Never Been Bitten Read Free Page B

the sparkling dance floor to a spot behind a hand-painted Chinese folding screen—which hid the entrance to the gardens. Before she could object (presuming she would have objected) Ellie was out the door and beneath the moonlit sky, still cradled in Macane’s arms.
    A frisson of trepidation caused her to catch her breath. She stared up at him in a panic. Might he actually kiss her? As far as she could remember, no one had ever tried. No gentleman had ever noticed her long enough to think of it. And now—what if she did it wrong? What if she did it right ? What would be expected of her then?
    “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You dazzled me even as you tried to hide.”
    Well, that was laying it on a bit thick. Ellie wasn’t ugly, but nor were artists dueling for the honor of painting her portrait. She was plain. Worse than plain: She was nondescript . Wracking her brain for an appropriate setdown to such ridiculous flattery, she narrowed her eyes at him . . . and nearly swooned at his expression.
    He was sincere. Or if not, he gave a bloody good impression of it.
    His eyes were rapt on her face, as if he had been searching for her all his life. His gaze had softened, making his features less harsh and more open. His arms cradled her gently, his hands splayed at the curve between waist and hips. He was being far more familiar than anyone of her acquaintance—far more familiar than any right-minded young lady should allow—but Ellie was so enamored by the idea of having entranced him that she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
    His lips parted. Hers did too, mostly because she was having trouble remembering to breathe. Her lips suddenly felt too dry. She edged out the tip of her tongue to lick them and gasped when his hold tightened painfully. She felt strangely powerful, as if she truly were beautiful.
    He lowered his face to hers. His eyes were no longer the crystal green of the sea, but rather a shimmering black. Rather than try to process the transformation, Ellie cleared her mind and let her own eyes flutter closed. She was going to be kissed for the first time. And she was going to enjoy it.
    Her brow creased when the delicious pressure of his parted lips brushed the base of her throat rather than her waiting mouth. The sharp edge of bared teeth grazed the tender skin at the curve of her neck. He wasn’t going to kiss her—he was going to bite her!
    Instinct forced her to react at lightning speed. But instead of shoving him away as she could’ve sworn she had instructed her limbs to do, Ellie returned the favor and sank her own teeth into his cravat-free neck.
    Mutual shock held them immobile for an interminable moment. Realizing the ignominy of what she’d just done, Ellie pulled away in horror before he could thrust her from him bodily. To label him thunderstruck would be the understatement of the century.
    He touched his neck with the tip of a finger. The pad of his white glove came away pink with blood.
    “Good Lord,” he growled, his expression fierce. “Did you just bite me?”

Chapter Two
    For the first time in centuries, seasoned warrior Mártainn Macane was nothing short of gobsmacked.
    From across the ballroom, he’d been certain the ethereal creature with the wispy red-blond curls was the runaway bride he’d blood-sworn two centuries before to capture and return to his laird, uniting the most powerful clans.
    After a closer look, he’d been even more certain that this lass was not his laird’s betrothed. First, she was too young. Granted, vampire bodies ceased aging at the hour of their deaths, but the Deserter had been in her late twenties when she’d succumbed, and this waif wasn’t a day over twenty-two. Even in the dark, she was the picture of youthful innocence. But the most inarguable evidence was the girl’s panicked breathing and rapid heartbeat. If vampires’ hearts continued to beat, they wouldn’t need to consume blood.
    Yet—the lass had bitten him. What the devil