Chapter 2Taming the Obsessive Vampire Next Door

The comments across my vision were a wall of question marks: [???]

Damian stared at the heavy iron cuffs around his wrists, completely unmoored: [???]

"Hungry?" I asked sweetly.

Damian’s gaze locked onto the pale curve of my throat. He swallowed hard, his dark irises bleeding into a vivid, predatory crimson. He looked like a creature who hadn't fed in weeks.

"Yes," he rasped.

Under his expectant stare, I walked over to the mini-fridge in the corner and pulled out a chilled packet of congealed pig’s blood.

He stared at the plastic pouch in disgust. "You expect me to drink that?"

I gave him a placid smile. "Then stay hungry."

Damian narrowed his eyes, the menace rolling off him in waves. "Penny Brooks. I’m going to remember this."

[She is so dead,] the comments warned. [Once this villain marks you, you’ll never escape him until your dying breath.]

A bond until death? I thought. How wonderfully romantic.

I stepped forward and delivered a sharp slap across his cheek. Not hard enough to bruise, but precise enough to sting his pride.

"Going forward, you don't use my name without permission," I said calmly. "A well-trained pet addresses me as Mistress."

Damian let out a low, dangerous growl, the tips of his sharp fangs extending over his lower lip. He glared up through his dark bangs, his pride warring with his ravenous instincts.

"Mistress," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Can I feed now?"

I reached down, running my fingers through his silky, thick black hair, then pressed the bag of iron-rich animal blood against his lips. "Good boy. Drink."

He gagged through every swallow, his body rejecting the inferior substitute.

I took a linen cloth and gently wiped the stray dark streaks from the corners of his mouth.

"Mistress, it’s vile," he whispered, looking up at me with dark, wounded eyes. "Can’t I just taste you?"

Looking down at his sculpted, ethereal face, I felt that familiar, intoxicating pull in my chest. I gave a quiet sigh, silently admitting my utter weakness for a pretty face, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my linen shirt, tilting my neck toward him.

Like a starving wolf, Damian lunged.

"Ouch—"

A sharp prick tore through my flesh. Without missing a beat, I slapped his shoulder. "Mind your bite force!"

He flinched, his long dark lashes lowering instantly. He looked thoroughly chastised and slightly pathetic, cautiously glancing up at my expression to see if I was truly angry.

Then, he leaned back in with exquisite gentleness.

This time, his fangs parted my skin with deliberate, reverent care. I felt the steady, rhythmic pull as my blood was drawn into his mouth.

I counted silently in my head. At sixty seconds, I firmly shoved his shoulder back.

"From now on, one minute is your limit."

He nodded compliantly, daring not to argue.

The comments in my vision were having a collective breakdown:

[Why is the unhinged villain obeying her like a puppy?!]

[He’s supposed to be redeemed by our sweet heroine! How can this crazy woman corrupt him like this?!]

[Don't worry, the heroine moves into the building soon. She’ll melt his frozen heart with pure kindness. This psycho should pick out her own headstone while she still can!]

My smile only widened.

Over the days that followed, I treated Damian remarkably well. I helped him bathe, washing his hair and smoothing out his clothes. Every time I ran my hands over his skin, his pale ears would turn a furious shade of pink. When I blow-dried his hair, he would instinctively lean his head against my chest, breathing in my scent.

At night, despite being chained, he would consistently wriggle off the floor and silently pull himself onto the mattress beside me.

"Don't vampires usually sleep in coffins?" I asked him one night, amused. "The hardwood floor should feel like luxury."

His eyes widened in aristocratic indignation. "I come from high nobility! Even our coffins are fitted with plush pillow-tops! That floor was destroying my lower back."

I couldn't help laughing, so I let him stay on the bed.

Gradually, I noticed that every time he looked at me, his throat worked more frequently, swallowing back something heavy and unspoken.

Assuming he was simply fighting his biological craving for blood, I ordered a heavy-duty leather canine muzzle online.

When I held it up, his face twisted in horror. "That's for an attack dog! I am not wearing that!"

Finding his outrage adorable, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. "Aren't you my good boy?"

A deep blush flooded Damian's neck and cheeks. He sputtered, completely stripped of his words, and quietly sat there, letting me buckle the leather straps securely behind his head.