Quietly they stared at each other. Amalia was the one to break the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Why do you follow me?”
“To kill you,” said without hesitation.
“Yet you have not.”
His eyes tightened. “Aye, you have no’ made your move.”
Ah, he had honor, this one. He would wait for her to attack first.
“Shall I move my hand?” Amalia lightly touched her fingers to his lips. They stiffened beneath her touch.
“Keep your hands to yourself, vampire,” he growled. His growl would frighten most. She was not most.
“Will you kill me now?”
“Fight me and see.”
His deep voice intrigued her. Every word seemed a throaty growl, torn from him. He didn’t wish to speak; he wanted a brawl.
“What if I do not wish to fight?” Amalia slid her hand from his lips to his neck and around to twist in his hair. “What if fighting is the furthest thing from my mind?”
He wrenched himself away, cursing her. Her soft chuckle enraged him even more, yet he still made no effort to hurt her.
“Damn you, vampire. Fight me!”he roared.
Amalia sauntered back up to him, placed both her hands on his braw shoulders, stretched onto her tiptoes, and placed her mouth to his neck. “Is this what you want?”
He instantly had a blade at her heart. “Do it,” he ordered.
Amalia pressed her lips to his neck in the whisper of a kiss and murmured, “Nay.” She slid away from this very brave, very foolish human and disappeared into the night.
However she did not forget him, quite the opposite, in fact. She began to follow him at night, every night. When this battle had begun, she spread the word that he was not to be harmed. Yet here she sat, his dead body in her lap, waiting for him to wake to eternity.
The Broken Highlander Page 3
