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Like an enchanting goddess, she slept soundly, a fringe of long, black lashes fluttering against the top of her cheeks, while her body succumbed to his power. An ache stabbed his chest, as he marveled at those thick, pouty lips and gleaming skin that compelled him to touch her. That scent that clawed at his senses, urging him to put his mouth to her skin for a taste. He’d never been so taken by one of his prey.
Who was the little mortal with raven hair and that silvery crescent in her eye that reminded him of a winter moon? And why had he not stopped seeing her in his mind since that night? Every detail of her face lingered so vividly in his thoughts, he wanted to carve them out with a blade. Visuals that sickened him as much as they intrigued him. After all, her blood was all that stood between ending the miserable curse that had destroyed his family.
“I find it interesting that any time a girl is unusual, or dare I say, unique, she’s deemed evil, or cursed.”
“Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Lunamiszka.” “Do I still annoy you?” she asked. “Endlessly.”
“You’re implying too much of me is deadly?” He shrugged. “Depends on one’s tolerance for poison.” Linking my fingers behind my back I nodded. “Hmmm. It seems most would choose to avoid the risk all together. How unfortunate for me.” “I wouldn’t call it misfortune, but rather, a means of weeding out weaker prospects. There are those who fear flirting with death, while some of us find it utterly enthralling.”
“Do you find it difficult, lying beside a woman this way?” “As a general rule? No. But when that woman is you? Yes.”
Zevander looked at me as if I were something more than the disparaging word that’d been hammered into me since I was found by the edge of the woods: unwanted. Lorn. He looked at me as if I was worthy of being seen.
