Trisha's body still trembled as she clutched the thin robe Rowan had handed her. Her neck throbbed where his fangs had grazed her skin, a sharp, lingering ache that made her shiver.
"It… it hurts," she whispered, tilting her head slightly, the words barely above a breath.
Rowan's hand brushed her cheek, gentle but possessive, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw. His obsidian eyes burned into hers, dark and magnetic.
"I know," he murmured, his voice low, velvet-dark.
"But it's a reminder. A reminder of this night.… and what you are. Come with me."
Before she could respond, he took her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers like iron velvet, and led her across the vast penthouse. The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the glass walls, twinkling innocently as if unaware of the storm brewing above. The soft sound of water lapping called to her, drawing her toward the infinity pool that gleamed under subtle lighting.
Rowan stopped at the edge and began to unbutton his crisp white shirt, each movement deliberate, smooth, and impossibly seductive. Trisha's breath hitched. His body… God, his body was breathtaking. Every line sculpted, toned, perfect. Broad shoulders, defined chest, hard abs tapering into the narrow waist of a predator. His arms were strong, hands capable of crushing yet, now, caressing. His hair fell in dark waves across a strong forehead, slightly mussed, just the right amount of disheveled perfection. His jawline was sharp, dangerous, lips full and curved with the faintest smirk, eyes dark and predatory, burning with desire and ownership.
Her heart raced. This man — this creature — was impossible. And she was already lost to him.
Without a word, Rowan kicked off his shoes, stripped the rest of his clothes, and with a powerful, fluid motion, dove into the infinity pool. The water swallowed him, leaving ripples that shimmered across his perfect form. His gaze never left hers, dark and commanding, and he lifted his head from the water, eyes blazing with possessive heat.
"Come," he said, his voice low, intimate, carrying an authority that left her trembling. "Join me."
Trisha hesitated for a heartbeat, the human part of her screaming to run. But the ache in her neck, the pull in her chest, the impossibly magnetic force that was Rowan, left her frozen. She slowly peeled off her dress, letting it fall to the floor. Beneath, she was left in only her delicate bra and panties, every inch of her aware of him, every nerve ending singing with heat and fear.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the pool. The water was cool, contrasting sharply with the fire coursing through her body. Rowan's hands slid to her waist, steadying her at first, then moving in gentle, deliberate caresses, tracing the curves of her body with ownership that left her breathless.
"Do you know why I brought you here?" His voice was low, teasing, almost a growl that made her shiver.
Trisha shook her head, words caught in her throat.
"When you have lived as long as I have," he murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face,
"you learn to respect beauty. Like yours. I want you. Your body. Your blood."
His gaze darkened, almost feral.
"Your blood… it did something to me. Something no other human ever could. You are… special."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Blood is blood."
"Not yours," he murmured.
Before she could respond, he was on her again, lips on hers, a claim that stole her breath and sent every pulse in her body racing. He kissed her lips, slow and possessive, his hands sliding over her back, under her arms, tracing the delicate curve of her waist. Trisha trembled, lost between terror and desire. She had wanted to resist, wanted to fight, but her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch, responding to his dominance.
His lips traveled down her neck again, and then to her shoulders, trailing kisses that left fire in their wake. His hands cupped her hips, guiding her gently but firmly against his chest, asserting possession without haste. Every movement, every touch, every lingering kiss was a message: You are mine. You cannot deny me.
Trisha gasped, pressing herself closer to him, letting the water carry her surrender. The city beyond seemed to vanish, leaving only the heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of him, and the delicious ache that twisted her insides.
Rowan paused briefly, just long enough to look deep into her eyes, smoldering with desire.
"Do you feel that?" he murmured, voice roughened with hunger and ownership.
"The way your body responds to me… to what I am? You are mine tonight… and not just tonight. I will claim every part of you, Trisha, in my own time."
Her lips parted, words stuck in her throat, caught between fear and longing. She wanted to argue, to remind herself she was human, fragile, unworthy… but every touch, every look, every brush of his hands left her powerless, trembling in the water beneath him.
He pulled her closer again, pressing her against his sculpted chest, and she felt the strength in his arms, the dominance in every motion. She gasped as his lips met hers again, harder, more demanding, claiming her fully. Her hands tangled in his hair, pressing closer, unable to resist, intoxicated by him.
The kisses traveled slowly, methodically, over every inch of her body exposed to the water. His lips brushed her collarbone, never forcing, only claiming, leaving her senses raw and aching. Rowan's control, his dominance, his dark obsession — it was almost unbearable. And yet, Trisha could not — would not — pull away.
Then, with a fluid, effortless motion, he lifted her from the water. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he carried her, strong and sure, across the penthouse. The water dripped from both of them, leaving a trail as he set her down on the bed in his bedroom.
Rowan's lips brushed her forehead softly, a fleeting contrast to the fiery possessiveness he had displayed moments before. "Trisha…" he murmured, voice low, magnetic. "Rest now."
She blinked, confused, breath still ragged from desire and anticipation. "But… why?" she whispered. "One moment you want me… you kissed me like you want to devour me… and now… now you want me to sleep?"
He smiled, that dangerous, infuriating, impossibly magnetic smile. "Because this," he said, sweeping a hand across the room, over the city beyond, over the night itself, "is just the beginning, my love. I need you… all of you… in time. But patience is a virtue, even for someone like me."
Trisha's pulse thudded in her chest. She wanted to question him, to demand more, to give herself to him fully in that moment. But a part of her — the part still human, still frightened, still clinging to what she knew — understood. She had been claimed tonight, heart, blood, and body, and yet the hunger in him, the darkness, the obsession, promised more.
She lay back against the soft sheets, her mind a whirlwind of fear, desire, and confusion. Rowan moved to the edge of the bed, eyes dark, watching, ensuring she was safe… for now. Watching, claiming.
And Trisha Hart, trembling and aching, could not deny it. She was his. He had already claimed her.
And Rowan D'Arcy, with all his darkness, power, and insatiable hunger, would not let her forget it.
As she drifted toward sleep, one thought lingered ..
Rowan hadn't told her everything.
Not even close.