winced quietly, hiding it.

‘You’re a good man. Look at how many times you’ve saved me – what’s it, four times now? And you were prepared to suffer the wrath of the council and your father for letting me go home. It has to say something!’

‘It doesn’t. What’s made you go all saintly forgiving anyway? I’m pretty sure you thought I was a sick, evil creature a while back.’

I averted my gaze away from the painting. ‘Situations change,’ I mumbled.

He glanced at me and I caught his puzzled expression. I thought he might press the matter, but he didn’t to my relief and we lapsed back into silence. He began absent-mindedly fiddling with a strand of my hair again. Neither of us seemed to mind the quiet, both content to be in the other’s arms.

Is that what he really hides behind the mask? A worry that he’s not good enough?

‘Why did your father move out of here? I mean, I know it would have been—’

He interrupted. ‘He was driving himself mad in here. He couldn’t take it. I know you think my father is cold-hearted and cruel, but it wasn’t always so. She completed him. She made him good. That’s possible, you know. You can make bad men good. When she … it ruined us … that night in Trafalgar Square … there was no need for us to even attack them, do you understand that, Girly? But it was his son – Pierre’s son, Claude, that is – and I had to kill him. I had to take him away from his father like his father took my mother. The bastard!’ I closed my eyes to banish the sting of tears, knowing I had more than overstepped the mark, hating myself for bringing it up and making him burst like this; hating him for reminding me of that night. I wrapped my arms right around his chest, hugging him close as he continued.

‘My father as good as died with her that day. And John Pierre just sent us a message saying he was ordered to do it – paid to do it. And we’ll never know who gave him that order. But I’ll find out … I’ll hunt him down, kill his love first, suck his children dry, rape his daughters, make the f**king heartless demon suffer. Because I more than hate him, Violet. He took my mother away.’

He fell into silence then, leaving me with dry lips and loosening arms. I was that daughter.

Rattle, rattle …

I threw up huge barriers around my mind, letting his horrific words sink in. I desperately wanted to tell him not to say such things – to take it all back, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it – but I knew pushing the subject was far too risky.

‘None of this matters. You’ll be just as great as your father was before all this, despite what you say. I know you will,’ I whispered into the dark. He did not answer, only pulling my hand up to rest on his chest where his heart should be and I soon slipped into sleep.

FORTY-FIVE

Violet

Tick, tock …

‘They know.’

‘What?’

‘They know we slept together. The servants told them.’

‘But—’

‘My father knows.’

My breath caught, fear rising along with bile in my throat. ‘She betrayed us. Annie betrayed us.’

He nodded gravely, pulling me into his arms.

‘But what will he do?’

‘I don’t know.’

You don’t want to know, my voice added. I silently agreed. His wristwatch glinted in the light from the high windows of the entrance hall where we waited.

11:59 …

The air was cold, the servants and members of the household assembling behind us in a long row, waiting to welcome the Varns and the entire council; every member of which knew. Fabian knew; Cain knew; the King knew. I felt the heated glares of the servants on my back, feeling their hate and disrespect, everything ounce of respect lost. I was one of them now in their eyes. Whore. I was his hostage. I was never meant to know the Prince. Especially not now.