Read Online Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) by Tessa Dawn - Free Book Online
Authors: Tessa Dawn
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felt like she had a little more room to breathe, and began to pace in tight little circles, all around the cluttered space. To her utter surprise, he left her alone. In fact, he simply watched like an innocent bystander.
And waited.
As if even he, in all his dark, brooding malevolence, understood the gravity of the decision, the sacredness of the moment.
She ran her hands through her hair and thought it over: True, she did not want to die. And there was no question in her mind that Salvatore would kill her, and when he did, it would be a grisly and painful death. But he was right. It was better to die than to make the wrong decision. No, she had to do this because it was truly what she yearned for, truly what she wanted, not because the six-foot lethal demon would torture her mercilessly.
She drew in a deep breath and returned to the question: Was this what she wanted? Not just now, but for all eternity? A chorus of nervous laughter escaped her throat, and she bit down hard on her tongue to make it stop. May propriety and convention be damned: It was .
This was exactly what Tawni wanted, and she didn’t need to think it over any further: Salvatore Nistor was the stroke of luck Tawni had been waiting for her entire life. Since the day she had turned five years old and drowned her birthday kitten, since the time she had entered the third grade and begun setting things on fire, since the day she had been mocked and ridiculed and called a witch by a group of teenage girls in the cafeteria—the day she had let the hatred burn, fester, and develop into a full-fledged obsession for vengeance—she had wanted nothing more. From the day she had begun listening to jarring music and imagining wicked scenarios, the day she had chosen hate over forgiveness, self-pity over survival, and to use her imagination to create pain rather than possibility, she had made the decision. Truth be told, Tawni Duvall had relinquished her soul a long, long time ago. Whatever happened today would be a mere formality.
“I do want this,” she said with absolute certainty. “And I freely give my consent.”
There.
She had said it.
She rubbed her hands together nervously, turned toward the kitchen, and waited for Salvatore’s reply.
*
Salvatore stared at the ridiculous human woman in utter stupefaction.
He could hardly believe what had just happened, the words that had left her mouth, and every muscle in his body was twitching to react: to strike, mutilate, and punish, just for the hell of it. He wanted to fly into the living room and tear her skin from her body, one bloody strip at a time, just to hear her scream. He wanted to rip out her throat with his fangs, drain her body of blood, while sucking, biting, and guzzling, just to watch her writhe. He wanted to take her back to the colony, chain her to his huge iron bed, and violate her ever-so-slowly, creatively, painfully , in order to teach her a lesson, her true position on the food chain. And then he wanted to draw out her conversion for days, perhaps weeks, just because he could. He wanted to watch her plead for mercy. He wanted her to beg the god she clearly despised for salvation, knowing all the while that it was much too late, her plea would be denied, for she no longer housed a soul.
Salvatore practically salivated over the endless possibilities as he watched her, waiting so patiently for his reply.
And honestly, how stupid could one person be ?
He sighed, forcing all of his instincts to heel, clamping down on the need to terrorize.
As badly as he wanted to sacrifice the lamebrain offering before him—she did consent to relinquish her soul, after all—he knew he had to be careful. He knew he had to be smart. Right now, in this present moment, this woman could still walk in the sun, and that meant she was a valuable commodity, indeed. Very valuable. He needed to act with both wisdom and deliberation. This was not an opportunity that knocked every day.
Salvatore shut his eyes
And waited.
As if even he, in all his dark, brooding malevolence, understood the gravity of the decision, the sacredness of the moment.
She ran her hands through her hair and thought it over: True, she did not want to die. And there was no question in her mind that Salvatore would kill her, and when he did, it would be a grisly and painful death. But he was right. It was better to die than to make the wrong decision. No, she had to do this because it was truly what she yearned for, truly what she wanted, not because the six-foot lethal demon would torture her mercilessly.
She drew in a deep breath and returned to the question: Was this what she wanted? Not just now, but for all eternity? A chorus of nervous laughter escaped her throat, and she bit down hard on her tongue to make it stop. May propriety and convention be damned: It was .
This was exactly what Tawni wanted, and she didn’t need to think it over any further: Salvatore Nistor was the stroke of luck Tawni had been waiting for her entire life. Since the day she had turned five years old and drowned her birthday kitten, since the time she had entered the third grade and begun setting things on fire, since the day she had been mocked and ridiculed and called a witch by a group of teenage girls in the cafeteria—the day she had let the hatred burn, fester, and develop into a full-fledged obsession for vengeance—she had wanted nothing more. From the day she had begun listening to jarring music and imagining wicked scenarios, the day she had chosen hate over forgiveness, self-pity over survival, and to use her imagination to create pain rather than possibility, she had made the decision. Truth be told, Tawni Duvall had relinquished her soul a long, long time ago. Whatever happened today would be a mere formality.
“I do want this,” she said with absolute certainty. “And I freely give my consent.”
There.
She had said it.
She rubbed her hands together nervously, turned toward the kitchen, and waited for Salvatore’s reply.
*
Salvatore stared at the ridiculous human woman in utter stupefaction.
He could hardly believe what had just happened, the words that had left her mouth, and every muscle in his body was twitching to react: to strike, mutilate, and punish, just for the hell of it. He wanted to fly into the living room and tear her skin from her body, one bloody strip at a time, just to hear her scream. He wanted to rip out her throat with his fangs, drain her body of blood, while sucking, biting, and guzzling, just to watch her writhe. He wanted to take her back to the colony, chain her to his huge iron bed, and violate her ever-so-slowly, creatively, painfully , in order to teach her a lesson, her true position on the food chain. And then he wanted to draw out her conversion for days, perhaps weeks, just because he could. He wanted to watch her plead for mercy. He wanted her to beg the god she clearly despised for salvation, knowing all the while that it was much too late, her plea would be denied, for she no longer housed a soul.
Salvatore practically salivated over the endless possibilities as he watched her, waiting so patiently for his reply.
And honestly, how stupid could one person be ?
He sighed, forcing all of his instincts to heel, clamping down on the need to terrorize.
As badly as he wanted to sacrifice the lamebrain offering before him—she did consent to relinquish her soul, after all—he knew he had to be careful. He knew he had to be smart. Right now, in this present moment, this woman could still walk in the sun, and that meant she was a valuable commodity, indeed. Very valuable. He needed to act with both wisdom and deliberation. This was not an opportunity that knocked every day.
Salvatore shut his eyes
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