That was her perception, not his. He blinked at how intoxicating he felt to her. She drew back to grin up into his eyes. You even turned me on in combat. A memory flashed through her mind -- Duncan leaping through the air at the werewolf, swinging his axe, fierce and agile and impossibly male.
That’s how you see me? Another memory flashed: This one of staring at himself in a mirror in his hospital room, painfully thin and hollow-eyed. Less than a man.
Anger spiked through her. You’ve never been less than a man. Not even then. You were what you’ve always been -- a warrior and a hero. Her lips curled off her teeth in a fierce little snarl. Just as I am what I’ve always been. And she showed him the werewolf’s claws ripping into her back, throwing her into a flashback of Emily’s whip.
The moment Masara saw herself for what she was: A Maja, powerful and driven.
“A warrior and a hero,” he murmured. This time when Duncan kissed her, there was nothing sweet about it. Not with the memory of how close they’d come to losing each other. This kiss was all frantic hunger, teeth and tongue and fierce hands gripping thighs and shoulders.
He bent her backward in his arms, supporting her spine as he found her nipple and sucked hard, drinking in the delicious female scent of magic, sweat, and sex. His fangs ached in his jaw, throbbing almost as hard as his cock. Suddenly ravenous, he carried her through the water and spilled her onto the thick grass. Eyes hot, Masara watched as he braced his arms on the pool’s edge and scrambled out to join her.
Through her eyes, he saw water stream down his muscled arms as his body steamed in the evening air. His cock jutted at her, bobbing and eager. And his eyes seemed to glow, impossibly blue.
With a hot feline purr, Masara flicked her fingers, conjuring a pile of pillows. With a happy growl, they fell onto them -- and into each other’s arms. Drunk on one another’s scent and taste, on the wet heat of each other’s bodies. His fangs aching fiercely in his jaw, his balls aching just as hard, Duncan tasted his way down the length of her throat. Shut up, he told his growling libido. I’m going to make this good for her…
Duncan’s cock felt hot and solid against Masara’s belly, and she gloried in the hard weight of him as he braced above her on his elbows. She could feel his need for her. The feral vampire craving for her blood, yes, but even that was dwarfed by something deeper and more elemental: yearning. The need to connect with her, to touch her soul as well as her body. To find an end to his loneliness.
A need she shared.
Taking his time, he licked and nibbled his way down her sternum to the rise of her right breast. Long, warm fingers encircled soft skin, cupping and squeezing until her nipple jutted, eager for his mouth. He rewarded it with a burning lick that sent pleasure jolting through her. Closing his mouth over the erect nub, he suckled in eager pulls that made her want to writhe. Groaning, she threaded her fingers through his thick curls, arching her back to lift her breasts in invitation.
Duncan took her up on it, raking each little bud with his teeth, then drawing so hard she gasped in pleasure. Rolling onto one elbow, he sent a big hand stroking down her body, tracing the line of ribs, pausing to tease her belly button. She squirmed, huffing a laugh. And felt the echo of his pleasure at the smooth warmth of her skin, the entrancing curves of breasts and hips. At the taste of her, woman and magic and the scent of blood so close to the surface. Making his fangs ache.
He was working far too hard to control himself. Masara didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted all of him, the fierce vampire warrior as well as the careful lover. When he felt that desire through the link, his arousal spiked even hotter, harder. She also knew he wouldn’t do it unless she was sure that was what she wanted. And if you change your mind, I’ll stop, he thought. It might not be easy, but I’ll do it.
I know. She dug her nails into the tight, hard muscles of his biceps, inflicting a deliberate sting of pain. But we don’t need to be careful.
A growl rumbled through him, deep and hungry and joyous. He bent his head and bit her nipple just hard enough to inflict a quick, hot sting. Masara sucked in a breath as her arousal spiked. The grip of his hands strengthened in a way that might have frightened her -- if not for the link reminding her with every heartbeat that this was Duncan and no one else.
Duncan, who loved her. Because he did. It was there in the link, as naked as he was, and just as unblushing. It wasn’t a crush, or simple admiration for a teacher. It was a man’s love for a woman, fierce and dark.
Just like the love burning in the depths of Masara’s mind.
Never mind that she was a hundred and fifty years older. War and suffering had stripped any traces of boy from him, had left him hard and capable, with no illusions about himself or anyone else. Duncan froze against her as he shared the realization that had just rolled over her. His eyes jerked up to search her face. Do you mean it? You love me?
Yes. Sweet Lord, yes. I’ve protected myself from everyone and everything so long, it was like living in a suit of armor. You’ve made me want to love. Because he wouldn’t betray her. That just wasn’t in his nature. She was safe with him.
His eyes glowed in the dark, and she saw the flash of his fangs in the moonlight as he smiled. Are you sure you want to be safe?
The darkness in the thought spread a smile over her face, hot with anticipation. Duncan pounced on her, his hands strong and rough as they squeezed, caressed. His fangs raked gently across her skin with the perfect, stinging pressure to send her arousal spiking. She could feel him listening to her mind, reading her pleasure, intuiting her desires. His hands slid between her legs, obeying her wordless need. He made a rough sound when he found her wet and swollen, and she felt the delicious alien jerk of his cock, so heavy between his thighs.
Masara also wanted to give him the same feral erotic pleasure. As he stroked and bit, his big hands delightfully rough, she sent her magic teasing over him. Licked at him with phantom mouths even as her flesh-and-blood hands stroked the hard breadth of his shoulders, the ridges of muscle and bone lying beneath his skin. Each pleasure they gave each other rang through their bond like a carillon of great bells. Pleasure magnified pleasure.
Duncan reared off her, meaning to throw himself between her thighs and eat her. She showed him her craving for his taste. He grinned at her. “You talked me into it.” Throwing a leg over her torso, he bent head down between her thighs, giving her pussy a slow sampling lick. Her pleasure dragged a tortured groan from his mouth.
Masara reached between his legs and grabbed the thick, veined length of his cock. It felt so deliciously hot, skin like velvet in her hands. Stroking slowly up and down its length, she sent her magic kissing and biting the length of his body. Until it felt as if a dozen Masaras sucked and nibbled and licked him. This is turning into an orgy, he thought, amusement warring with lust in his brain.
I wouldn’t know. Never been in one.
I’d say I had…
But I’d know you’re lying. Laughing, she traced elaborate patterns on his muscular ass with the fingers of one hand as she stroked his cock with the other. The thick head was tipped with a shimmering pearl of arousal. He angled his head to find the bead of her clit, then swirled his tongue around it. Her whole body vibrated in delight, which intensified as Duncan slid a forefinger deep, spiking quivering, eager pleasure up her spine.
“God, Duncan!” She imagined his thick cock replacing that finger…
And he showed her how that would feel -- how tight she was, how perfectly she always gripped him. So wet and slick, it was all he could do not to pounce on her and pound into her like a barbarian. His fierce need stoking hers, she wrapped her magic around the head of his cock. Imagined stretching her mouth around his width, straining to accommodate his length…
Duncan shuddered, wildly excited at the images in her mind. Abruptly, Masara had no patience for foreplay anymore. Her magic swept over him, scooped him up, and flipped him onto his back. His eyes widened in shock. “Masara!”
Bef
ore he could finish the protest, she grabbed his cock and aimed it for her mouth. And sucked him down, angling her head so she could slide him as deep she could get him. As she swooped down the length of his shaft, their bond reverberated with the sensation, so deliciously exotic.
Masara drew slowly off him, sucking hard, careful of her teeth, and the feeling of her mouth was so arousing, he had to clamp down hard on the need to come then and there. She didn’t want to wait any longer. She wanted to fuck him, drive them both out of their minds.
Masara pulled off him and flung one leg over his hips. Grabbing his shaft, she pointed him toward her wet, aching depths, and impaled herself hard and fast, the grind of his hard cock over sensitive tissues tearing a muffled scream from her mouth.
“Not that fast! You’re hurting yourself!” he gritted, though she could feel how delicious it felt to him.
“I don’t care!” The pleasure he felt overwhelmed the ache and sting in her pussy. Bracing her hands on his flat, muscled belly, Masara began to rise, taking it slow. Making it last. Loving the sensation of his cock sliding through tight, slick, silken flesh. It was if her clit was a foot long, being sucked by an impossible mouth.
He laughed, breathy and tight. “I’m not quite… that big,” he panted.
“Feels like it to me,” she gasped back, and slid down again.
Each entry and retreat felt exquisite as she rode him, pleasure building on pleasure. Her breasts bounced with the motion, and he caught one to tease the nipple with a callused thumb. The other hand slid between her legs, finding her clit and teasing it every time she rose and fell. The erotic sensations intensified, growing more soul shaking than anything she’d ever known before, and suddenly she couldn’t hold back any longer, couldn’t take it slow. Any lingering discomfort was gone, banished by the hot, wet grip of her pussy around that incredible cock.
Masara began grinding hard as he pushed back, picking up a rhythm easily through the link and matching it so that each stroke was a perfect dance of hip and hip.
The storm of orgasm gathered as delight fed delight. So close, right on the edge…
Duncan’s eyes blazed up at her, wild and wide, and she saw what he wanted. Masara flung herself down full-length against him, giving him her throat.
He sank his fangs deep even as he rolled his hips, thrusting into her. Her blood flooded his mouth, blasting his senses with her taste and scent. The sting of his fangs felt impossibly erotic, just as each swallow of her blood tasted like distilled delight.
It wasn’t possible to tell who came first.
Masara screamed for both of them as they catapulted into ecstasy.
* * *
They lay entwined together, catching their breath as their heartbeats slowed. Absently, Duncan picked up one of the thick, heavy ropes of her hair. It was still dripping wet, though he knew she could dry it in an instant. A thought flashed through his mind: What does it look like without the dreads?
Masara grinned and gestured. The dreadlocks vanished, replaced by a gold band that pinned her hair flat to her head before it flared around her head in a dark corona. Sprawled against the pillows, her face surrounded by all that magnificent hair, she lay framed by exotic flowers, her wet skin gleaming in the moonlight.
Words came out of his mouth with absolutely no forethought whatsoever. “Marry me.”
Masara stared at him in shock. “What?”
Oh, fuck, he’d just blown it. Perfect, he snarled at himself. Way to ruin the mood, you ass. Now she’s going to back the hell off.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Now that, to quote a certain Marine, is bullshit. If you want to know what I think, all you have to do is look.” And she threw herself open to him, nothing held back.
You’re fierce and male and so courageous you terrify me. And you know what it’s like to suffer, know what it’s like to survive even when you’re not sure you want to. Know what it’s like to heal even when it hurts so badly all you want to do is die. And you know what it means to sacrifice for the good of other people. “Yes, I will marry you,” she told him aloud, a huge smile spreading across her face, her dark eyes lighting with joy. “And that’s no sacrifice at all.”
They were in each other’s arms without knowing who’d moved first. All they knew for sure was that together they were so much more, and without each other they’d be so much less.
Dedication
This is my first interracial romance, mostly because I was afraid of getting it wrong. I was encouraged to make the attempt by two wonderful IR romance writers, Stephanie “Flashy Cat” Burke and LaVerne Thompson. Flash and LaVerne helped me with all kinds of details that would never have occurred to me, like the question of braids versus dreadlocks.
They also gave me great suggestions on how to handle the more painful and delicate aspects of the story. I hope I’m as good a critique partner to them, because they gave me the confidence to try something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.
I also want to thank Joey W. Hill, the best erotic romance novelist I know. As always, she helped me find plot holes and the spots where I had trouble giving the romance the proper emotional weight. Again, I hope my feedback on her books is as useful to her.
Last, but definitely not least, I want to thank my copy and line editors, Karen “Moon Tygr" and Emilie, who save me from those “Oh, shit!” moments down the line, and my editor and publisher, Shelby Morgen of Changeling Press, whose support and friendship mean more than I can say.
And thank you, too, readers, for picking up this book. I hope you enjoy the adventures of Duncan and Masara as much as I did dreaming them up.
Sincerely,
Angela Knight
Angela Knight
Angela Knight is the New York Times best-selling author of books for Berkley, Red Sage, Changeling Press, and Loose Id. Her first book was written in pencil and illustrated in crayon; she was nine years old at the time. A few years later, she read The Wolf and the Dove and fell in love with romance. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s publishing career includes a stint as a comic book writer and ten years as a newspaper reporter. Several of her stories won South Carolina Press Association awards under her real name.
Angela lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a hostage negotiator for the County Sheriff’s Office. Contact Angela via email at [email protected], or visit her website at www.angelasknights.com. Find more of Angela Knights Changeling titles at http://changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=26.
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