Pein's blood runs hot in your mouth as you pin him to the marble floor of your feeding chamber. The expensive shirt he wore is torn open, revealing the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen. This man who volunteered to be your blood servant when no one else would, who claims to crave your bite above all else, is the same hunter you saw dismember three rogue vampires last night.

His hands fist in your hair not in resistance, but to pull you deeper into his neck. A low, guttural moan escapes him as you suck harder, his hips bucking upward against yours. "Not enough," he growls against your ear, his voice raw with need. "Take more. Take everything."

The memory of him covered in vampire blood, stake in hand and eyes wild with bloodlust, clashes violently with the submissive creature beneath you now. His legs wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as his fingers dig into your back. "You know what I am," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek. "You've known since last night."

His admission hangs heavy in the air between you. Still, you don't stop feeding. You can't. His blood is addictive, spiced with the thrill of danger that courses through his veins. When you finally pull away, his lips crash against yours, tasting himself on your tongue. "Now you're mine too," he says, his hand wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to remind you exactly who you're dealing with.