23. Chapter 23

23

Chapter 23

Darick

I stand at the edge of the grove, the night air cool against my skin. The waning moon bathes everything in a pale glow, casting long shadows between the ancient trees. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and moss. In the distance, a nightjar calls.

My heightened senses pick up every detail – the gentle gurgle of a nearby stream, the faint rustling of small creatures in the underbrush. The grove feels alive with an energy I can't quite place. Magic, perhaps?

Of course it's magic…witches have touched this place.

I hear her approach before I see her. Rowan's heartbeat quickens as she enters the clearing, her scent – an intoxicating mix of roses and something magical – washes over me.

"I'm here," I say, my voice low and controlled.

Rowan stops a few paces away, her eyes wary. Her hands flutter slightly, and she clasps them in front of her, fingers bunching in the white cotton of her dress. I recognize it as the one from her dream. Another small hint at the reality of it.

"You're here," she says stiffly.

"Yes," I reply. "Though I'm not sure why." Considering that she could probably set me on fire if she wanted to, I'm not sure which of us is safer right now.

She won't do that.

I don't know how I know that. I just do.

An awkward silence falls between us. The weight of our shared dream, the moments we'd exchanged here in this very spot, hang in the air. I can't help but notice how the moonlight catches in her auburn hair, how it makes her skin glow. I force myself to focus on the matter at hand.

"Why did you ask me here, Rowan?" My voice comes out more hoarsely than I intended. I inhale a breath, taking in her scent. It makes something tighten in my gut…and below.

Her posture is tense. "Well, we need to figure out what's going on with this…connection."

I study Rowan, curiosity piqued despite my efforts to remain aloof. Her stance shifts, becoming less defensive. Something's changed, but I can't quite put my finger on what.

"Last time we met, you tried to turn me into a vampire kebab," I say drily. "What's different now?"

Rowan's gaze flickers away for a moment before meeting mine again. "Things have changed," she says, her voice tight with an emotion I can't quite place.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn't, I press further. "Care to enlighten me on these mysterious changes?"

She takes a deep breath. "I have a proposition for you."

Now, this is interesting.

I keep my expression neutral, even as my mind races with possibilities. "I'm listening."

Rowan's next words knock the wind from me, though I manage to keep my face impassive.

"I'll let you drink from me," she says in a rush. "In exchange, you help strengthen my magic."

For a moment, I'm certain I've misheard her. The offer is so unexpected, so contrary to everything I thought I knew about this witch, that I find myself momentarily speechless.

I force myself to consider her words carefully, to not betray the shock and…something else…stirring within me. The memory of her scent, the taste of her blood, floods my senses. It takes every ounce of control not to react visibly.

"That's quite an offer," I say, keeping my tone even. "What brought this on?"

"It's not important." She pinches her lips together. "Do we have a deal?"

"Just like that? You're not going to give me some sort of explanation?"

"Do you need one?"

"Humor me."

She exhales a long breath. "I need more magic."

I study Rowan's face, searching for any sign of deception. Her eyes meet mine steadily, filled with determination and – desperation, perhaps? – swirling within them.

"Your magic has grown stronger?" I ask, my curiosity spiking.

She nods, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice. "Ever since we met. It's like…every time I see you, it gets a boost. I need more of it."

I consider this information carefully. I'm no expert on witch magic, but if what she's saying is true, this could indeed be a mutually beneficial arrangement. The thought of tasting her blood again sends a thrill through me, one I struggle to suppress.

She'll give me the strength I need. Willingly.

"I see," I say, keeping my tone guarded. "And you think my drinking your blood will enhance this effect?"

"I'm almost certain of it," Rowan replies, her chin lifting slightly.

I weigh my options. The temptation of her blood is nearly overwhelming, but I can't let her know how much I need it. How much I've craved it since that first taste.

"Very well," I say finally. "I'll help you strengthen your magic in exchange for drinking your blood."

Relief flashes across Rowan's face, quickly replaced by wariness. "Just like that? You agree?"

I allow a small smirk to play at the corner of my mouth. "Let's just say I find the arrangement…intriguing."

She narrows her eyes slightly. "What aren't you telling me?"

I step closer, watching as she tenses but doesn't back away. "Not all witch blood is created equal, little witch. Yours…well, let's just say it has certain unique properties."

"In what sense?" She frowns.

"Does it matter? I said I'm happy with the arrangement."

Ecstatic, actually.

I study Rowan's face, noting the slight flush in her cheeks and the way her pulse quickens. She's nervous but determined. I can respect that.

"There's one more thing," she says, her voice steady despite her obvious discomfort. "This arrangement…it's just for the blood. Nothing else. No…intimacy."

I raise an eyebrow, amused by her attempt at setting boundaries.

If only she knew.

"Of course," I reply smoothly, my expression neutral. "Just blood. Nothing more."

I don't tell her that blood drinking is inherently intimate. That the act of piercing flesh, of tasting someone's very essence, is more sensual than any simple sex act could ever be. I don't explain how I'll be able to sense her emotions, her desires, her fears with every drop I consume.

I don't tell her that she'll be begging me to take her.

No, I keep that knowledge to myself. Let her believe this can be a clinical, detached arrangement. It's better that way.

"Then we have a deal," I say, extending my hand.

Rowan hesitates for a moment before taking it. Her skin is warm against mine, and I can feel the rush of her blood through her fingertips. It takes considerable willpower not to pull her closer, to sink my fangs into her delicate wrist right then and there.

Instead, I release her hand and take a step back, maintaining a respectful distance.

"Okay, then." She looks around nervously. "So…when do we start?"

"Now's as good a time as any." I try not to smile because my fangs have sharpened into points.

"Right. Sure." She nods a few times. Too many times.

"Relax, Rowan." I reach for her hand again. She takes a hesitant step forward.

I can sense her trepidation as she stands before me, her heart beating a rapid staccato. The scent of her fear is subtle, almost masked by the sweet aroma of roses that clings to her skin.

She's trying to be brave, to cling to some sort of control, but her body betrays her. The rapid rise and fall of her chest, the slight tremble in her hands – she's as nervous as a doe caught in the sights of a hunter.

"It's going to be okay. Trust me," I murmur. I take her hand in mine again, feeling the softness of her skin against my own. There's a certain thrill in knowing that she's willingly offering herself to me, a vampire – one of the creatures she's been conditioned to fear and mistrust.

I stroke my thumb over the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist, feeling how her pulse flutters beneath my touch like a trapped butterfly.

"Sure," she husks out. Her eyes widen slightly, and I can see the moment her breath hitches in her throat. I trace my fingertips up her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.

I can sense her growing arousal, a heady perfume that mingles with the scent of the forest around us. She's trying to hide it, to maintain her composure, but it's as clear to me as if she'd spoken the words aloud.

I lean in, drawn to the curve of her shoulder like I've been pulled by a magnet. I inhale deeply, savoring the scent of her skin – fear, arousal, and something I can't put my finger on. Something I never encountered until I met her. It's intoxicating, and I can feel my own body responding to the call of her blood.

"Here," I murmur. "I will take blood from you here." I press my lips to the delicate skin in the curve of her neck over her artery, feeling her sharp intake of breath. A small sound escapes from deep in her chest, and I can't help but smile against her skin. I trail kisses along her throat, each one a silent promise of what's to come.

When I reach the line of her jaw, she tips her head back. I trail the tip of my tongue along the ridges of her throat, feeling the movement as she swallows hard.

"Oh!" she says sharply as I nip her lightly, not biting, just taunting her, feeling her brace each time my teeth graze her.

Not yet…

I'm savoring this. Because she's sweet. So fucking pure.

And yet, she's moving with an abandon that I sense is unusual for her. Her body molds to mine as I pull her against me, my lips still moving over the heated skin of her neck. My hands roam over her body, exploring the curves and contours with a hunger that's as much about the woman in my arms as it is about the blood that courses through her veins.

Her breasts are full and lush in my palms as I glide my hands up and cup them. Rowan had been adamant about keeping this clinical, about drawing a line between the physical act of feeding and any form of intimacy. But as she rubs against me, her body undulating with a need that mirrors my own, I can't help but feel a sense of triumph. She may have set boundaries for herself, but her body knows what it wants – knows what it needs.

"Darick," she whispers, her voice thready with need. She turns her head to the side, exposing the long, slender column of her neck. "Do it. Drink from me."

I don't need any further encouragement. My fangs elongate, piercing the tender flesh of her throat with exquisite precision. Her blood rushes into my mouth, a cascade of sweetness that sends a jolt of pure ecstasy coursing through my veins. It's better than I remembered – better than anything I've ever tasted.

Fuck…yes!

"Oh, my God!" Rowan's response is immediate. She cries out, fingers biting into my skin as she grabs at me. "Oh! God! Yes…yes…fuck!"

It's a moment that I knew would come for her – the sweet paradox of the act of drinking. We give pleasure where we take nourishment. It's a careful balancing act that suits our kind. Right now, she's in the grip of a mind-numbing orgasm, her body convulsing as she reaches her climax.

She grinds against me, her hips moving in a frantic rhythm as she rides out the waves. I can feel the heat of her through the fabric of my trousers, the slick moisture seeping through. The air is ripe with it.

I tighten my arms around her, holding her close as she shudders against me, the last waves ripple through her. My own need is a fierce, demanding ache, but I ignore it. This moment isn't about me – it's about the woman whose life force is flowing into my body, whose blood is a perfect match for my own.

As her tremors subside, I reluctantly withdraw my fangs, licking the wound to seal it. I press a gentle kiss to her throat, then another, simply because I can.

She sags a little and I tighten my grip, raising my head and looking down at her.

"I…I…" She licks her lips. "I didn't…" Her chest is still heaving as she fights to steady her breath. "Is it always like that?" she finally says.

I nod. "Always."

"My…God…" She licks her lips. "Do I have a choice?"

"Do you want one?"

She takes a moment to think about this, then shakes her head, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. I dip my head and flick my tongue over her lips, knowing that she'll taste her blood on my mouth. Then I tighten my arms and pull her closer against me, liking the fact that she doesn't resist. Because for this moment in time, Rowan Blackwood belongs to me.

And I have no intention of letting her go.