“Get your hands off me you patronising filth!” Erinna screamed, yanking her hand out of his grip.
“Don’t test me Erinna,” the Count warned, his voice deep and low, vibrating in the empty hallway.
“I do not take my orders from you,” she spat out glaring at him stubbornly.
“That’s where you’re wrong darling. As Countess, everyone in my kingdom is your servant, but it is I who is the master.”
His words possessed a finality that urged her to bend her will to his but she would not be Erinna Ellington of the Ellingsdale Elves if she did that.
“I will never marry you,” she vehemently stated, glaring daggers at him though he didn’t even flinch.
“Your fiery nature might be one of the reasons I love you but I do not tolerate disrespect, even from you.”
His voice was now icy cold, making her feel as if she had been dropped in the middle of the Pacific on a lonely winter night.
Dracula loved Erinna, for heaven’s sake it was a natural as breathing. But his bride needed to learn how to curb her vituperative tongue. She could extend her claws to any of his subjects as long as he knew who the ultimate king and master was.
Of course he was still count but only for a short time. Everyone knew he would be king; he just needed his bride first, as was tradition. Dracula was a very traditional vampire.
So technically, he was lord of all vampires but before he got his bride he could not get the title king. It was only a matter of time now.
“What are you going to do to me? Impale me like everyone who rubs you the wrong way?” So the novels had told her of his standard way of execution? At least they had that part right.
“Don’t give me ideas.”
His patience was wearing out. Erinna was a very exhausting individual, both physically and mentally. Of course he was not going to impale his bride but 3000 years was along enough time to enable one to come up with the best methods of torture and execution. Especially if it was one’s favourite pastime activity. Erinna really shouldn’t test him. It was treading on dangerous territory. Thin ice.
“If you’re going to do it why don’t we just get it over and done with? Because I. Am. Not. Marrying. You.”
She had just finished the sentence when a hand connected with her cheek; the pain making her flesh sizzle. The force off the slap knocked her off her feet to the ground and brought burning tears to her unsuspecting eyes. Her green feline eyes shown like emeralds with unshed tears; but she refused to let them fall.
“Go and have dinner, I will have mine elsewhere. We will talk tomorrow when you’re ready to be mature. Don’t try anything funny.”