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Chapter 16
"What time do you think it is?"
The silence that met my question was almost as thick as the blackness wrapped around us in the minuscule basement storeroom.
A tiny little snuffling sound finally broke the silence.
"Kristoff!" I said loudly.
A muted snort answered, followed almost immediately by Kristoff saying, in a voice thick with sleep, "What?"
I stood in the middle of the room, or what I assumed was the middle, and put my hands on my hips. "You were sleeping, weren't you?"
"No. Possibly." He cleared his throat. The chair creaked as if he had been leaning back and suddenly sat upright. "What was the question?"
"How can you sleep at a time like this!"
"I'm male. I fall asleep after sex, and when I'm trapped in a small room with my arms handcuffed behind me, and nothing else to do but think about how hungry I am."
"Well, I like that. Here I am talking to you about various escape plans, and you're using the fact that I can't see you to doze off! And you snore!"
"I do not snore. Dark Ones do not snore," he said sternly, and I imagined that he was, at that moment, frowning at me. I swam my way through the darkness toward him, my hand sweeping in front of me in case I was going in the wrong direction. "What are you doing?"
My fingers struck his chin. I followed the line of his jaw up to his forehead. As I suspected, there was a wrinkle between his brows. "Just seeing if you were frowning at me. I figured you were."
Silence filled the room for the count of seven. "Do you care that I'm frowning?"
"Oddly enough, I do," I said slowly, after some consideration. My fingers idly twined through his hair, playing with his curls until I realized what I was doing and stepped away a foot or so. "I've always maintained that a jolly vampire is better than a pissed-off one. When do you think they'll let us out? We've been down here for hours and hours."
"Are you so anxious to see me murdered?" he countered.
"Don't be silly." I recommenced pacing the length of the room. I was getting good at estimating just where the walls were. "I'm not going to let them murder you."
"And just how do you expect to stop them from trying?"
I paced toward him, absently counting the steps. "They can't do anything ritualistic without a real Zorya, can they? If you're my husband, then I'm not real. At least, not by their standards. And if I am real, then all I have to do is refuse to participate in the cleansing ceremony."
He gave a disbelieving grunt.
"It's not like they can make me kill you," I pointed out.
"On the contrary, assuming you were a Zorya, I can think of any number of ways they could force you to do just that, but if you wish to persist with the belief that ignorance will protect you, so be it. Now, what are you doing?"
"It just occurred to me what you said." While he had been speaking, I felt my way along the wall over to him, kneeling beside him. "You said you were hungry. When's the last time you ate?"
His voice had a slightly surly tinge to it. "You should know; you were there."
"Last night, you mean? No wonder you're hungry. Here, have an arm."
I thrust my arm roughly in the direction of his face.
He head butted my offering. "Whatever else you may think of me, I am not a ca
"Don't be obstinate. You know full well I was intending for you to have a sip of Vino Pia, not eat my arm."
"I don't need your blood," he said in a voice that continued to bristle with surliness.
Hunger hung in the air like a thick, red mist.
"Yes, you do. Look at it this way—you'll be weaker if you don't, and frankly, I'd rather have you brimming with health when we have to deal with Kristjana, especially if the ritual fizzles. That woman is just not right in the head."
He grunted an assent.
"So stop being stubborn, and eat. I had breakfast, you didn't. Eat." I shoved my wrist in the direction of his face.
"I don't like to drink from wrists," he muttered. "It's so cliché."
"Oh, for god's sake… fine." I hauled myself onto his lap and half turned to face him, letting him have the inside of my upper arm. "Better?"
His breath was hot on my arm, sending little pinpricks of pleasure along my back and belly.
"I don't think that would be wise," he said, his voice sounding oddly choked.
I couldn't help myself. I leaned into him, his curls brushing against my mouth. That faintly smoky scent that seemed to be uniquely his seeped into my pores, making my stomach tighten with anticipation. "It's all right, Kristoff. I don't mind feeding you, I really don't."
"You know what happened last time," he warned, his voice getting rougher and rougher. I heard him swallow. "I told you before that to a Dark One, the act of feeding can be arousing."
"You said there had to be a shared attraction." My heart was beating madly. I knew I should stop, knew I should back off to the farthest corner of the tiny cell and let him go hungry. I knew that what he was saying was absolutely true—not only was the proof growing beneath my right hip, but I was tingling just from the nearness of him. The scent and feel of him filled my mind, and more than anything, I wanted to taste him, wanted him to taste me.
"Yes." His voice made me shiver.
"It's all right," I repeated, too overwhelmed by emotions to listen to my common sense.
"Alec—" he said, choking to a stop.
"I don't think Alec and I are meant to be," I said, realizing with surprise that it was true. It was a dream, a pleasantly enticing dream, but a dream nonetheless.
"If you're his Beloved, your blood will be poison to me," Kristoff murmured against my arm, his lips caressing the suddenly sensitive flesh.
"We won't know until you try," I whispered into his hair, unable to keep from pressing little kisses along the top of his ear. I shifted on his lap so that I was straddling his legs, undoing the top couple of buttons on my blouse so it sagged open. "If it is, we'll have the answer, and we'll stop. If I'm Alec's Beloved… well, I'll deal with that."
"He'll kill me for this," Kristoff said hoarsely as I arched my back. His head dipped down, kissing a hot line along the upper slopes of my chest. He stopped for a moment, his breath coming fast as I pulled off my shirt and reached behind to unhook my bra, his groan of pleasure echoing mine when his mouth descended again. "To hell with it. You taste too good…"
"Too much talking, not enough biting," I said, moving restlessly against him. I wanted more, wanted him inside me, wanted him drinking from me, wanted that amazing sensation of sharing that we had the previous time he fed off me.
He kissed a path over to my shoulder, moving a bit down my upper arm, his tongue painting a hot brand along my flesh.
"You're sure," he asked, his voice sounding as rough as his breathing in the confined space.
I thought of Alec, locked in an identical room just a few yards away, thought about what he meant to me, and what I apparently meant to him. I thought about how he made me feel wanted, cherished, even loved. Kristoff didn't want me, didn't want anything from me but satisfaction for the sexual itch that we seemed to share, and he certainly didn't need me. He was bound to his grief, and I suspected that I simply filled the role of physical relief, and yet, I felt closer to him than I did to the man with whom I might very likely spend the rest of my life as his Beloved.
I thought about all of that in the space between heartbeats, and wrapped my arms around his head. "I'm sure."
The pain was fleeting, a momentary burning sensation that was quickly lost in sweeping pleasure. Kristoff moaned as he drank deeply, the sensation of that winding me up tighter than I had ever been. I moved against him, wanting his touch, mindless to everything but the sensations that were rippling through me like waves.