hook went sailing. All of the fight left Higgins and he thrashed and screamed until Rip yanked his neck sharply to the side.
Rip looked up as she staggered, “Jaysus.”
His gaze locked on the cleaver and Esme dropped it with a shudder, her stomach heaving dryly. She couldn’t look at the still twitching hook with its stump of bloodied arm. Instead, she caught Rip under the shoulder and eased him into a sitting position.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, watching the gleaming black drain out of his eyes.
Rip blinked down at himself, as if only just noticing his injuries. He probably was. Whilst in the grip of the craving, a blue blood was impervious to anything other than his intended target.
Esme examined his side, encouraging him to lean forward. Blood stained his shirt and the wound was closing sluggishly. “You haven’t been drinking enough blood,” she murmured. “This should have healed.”
Taking a deep breath she reached for one of the razors still sitting on the tray on the floor.
“No.” Rip caught her hand, shaking his head, his eyes black as night again. “No.”
He was reeling however, blood loss and self-enforced deprivation making him weaker than he ought to be. Esme straddled his thighs, bringing the razor across her wrist in a sharp little motion that made her hiss between her teeth.
“You need it,” she told him, bringing her wrist to his mouth.
Rip’s nostrils flared and he tried half-heartedly to bat her hand away again. But the scent of her blood drew his gaze like a snake being hypnotised and suddenly he wasn’t pushing her away anymore.
His lips locked over her wrist, a harsh moan filling the air. Esme gasped as his tongue swiped over her skin, the heat of it flooding through her body. Each sweet pull of his mouth was like a warm hand stroking between her legs. Lips parting, she rocked against him, straddling his thigh. “Yes,” she whispered, feeling the burn deep within. “Yes.”
She could feel his heartbeat thumping against her like it was her own. Echoing the pulse between her thighs, igniting her blood until she felt like she was on fire.
Her fingers tingled, reminding her that he wasn’t the only one who’d lost blood today. “Rip,” she whispered. “You have to stop.”
No matter how good this felt. How close to the edge she was. The little death, in all its reality. Esme bit her lip. “John!”
Rip gasped, shoving her hand away. Blood stained his lips and he licked them, looking up at her with those wicked-black eyes. His nostrils flared as if scenting the blood. “Cover it,” he rasped hoarsely. “Before I can’t stop meself.”
Esme tore a strip off her skirt. The wound was already healing, courtesy of his saliva. Few thralls owned scars; only those whose master’s cared little enough to cleanse the wound afterwards or whose virus levels weren’t strong enough. She would bear this one, she imagined, for she didn’t dare ask him to lick it clean.
A sign of his mark on her body.
Forever.
Esme smiled and leaned her forehead against his, her body rising and falling with his breath. She cupped his face and kissed his lips lightly, tasting copper, sharp and sweet. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered. “I knew all along that you’d come for me.”
Rip kissed her hard. “Always, my love.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Esme hummed under her breath as she diced a carrot, wielding the knife almost as easily as Rip could. Of course the way he used it was entirely different to her. Or perhaps not. Her smile faded as a flash of the cleaver thunking through solid bone hit her.
Weeks ago. But the memory was still as fresh as yesterday. And just as unsettling.
The door to the kitchen opened and Rip’s eyebrow arched as she flinched, her fingers curling over the knife. He stomped his shoes in the doorway, getting rid of the snow and then tugged his collar high. Most of the snow had melted but last night had dropped one last white blanket across London.
He took in the spread of diced vegetables and lamb. “Shepherd’s pie. Used to be me favourite.” He rarely ate now; he didn’t need to. Only bites sometimes, to savour the flavour.
“Used to be?” she asked with a smile as he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her back against the cradle of his chest.
“Mmm.” Rip breathed in her scent, the rasp of his stubble roughening her neck. “I’ve a new favourite now.”
Her. The thought thrilled her. Last night they’d shared another controlled