Read Online Blood Born: Cora's Choice #2 by V. M. Black - Free Book Online
Authors: V. M. Black
Ads: Link
ask.
“ Everyone had a place, Cora, not just women,” he said, his lips quirking in a sad kind of smile. “And when arranged marriages were the norm, this kind of relationship was less of a shock. You have a lot more to take in. More changes to accept.”
“ What if I don’t want to accept them?” I prickled at the comparison of marriage to…whatever was between us. Arranged or no, marriages had for many centuries had a place where the bride said “I do.”
“ It’s not up to you,” he said bluntly. “Or me. The bond is forged. Completed. You will accept these changes because you must. Because you will want to.”
I wanted to reject the thought automatically. But the reality was that I had jumped in bed with him after less than eight hours in his company when I’d known Geoff for three years and we hadn’t gotten past first base. For someone I denied had a claim on me, he sure was getting a lot of, well, everything.
I shook my head. I needed time to think. And I was only going to be able to do that away from him.
But I just stood there, nervously tugging at the bottom edge of my jacket.
“You had better leave,” Dorian said as if he could read my mind. He pushed a lock of hair away from my face. I tried to ignore the small burst of awareness that his gesture sent through me.
“ If you need me for any reason, call,” he said. “You will now be routed directly to me.”
“ Okay,” I said, not sure if I meant it.
“ The car is still waiting for you. I will see you—soon.” The last word was a promise.
I was filled with a sudden fear of loss as he began to withdraw back into his bedroom, as dangerous as it was irrational. I slapped my hand on the door, keeping it from closing.
“ So you aren’t going to see me out?” I blurted. Not that I wanted him to, of course, but for all his exaggerated, outmoded propriety, I thought that he would insist.
He smiled slowly. “You aren’t a guest in this house, Cora. You are its mistress.”
And with that, he shut the door.
Chapter Nine
A t the front door, the butler bid me farewell—as in, the actual words, “Farewell, madam”—and extended a pair of sunglasses.
I blinked at the aviators, still disoriented by the aftereffects of Dorian’s presence. They had Chanel’s double C’s on the earpieces. That made them far too expensive, but I remembered what happened when I had tried to go out the door before, so I took them anyway. I flipped the hood of my coat up for good measure.
“ Thank you,” I said.
“ Very good, madam,” he said, and he opened the door.
The sudden flood of sunlight made me wince even with the sunglasses, but it was no longer unbearable. A part of me that had been clenched in fear relaxed ever so slightly. Whatever else had happened to me, I hadn’t been turned into a nocturnal recluse, at least as long as I had sunglasses and good sunblock.
Maybe my old life—my real life—wasn’t entirely out of my reach, after all. Maybe whatever changes had happened were controllable, containable within it.
“ Thank you,” I said again.
I got into the waiting Bentley and shoved the glasses up onto th e top of my head. The interior with its tinted windows had always struck me as dim before, but now the brightness was at the upper limits of my comfort range.
No longer quite human. I rubbed my wrist where the mark stood out against my flesh.
That didn’t mean I belonged to Dorian, though. No matter what he said. The bond was his tradition, not mine. When I got back to the apartment, everything would be normal again. I’d be fine. A little lingering sun sensitivity—heck, acne medications could cause that.
I almost convinced myself I believed it.
The Bentley rolled to a stop in front of my apartment building, and I went in. The halls were eerily quiet, the lights dimmed to their nighttime levels and the usual background human noises replaced by a stifling silence.
Christmas break, I reminded myself.
“ Everyone had a place, Cora, not just women,” he said, his lips quirking in a sad kind of smile. “And when arranged marriages were the norm, this kind of relationship was less of a shock. You have a lot more to take in. More changes to accept.”
“ What if I don’t want to accept them?” I prickled at the comparison of marriage to…whatever was between us. Arranged or no, marriages had for many centuries had a place where the bride said “I do.”
“ It’s not up to you,” he said bluntly. “Or me. The bond is forged. Completed. You will accept these changes because you must. Because you will want to.”
I wanted to reject the thought automatically. But the reality was that I had jumped in bed with him after less than eight hours in his company when I’d known Geoff for three years and we hadn’t gotten past first base. For someone I denied had a claim on me, he sure was getting a lot of, well, everything.
I shook my head. I needed time to think. And I was only going to be able to do that away from him.
But I just stood there, nervously tugging at the bottom edge of my jacket.
“You had better leave,” Dorian said as if he could read my mind. He pushed a lock of hair away from my face. I tried to ignore the small burst of awareness that his gesture sent through me.
“ If you need me for any reason, call,” he said. “You will now be routed directly to me.”
“ Okay,” I said, not sure if I meant it.
“ The car is still waiting for you. I will see you—soon.” The last word was a promise.
I was filled with a sudden fear of loss as he began to withdraw back into his bedroom, as dangerous as it was irrational. I slapped my hand on the door, keeping it from closing.
“ So you aren’t going to see me out?” I blurted. Not that I wanted him to, of course, but for all his exaggerated, outmoded propriety, I thought that he would insist.
He smiled slowly. “You aren’t a guest in this house, Cora. You are its mistress.”
And with that, he shut the door.
Chapter Nine
A t the front door, the butler bid me farewell—as in, the actual words, “Farewell, madam”—and extended a pair of sunglasses.
I blinked at the aviators, still disoriented by the aftereffects of Dorian’s presence. They had Chanel’s double C’s on the earpieces. That made them far too expensive, but I remembered what happened when I had tried to go out the door before, so I took them anyway. I flipped the hood of my coat up for good measure.
“ Thank you,” I said.
“ Very good, madam,” he said, and he opened the door.
The sudden flood of sunlight made me wince even with the sunglasses, but it was no longer unbearable. A part of me that had been clenched in fear relaxed ever so slightly. Whatever else had happened to me, I hadn’t been turned into a nocturnal recluse, at least as long as I had sunglasses and good sunblock.
Maybe my old life—my real life—wasn’t entirely out of my reach, after all. Maybe whatever changes had happened were controllable, containable within it.
“ Thank you,” I said again.
I got into the waiting Bentley and shoved the glasses up onto th e top of my head. The interior with its tinted windows had always struck me as dim before, but now the brightness was at the upper limits of my comfort range.
No longer quite human. I rubbed my wrist where the mark stood out against my flesh.
That didn’t mean I belonged to Dorian, though. No matter what he said. The bond was his tradition, not mine. When I got back to the apartment, everything would be normal again. I’d be fine. A little lingering sun sensitivity—heck, acne medications could cause that.
I almost convinced myself I believed it.
The Bentley rolled to a stop in front of my apartment building, and I went in. The halls were eerily quiet, the lights dimmed to their nighttime levels and the usual background human noises replaced by a stifling silence.
Christmas break, I reminded myself.
Similar Books
