Hecate's Gift (Ari & Soren Book 2)

Chapter 1 - Soren

NOTE: This book is the sequel to Bound by Blood, and takes place a few months after the end of that story.

* * * * *

My love lay dead; his beautiful face blank, his dark eyes unseeing. I held him as grief's ragged blade pierced my heart.

He was gone, and it was my fault.

For I had killed him.

My pain turned poisonous; I could not live with this.

Not without him.

A soft hiss drew my eye, and I saw a serpent coiled about his upper arm like a band. Its black scales and long fangs told me it was deadly and venomous.

Yes, I thought, as I reached for it; this would be a fitting end. As my love had embraced me, to his destruction, so I would embrace the serpent's fatal kiss.

~

Someone shook me and shouted in my face. The dream faded as waking returned, and I opened my eyes to see Ari Lorenfield leaning over me, concern pinching his brows and black ringlets framing his face.

"Soren? You were dreaming again."

I sat up abruptly and caught him in my arms. He huffed with surprise and then returned my embrace with a gentle laugh.

For some moments, I held him, needing to feel the warmth of his body, breathe his living scent, and know that he was alive and safe. Finally, I sighed and let him go.

"Another nightmare, yes," I said. "I'm sorry I woke you."

He rubbed his jaw. "I was worried. You were thrashing all over."

Catching sight of a red mark on his face, I grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away from his face. An echo of the dream's pain itched across my heart.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. You clipped me, is all," he said, quick to reassure. "I'm fine."

Still, the shadow of fear chilled my blood.

I traced his jaw with my fingertips, trailing them across his lips and down the line of his throat. On the left side, close to the collarbone, two deep punctures marred his smooth skin.

Bite marks, from a vampire.

Specifically, from me.

Three months ago, we'd faced a crazed cult of necromancers who had tried to use Ari to open a gateway to a source of pure magical power. We had defeated them, but not without cost. Mortally wounded, my choice had been to die, or to embrace the vampiric half of my nature, and 'turn.'

I chose to turn, of course. It had allowed me to heal, and to remain with my love, but it came with a price. Now I required human blood to survive, and only Ari's truly satisfied my hunger.

Before, I found the thought of drinking blood repulsive. Part of me still did. When I drank from one of my father's 'donors,' or from the packets of preserved blood he kept on hand, it disgusted me. It tasted of dirt and rotten fruit, copper and decay, and it made me sick.

Ari's blood was different: sweet and rich as chocolate, heady as the best red wine. It held life and love in its hot, salty tang, and when I took it within myself I felt whole as I never had before.

The problem was that every time I drank from him, I hurt him.

My father—the vampire Volkir—used seduction to distract his victims. In the throes of passion, a little pain is just another flavor of pleasure. But my Ari was asexual, and I would never force on him such unnatural desire.