Damian wakes the instant the sun sets. There's something to be said for a Carpathian's biological clock; they always know when the sun is rising and setting. But this is not how he would have preferred to awaken. He is ravenous. Hunger gripping at him. His throat is dry and his insides are cramping. And when he takes his waking breath, he can smell her, Selene Dauphin, only a few feet away from him.
His eyes pop open and he sits up from the bed. She is there across the room from him with her arms crossed in front of her chest. He notices immediately that she has changed, donning ripped black jeans and a top that look very much like a woman's brazier with a black long-sleeved fishnet over it. She is flushed, he can see it from where he sits on the bed. His gaze is drawn to her neck, her pulse visible beneath her pink skin.
He hadn't even thought about it, he simply springs up from the bed in attempt to close the distance between them. And he almost makes it until he hits an invisible wall.
"What is this?" he asks, irritated.
"It's magick, of course."
There is no way he could forget his lifemate to be a witch. He simply hadn't expected her to take the proper precautions against him. He is glad she did.
Shaking his head, he has a moment of clarity.
"Selene," he says her name for the first time this rising, "I need to leave. I must feed and I can't trust myself with you." He tries to move toward the balcony door, fighting his every instinct to attack her.
"Damian," she says his name in warning.
He stops, turning back to her, he once again encounters the barrier of her magick.
It had crossed her mind, moments before he awakened. What if he comes across Vicky or another patron of the inn? What if he can't control himself then? She wouldn't be there to stop him. He had warned her how thin the line is between Carpathian and Vampire. Despite the pain in her head brought on by thinking about it, she can't help herself.
"How much do you need?" she asks. He knows what she means.
"More than you could give."
"But would it be enough? Enough to stop—"
"No. I can't trust myself to stop feeding from you. I'm passed my limit."
"Then trust me to stop you."
He would be able to admire her resolve more if the hunger didn't consume his every breath. The pain is becoming more than he can bear. He is close. The line he has fought so hard to not cross has blurred.
Suddenly, the barrier falls away.
"Selene, no."
But he can't help himself and he charges toward her.
"I'll stop you," she whispers and he takes her into his arms. She catches the sight of his lengthened incisors just before he lowers his head.
She expects the pain of his bite and is surprised that it doesn't come, not immediately. His teeth graze her throat, skimming along her sensitized skin. With rough fingers he smooths away the collar of her fishnet top, hooking the strap of her bralette aside, exposing her collar bone. His teeth sink just below.
Selene sees white beneath her eyelids, the pain like nothing other. But there is something else there, another sensation. The closest thing she can compare it to is the euphoria one experiences after preforming in the great rite, a ritual ceremony that involves the combining of magick of the whole coven. It's almost enough to block the migraine that has erupted in her head.
She tastes like the forest and fire. It's intoxicating. He can't get enough and draws more of her lifeblood into him. It rejuvenates him. It should satiate him but it doesn't. He can't get enough. He must have more. So he takes.
One of his hands has shifted, resting on her chest above her heart. The more blood he drinks, the slower her heart beats. The last remaining rational part of his mind knows that he is killing her. He is killing his lifemate. She tastes too good to stop.
Selene, he says into her mind. Do as you said. I am trusting you to stop me.
She doesn't even raise a restraining hand towards him.
He trusted her to stop him.
Selene, you must do it now. I am killing you. Selene!
It's the smallest movement and then an invisible force tosses him across the room, against the wall. He lands on his hands and knees.
Damian looks up to see her collapse. Instantly, his mind has cleared. Tearing open his wrist, he rushes to his lifemate. She's so pale, he almost closes his eye to the sight. He doesn't, though, knowing that he must see this, he must see what he's done.
She doesn't fight him when he presses his wrist to her lips. How could she? There is no fight left in her.
Ever so slowly, her coloring returns. He holds her, cradled in his arms on the floor. She feels weightless, but guilt weighs down on his soul. Nine-hundred years he has waited for his lifemate and not even twenty-four hours he nearly killed her.
When he has given her enough, he peels his wrist away from her mouth, his thumb smooths the crimson bead on her bottom lip, staining her lip red. Brown eyes open to meet his gaze and he can't help it, he kisses her.
Damian is surprised that she has enough strength to kiss him back but she does. If he thought her blood tasted good, that was before he tasted her lips. He eases her lips apart with his tongue. She tastes divine.
Reluctantly, he withdraws almost as quickly. Leaning his forehead on hers he utters her name aloud for the second time this rising, followed by an apology.
Selene brings her hand up to rest on his chest and for the first time, Damian notices his half-nakedness.
"I told you I would stop you," she breathes.
Damian smiles. "And you did."
Gently, he stands up, lifting her with him. Despite the blood exchange, the whole ordeal seems to have taken a lot out of her. He places her on the bed.
With merely a thought, he is fully clothed again.
"Well, that's convenient."
"I should go. I'll return when my hunger is completely satiated." He looks at the balcony door, sensing her wards.
"Just give me a moment." He looks back at her. She seems so fragile, sitting there, but he knows better. "It should be okay, now."
He should leave, he knows this. Instead he kneels in front of her, taking both of her hands in his own. "I'll be back." He plants a kiss on her forehead. Turning into mist, he disappears from her sight.