It was a rough night as far as sleep was concerned. At least for the Countess. Her unwilling partner had little trouble falling asleep at all.
She watched him with a vacant stare as the vampire hunter breathed softly, his chest rising and falling with every intake and exhalation.
It was strange. The notion that she should be sharing a living space and a bed with her nemesis.
That they would ever be in a position to watch one another sleep—but she was utterly powerless to hurt him without hurting herself, and, well—he counted on that.
"I hope you do kill me in my sleep," Alaric had said, punctuating that comment with a dry, manly laugh that made her heart thump a few more times. "If you do, then I won't have to commit suicide to defeat you, and
you'll be dead."
"You don't want me dead," she had cooed at him teasingly.
But he did. He still did. He hated her, even if he'd admitted to finding her cute and attractive. It set a scowl on her face as she watched him sleep, and then the scowl deepened when she reflected on it.
Why am I behaving like a girl in love? she internally seethed. Why am I so —so helpless as I watch him?
She had known many Voss over the centuries. Some she'd slain, some had defeated her.
She detested every last one of them from the instant she saw them—but when her eyes first landed upon Alaric, it was like he'd cast a spell on her.
No man should be so desirous. You might as well tell Guinevere to resist Lancelot, or Juliet to resist Romeo. It was impossible.
Unthinkable. Vexing to consider, even.
She purred a little as her fingers ran across his chest, testing him. How deep of a sleeper is he? She wondered. Time to find out.
She began her experiment with caution, merely ghosting her fingertips across the muscled planes of his pectorals. When he didn't stir, her eyes widened as she felt emboldened.
She traced a path with her index finger from his chest, up his shoulder, down his bicep, all the way down his arm until she ended her journey in the palm of his hand.
Her eyes widened and she bit her lip as she dared herself one step further.
"Don't hate me even more for this, Laric," she whispered as her hand opened and she interlocked her fingers in his.
She closed her eyes in bliss and bit her lip as she felt his pulse beneath his skin, and she could swear it seemed to quicken for her.
His body loves me, she thought, even if his heart and head are slow to catch up.
She was holding his hand. His rough, calloused hand squeezed hers just a little, and she almost jumped.
She opened her eyes, watching his face for
any signs that he was about to wake up, but he seemed a deep sleeper.
It amused her—this warrior who had traveled alone to slay untold monstrosities…sleeping so soundly in a cheap bed on the floor of a seedy, disused motel room—in which he shared his room with his family's
archnemesis? It made little sense.
"Then again," she cooed in a soft hush as she eyed him with pure love on her blushing cheeks, "We're more like archlovers."
She levitated over the bed, suspending herself in the air, bringing her body parallel to Alaric's until her face was hovering inches from his.
She stared, wide-eyed, at his lips. She'd kissed him before. It had been fleeting and she didn't get enough of a flavor to savor.
She couldn't recall the texture of his lips, it had happened so fast and spontaneously.
Even she didn't know she was going to do it at the time.
But she knew what she was about to do now. With her eyes still wide, she lowered herself until her hanging breasts gently brushed over his chest, and he was safely within kissing distance.
She leaned downward and let her lips make contact with his, freezing in that moment to memorize every impression she could get.
Alaric breathed out through his nose onto her lips. The taste of his breath was enough to make her insides churn with a bubbling desire that made her grind her thighs together as moisture formed in her unholiest place.
She was so wet—just from a kiss! She couldn't remember being this wet in the last
century, yet this man had reaped her lust so effortlessly, even unknowingly.
For a moment she considered trying to fuck him right then and there, but that would certainly be too far. First of all, he would definitely wake up.
Second of all, she wanted him to feel it, wanted him to reciprocate her kiss as she bounced on top of him, his thick heroic cock using her pussy until she was his broken toy.
At that moment, she realized she was still kissing him. Her lips remained static and still, but they were fixed to his, and it was almost torture forcing herself to pull away.
She stared into his closed eyes as she started to float upward and sighed.
"I really like you, Alaric," she whimpered.
"How can I make you like me, too?"
To her surprise, Alaric's hand broke from hers and reached up to grab her by the throat. It happened so fast that even she hadn't seen it coming.
She choked and clawed at his wrist, and soon he was making choking noises as well.
At first, she'd forgotten why, but then it dawned on her when she saw her own wrists open up with fresh cuts.
They shared each other's pain. Alaric opened his eyes and released her, but planted a foot in her sternum, forcing her against the ceiling.
She reached back and clung to it as she looked down at him in shock.
"I—I'm sorry!" she blurted out in
mortification.
Alaric wiped his eyes and studied his bloody arms as the wounds closed.
"What are you apologizing for precisely?" he asked. "What were you trying to do?"