Chapter Two

Silas knew two things were true about the female in front of him.

One: she had just tried to kill him, a feat no other had been brave—or foolish—enough to try in at least three centuries.

Two: he was never, ever going to let her go.

Disarming her was a simple matter. His hand snapped to the wrist that held the blade. He wrenched it from his chest with ease. The vampire was bigger and stronger than her, even if she was tall for a female. Her fragile blade fell to the cave floor with a clattering sound that punctuated the air around them .

Her gaze flickered over him, running from his face to his hands, which pinned hers against the stone behind them, to his chest and back to his eyes.

It was an effort not to smirk.

Blood pearled at the open slice above his heart. The stinging sensation was unfamiliar—the fact she'd been able to wound him at all told him this wasn't just any female.

No, she was something special.

But even the novelty of pain couldn't distract him from his focus on her.

Her eyes were a vibrant color not found in the gray walls he inhabited. Her hair looked soft and silky, two words that couldn't describe any of his surroundings. The warm, earthy brown was streaked with magically turned red highlights. He wanted to feel the strands beneath his fingers, to grasp it and pull her head back so he could see her throat.

Unused to denying himself, he did just that, threading his fingers on one hand while the other hand held her against the wall .

She flinched—just slightly, as though she caught herself in the act.

So she had enough sense to be afraid.

Good.

"You attacked me."

"I did."

Afraid though she may be, she was no coward. Her eyes promised she would do it again, given half a chance.

That just wouldn't do.

"You won't attempt to stab me again."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he hadn't simply made the declaration to hear himself speak. No, his vampire powers stirred, enthralling her with his gaze. No witch could resist the compulsion.

"Just kill me then, if that's what you're going to do," she snarled.

How quickly she asked for death.

But that would never come. Not from his hand. Not from anyone's.

If anyone ever tries to take her from me, they'll die bloody.

"I have no plans to kill you," he rasped .

She frowned, and for a moment, stopped struggling against him.

"Then you'll let me go after all?"

He chuckled. The idea was ludicrous.

"Not a chance, you violent witch. I plan to keep you."

How her eyes flashed with anger! Her scent thickened around him, like juniper and mayberries. Delectable. He wanted to taste her—by every meaning of the word. As a man. As a vampire.

"Absolutely not," she said.

That drew out a low chuckle from Silas's throat. As if she had a choice. "For every drop of blood you've made me spill, I'll draw blood from your neck."

Her pulse point flickered, beckoning him. But he held his female's gaze, drinking in her reaction to his words.

"I refuse," she snapped.

He smirked. "You don't make the rules here, witch." He glanced down at his chest. "Three drops of blood. Three times, I'll take from your vein." A pause. "Or more, if you ask very nicely."

Her jaw fell open at his arrogance. But it wasn't really arrogance, not when Silas was confident he would make her crave his bite in time. He'd make her crave every single part of him.

Before she could argue, his restraint snapped. He couldn't resist the siren call of her neck anymore. He bent her head aside, gently, without releasing her hands.

And then he bit her.