It was just plain desire.
“Are you sorry?” he demanded in a husky voice.
Her eyes shimmered like aquamarines as she tilted back her head to gaze up at him. “Of course. I had no wish to hurt you.”
The sincerity in her voice flowed through him with a lethal ease. Like a sweet poison that destroyed without warning.
He’d tried so hard to hate this female. Even when he’d held her in his arms and drank deeply from her throat. She was the enemy.
But even now his hand reached out so he could lightly run his fingertips down the curve of her cheek.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” he demanded.
“I was afraid of what Riven would do,” she insisted. “Our children are rare and precious gifts. I couldn’t risk endangering them. And my sister. She’s all the family I have left.”
He glared down at her. She looked so fragile even as she tilted her chin. Was it a silent threat that she had a stubborn streak beneath that air of delicacy?
If so, he didn’t need the warning.
“You should have trusted me,” he insisted.
She met him glare for glare. “Do you trust me?”
He flattened his lips. Did she really think they could compare their situations?
“I didn’t hold you prisoner for…” He hesitated, fury blasting through him as he realized he didn’t even know how long he’d been held captive. “How many years, Waverly?”
She flinched, but she was smart enough to answer the question. “Five hundred.”
“Shit.” Tarak was vaguely aware that he was coating the room with ice and that he’d toppled over several figurines.
He didn’t care. He’d known that it’d been more than a couple centuries since he’d been captured. The changing human technology that Waverly had managed to sneak into his prison had been proof of that. But five?
“I’ve said that I’m sorry.” She shivered, her breath coming out in frigid puffs. “I did what I could to ease your imprisonment.”
Tarak leashed his power, allowing the ice to melt, although his anger remained.
“You offered me books and the ability to view a television that offered a glimpse at the human world. Was that supposed to be enough?”
“They kept you sane,” she rasped. “And I risked everything by coming to see you far more than I should have.”
His fingers skimmed down the obstinate line of her jaw. “What are you talking about?”
“Riven commanded that I feed you once a century to make sure you keep your strength, but I would sneak into your prison as often as possible.”
Tarak swallowed his protest. It had felt like endless stretches of time between her visits. That wasn’t something he wanted to admit. Not to her.
“Why would you come more than you had to?” he demanded.
“I didn’t want you to suffer.”
Tarak curled his lips in a humorless smile. Was she hoping to stir his sympathy? Good luck with that. He’d been betrayed and brutalized by his king, and then imprisoned for five centuries. Any sympathy was long gone.
Then he caught sight of the warm flush that crawled beneath her skin.
“Hmm.” His fingers strayed down to press against the pulse that hammered at the base of her throat. “Do you know what I think?”
The scent of passion fruit swirled through the air. “What?”
Tarak’s fangs lengthened, his body reacting to her sweet scent. His gaze lowered to the soft curve of her lips.
“I think you enjoyed feeding me,” he murmured in soft tones.
She shivered, but this time Tarak suspected that it wasn’t from the chill. “I suspected you were arrogant. Now I know for sure.”
He chuckled, momentarily forgetting his relentless thirst for revenge. Right now, he was engrossed in the feel of this female.
“I’m a vampire.”
Her eyes darkened, her lips parting as she released her breath on a soft sigh. “I’m aware of that.”
Tarak’s fangs throbbed, hunger thundering through him. He’d ached for Waverly since the night she’d entered his prison, but he’d never been so close to losing his tight restraint.
“Are you also aware that I can taste your desire as your blood flows through my body?” he demanded, his voice husky as he lowered his head to scrape the tip of one fang along the side of her neck. “And smell it on your skin?” He pressed his lips against her warm, slightly salty skin. “Feel it beneath my fingertips?”
She lifted her hands to press them against his chest. “Tarak.”
He nuzzled kisses along the plunging neckline of the elegant gown, the hunger continuing to crash through him. Like a wrecking ball that was destroying his carefully assembled defenses. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Your heart is racing.” His hands gripped the soft swell of her hips, the urge to sink his fangs into the tender flesh almost overwhelming. “Sweet passion fruit.”
She grasped his upper arms in a tight grip, as if her knees were threatening to buckle.
“Tarak, we don’t have time for this,” she breathed.
He barely heard her. He was bombarded by the endless memories of how he’d held her in his arms while her blood filled his senses, and how he’d stored away the feel and scent of her to stave off the madness.
She was right. She had kept him sane.
His hands slid to her lower back, pressing her against his hardening body as he lifted his head to gaze down at her flushed face.
“Do you know how tempted I was to indulge in your unspoken temptation?”
A vulnerable uncertainty flared through her eyes, as if his words had touched something deep inside her.
“Why didn’t you?”
“To punish you.” He paused before reluctantly confessing the truth. “And myself.”
She studied him with a confused expression. “I get wanting to punish me. But why yourself?”
“For not believing Chiron,” he said, the bitter regret he’d lived with for five centuries spilling through him like poison.
It took her a second to place the name. “Your clansman?”
Tarak grimaced. He could still recall the night he’d entered the cave to discover Chiron. The younger male had been newly turned into a vampire and was more like a feral animal than a lethal predator, barely surviving on gut instinct. Managing to overpower the male, Tarak had taken him into his clan, teaching him how to blend into the world that was increasingly populated with humans.
Eventually he’d brought him to the Anasso, and they’d worked together in an effort to unite the vampires. He’d had such high hopes for the future. At least until Chiron had come to him with the warning that the Anasso was addicted to tainted blood.
“He was more than a clansman,” he said. “He was like my son, although I didn’t personally sire him. He was the most loyal male I’d ever met.”
“Then why didn’t you believe him?”
Tarak flinched. The question felt like a whip slicing through his flesh.
“Because I didn’t want to accept that the centuries I’d devoted to the Anasso were nothing but a waste,” he said, not adding that he’d taken personal glory in his position as the Anasso’s most trusted clansman. What male wanted to admit it was his own pride that had led to his downfall? “It was easier to pretend I couldn’t see the hints that warned me of the inevitable destruction of the male I had so deeply respected.”
Sympathy darkened her beautiful eyes. “And then he betrayed you?”
“Along with your king,” he reminded her in accusing tones.
Her brows snapped together. “He isn’t my king. He’s a traitor who stole the throne.”
Tarak’s fingers skimmed over her hips, his head slowly lowering. He told himself he was simply manipul
ating her. Why not use her desire to convince her to help him? Far easier than trying to force her.
Of course, that didn’t explain why his cock was hard and aching, and why his fangs were eager to sink deep into her flesh.
“Then you’ll help me,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over her parted lips.
She arched against him. “What?”
He allowed his fangs to press against her lower lip. “After I kill Riven, I’ll need a portal to return to my home.”
Without warning she was jerking away from him, her breath a loud rasp. “No.”
Tarak clenched his hands, hurt by her abrupt retreat. Then angered by the fact he was hurt.
Yeah, she had him spinning in circles.
“That wasn’t a request,” he snapped.
She recoiled, but she stubbornly refused to back down. “Riven can’t die until we’ve found my sister.” She held his gaze. “Besides, you can’t kill him.”
He stepped forward, grasping her by her upper arms. “Watch me.”
“No.” She laid her hands against his chest, her expression pleading. “It’s impossible. He’s protected by impregnable magic.”
“No magic is impregnable,” he snapped.
She made a sound of exasperation. “The only way to kill him is if the Tryshu rejects him as the leader. That’s why we’ve never had to worry about our leader being overthrown by force. It simply can’t happen.”
He glared down at her, searching for some hint that she was lying. “I don’t believe you.”
Without warning, she grabbed his hand and pressed it against the center of her chest.
“I’m telling you the truth,” she rasped. “You have to trust me.”
The sensations jolting through Tarak had nothing to do with trust and everything to do with raw passion.
Allowing his hand to slide down and cup one soft breast, he claimed her mouth in a kiss of sheer possession.
Mine, a voice whispered. A voice that sounded remarkably like his own.
Chapter 8
Waverly parted her lips, trembling at the feel of Tarak’s body pressed tightly against her. His muscles were as hard and smooth as steel. She desperately wanted to strip away his clothes and run her fingers over every chiseled inch of him.
With an effort she managed to avoid the urge to melt beneath the gooey pleasure that flowed through her veins.
Tarak was well aware that she couldn’t resist his seduction. She’d spent centuries offering her vein. She’d be an idiot not to realize he was using her need for him as a weapon.
Easily sensing her attempts to remain impervious to his potent touch, Tarak nuzzled his lips over her cheek to whisper in her ear. “I think we already established that I have no reason to trust you.”
She pressed her hands against his chest, arching away from his destructive lips. How could any female think clearly when he was brushing soft kisses over her skin?
“I thought vampires had the ability to know whether or not a person was lying,” she muttered.
He gazed down at her, his expression brooding. He clearly was annoyed that she simply didn’t agree to whatever he wanted.
“It’s a skill some of my brothers possess,” he told her.
Her curiosity was instantly stirred. “So what is your skill?”
“This.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the sensation of being gently lifted off the ground. Tarak wasn’t touching her. It was his power alone that was allowing her to float just above the floor.
Her lips parted, wonderment warming her heart.
Not for the first time she marveled why people assumed that vampires didn’t have any magic. Tarak had been weaving his bewitchment around her for five hundred years.
“That’s amazing,” she breathed as he slowly lowered her back to the ground.
His brows snapped together as if he was determined not to appreciate her admiration. Who could blame him? Still she had to find some way to convince him there was no way to destroy Riven. Only then would he leave and…
She winced before she forced herself to complete the thought.
He would return to his people and find his true mate. There. That’s what she wanted for him, even if the thought ripped her in two.
Tarak took a step back, his expression hardening with determination.
“Tell me about Riven,” he abruptly commanded.
“I did,” she reminded him.
He gave a sharp shake of his head. “You told me how he captured the throne. Now I need to understand how and why he’s stealing my power.”
“Oh.” She gave a confused shrug. “I assumed that there was something in the prison that allowed him to use your essence to fuel his magic.”
Tarak grimaced. “No, I can still feel him pulling on my energy.”
Waverly wrinkled her brow as she considered the various options. In the beginning she’d devoted hours to study in the massive library, researching how it might be possible for Riven to use the vampire’s power to control the Tryshu. She’d found nothing of use, and eventually conceded she would never discover the truth. “He used witches to create your prison. It’s possible they also gave him the means to draw on your energy. Or maybe it was the ogress.”
“Half-ogress,” he said in a distracted tone.
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s a mongrel. She has ogre blood, along with mermaid.”
Waverly felt a stab of surprise. She barely taken notice of the ogress or the young witch when she’d traveled to the opening of the prison. She’d been too focused on her upcoming visits with Tarak.
“How odd.” Waverly furrowed her brow, recalling how the large female would scurry into one of the tunnels when she entered the caverns. “I wonder why she was so eager to avoid me?”
Tarak ignored her question, clearly not interested in the ogress. “Does Riven ever leave the castle?”
“Not since he took the throne.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” She gave a firm nod. “There’s a…” She paused to come up with a way to describe the strange magic that flowed from the weapon. “Vibration when the Tryshu is in the castle,” she finally said. “Like a low-level hum.”
Tarak narrowed his eyes. “He could have left the weapon behind if he wanted to sneak away without being noticed.”
“Riven hasn’t released his clutch on the Tryshu since he first picked it up. I’m pretty sure he sleeps with the thing.” Her voice was thick with disgust. She couldn’t count how many times she’d caught sight of Riven standing in front of one of the numerous mirrors with the castle, admiring himself with his crown on his head and the trident held high. She’d wanted to punch him in his smug face. “Besides, he’s obsessed with wallowing in his own glory,” she continued. “While he’s in this castle he can command his people to worship him. Once he leaves here, he no longer has any control.”
Tarak’s frustration was palpable in the air. Quite literally. The ice droplets floated around her head even as two of her figurines were whisked off a nearby table to crash into the marble floor. Thankfully, none of them shattered.
“Then the artifact that he’s using must be here,” he rasped. “Does he wear an amulet?”
She furrowed her brow, trying to recall if she’d ever seen Riven wearing a medallion or pendant.
“I suppose he could have one hidden beneath his armor,” she suggested, only to catch her breath as she was struck by a sudden thought. “No. Wait.”
“What?”
“I remember when Riven insisted that he be given my father’s rooms.”
He arched his brows. “Did you expect anything else?”
Her lips twisted into a pained smile. “No. I knew he’d insist on the royal chambers. He’s an arrogant jerk,” she assured
him. “But after he moved into the suite he refused to allow anyone to enter. Not even his own guards.”
An odd expression rippled over his barbarian features. “What about his lovers?”
“No one,” she insisted.
It had been a dramatic change from the past. Her father had often hosted small gatherings in the royal chambers. It was a treat meant to celebrate matings or births or special holidays.
“Did he say why?” Tarak demanded.
“I asked him shortly after he took the throne and he claimed that he collected rare weapons during his travels and he feared a stray guest might hurt themselves.” She rolled her eyes. “Like he ever cared about anyone except himself.”
“You never questioned what he was hiding?”
She frowned. Did he think she had nothing else to do? “I was too busy trying to locate my sister. The fate of our children remains at risk as long as Riven holds her captive.”
Tarak stilled, as if he actually regretted his sharp words. Then he gave a sharp shake of his head. “We need to get into the royal chambers.”
“We can’t,” she instantly protested.
His hands moved to cup her face, his dark eyes glowing in the candlelight.
“You need to stop saying that, princess,” he warned.
“It’s too dangerous, Tarak. I—” Her words broke off at the distant sound of boots stomping against the marble hallway. Her eyes widened. “Guards.”
He glanced toward the door, his lips parting to reveal the long, lethal curve of his fangs. “Is Riven with them?”
She sucked in a deep breath, catching the pungent scent of seaweed. “Yes.”
The word barely left her lips when Tarak was charging toward the door.
“Good.”
Waverly cursed as she leaped forward to grab his arm. “Tarak, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to destroy the guards and then—”
“Stop,” she interrupted, continuing to tug at his arm. “I won’t let you do this.”
Without warning he halted, glaring down at her. “Are you choosing sides, Waverly?”
Waverly shivered. His voice was coated in ice.
Beware the Darkness Page 8
