Gospel asks what he will do. Draco levels her with a cool gaze and contemplative smile. He rolls that gaze from her eyes, up to her ears, and down the spine that shivers for him. What am I willing to do? he wonders as he studies every arch of her muscles. Draco is no knight in shining armor—he knows nothing of true chivalry or love, and he does not lie to himself in thinking this is romance.
Or, perhaps it is romance, the kind that destroys everything in its path.
The feeling of Gospel’s mouth on his skin reminds Draco of who he is and what he is capable of. Anger, violence, suffering, conquering. He takes a jaded bite out of life and gives nothing in return. But for her? For the first being that matches his need to be burned to ash? Why, he thinks he can do just about anything—and will not offer it.
“I will give you the blood you desire. The irreplaceable laughter of mocking death. I know you, Gospel. I can give you that.” Draco trains his eyes back on her’s, feeling nothing and everything all at once. The emptiness he is so accustomed to does not fade, but devouring Gospel almost gives him a sense of fulfillment.
“I can destroy you.”
