He laughed, even as his shoulders and chest lifted proudly.
Encouraged, she went on. “I would do anything, submit to anything that would give you pleasure. My body and my soul belong to you, since the day you were born.”
His smile turned into a full blown leer.
Chapter 40
BEL TREMBLED ON SHAKY KNEES. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been naked with plenty of women, and he’d never heard any complaints. But this was Uta, the woman he’d desired before he even knew what desire was. He couldn’t shake the fear that everything depended on this moment. Either he would be enough for her to live for, or not.
“Now, heart of my heart, would you please take off my clothes?” she asked so sweetly, fully into the spirit of this little ruse.
He’d never understood role playing in the bedroom, but her willingness to stay in those bonds told him plenty, and his heart, and his cock, swelled with hope.
“I’ll do it when I damn well please.” He imagined his grin looked as huge as it felt on his face. “And that just happens to be now.”
“Thank the gods,” she whispered.
He reached for her shirt—a soft wisp of a thing, woven, without buttons or any way to open it. He gripped its neck with both hands and tried to rip it. It didn’t give at all. “Shite, what’s this thing made of?”
“Silk, and cashmere, and a little angora. I don’t think you’ll be able to rip it. If you just untie me for a mom—”
“No. Stay where you are, I’ll find some scissors.”
“No,” she cried. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone, not even for a minute.”
He was an arsehole for forgetting her grief. Of course she didn’t want to be alone.
“I knitted this sweater, and—”
He crossed his arms, struck by the absurdity of that claim. His vampire warrior queen knitting? “Yeah, right.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you must know, I needed a distraction when I sent you away. I had an excess of nervous energy.”
“Oh.” He swallowed. Over and over, she proved herself more sensitive and passionate than the memories he’d allowed himself of her.
“If you find the end of the yarn that is woven into the hem, you can unravel it.”
His cock twitched in rebellion. “Won’t that take forever?”
“It will be a slow, sensual torture, with the yarn running through your hands and across my skin, baring me one row at a time.” She wriggled, pressing her torso against his knuckles. “But I want this to last as long as is possible.”
Her voice choked with emotion, and he wanted to reassure her—they had as long as they needed.
Forever, maybe.
And with all the desire he’d been tamping down, he’d surely be able to satisfy her, even if he was only a halfling.
He sure wasn’t in the mood to play Mr. Patient this first go round. But the idea of slowly unraveling that shirt pleased her, and pleasing her must be his priority. He brought the candle to the side of the bed and spotted a row of thickened stitches at the bottom of the shirt. With this thumb and forefinger, he pinched and pulled until he managed to free the strand of yarn.
“The first row will be difficult,” she warned, “but then it will unravel with ease.”
Her words proved true, as the first row required he pull the slippery silken floss through each stitch. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he nearly gave up. He could have her pants off and be inside her in an instant.
“Keep going, it will be worth it.” She twisted onto her side so he could reach the back.
So he did. When he reached the end of the stitches she had bound together the yarn simply tugged free, row after row. With each round, she arched her spine and he reached beneath her, caressing the soft skin at the small of her back. At each brush of his fingers, she sucked in her breath. With her arms over head, her back curving, her small breasts jutting, nipples erect through the delicate fabric, she gazed at him from under half-lidded eyes. It must have required great restraint for her to remain bound up like that.
It humbled him.
A pile of unraveled yarn grew on her stomach and then slid off onto the mattress. When the sweater came only to the bottom of her rib cage, she began to writhe.
The throbbing in his cock grew painful. “Uta, I can’t—”
She released a loud breath. “Thank the gods. I’ve been waiting for you to say that for ages.”
He laughed, shoving the rest of her shirt up to bare the perfect sweet mounds of her breasts. He extended the broadest part of his tongue, wanting to taste as much of her as possible. Beginning at one under its curve, he licked upward until he reached that rigid nipple and latched on, drawing from her as if he could drink in her pleasure. A piercing pain in his gums stopped him short, and he reared back.
“What is it?”
He ran his tongue over his lips. “Toothache.”
“You hunger for my blood. Can you smell it?”
Maybe that hyacinth perfume she radiated? “Yes.”
“I want you to have it. But every time we share blood, the bond grows. Is that what you want?”
Her tone had grown grave, like she was warning him. He couldn’t think about more and the future—all he knew was he needed her blood now. “Yes.”
Her throat rippled with a swallow. “Go to the kitchen and bring back a knife.”
“But you—”
“Please, Bel. When you come inside me, I want to be inside you too. I can stand for you to leave me alone a moment for that.”
At the memory of the metallic tang of her blood, he could think of nothing more erotic than to taste it again, and surely no better way to bind her to him. “Will you bite me?” His hand went to his neck and her gaze followed.
“I would like to very much. Will you let me?”
For some reason, the word caught in his throat. “Yes,” he managed to croak.
He strode to the kitchen naked. The afternoon sun shone hot through the front windows. He’d slept the morning away on top of her, the longest stint of sleep he could recall in years. He found a sharp paring knife in the top drawer next to the sink.
Returning to her, he gripped its well-worn wooden handle and sliced the rest of her shirt off. He did the same with her pants, until he’d bared her completely. She parted her legs, revealing her pretty pićka, slippery and smelling richly of female and her own flowery scent. The ache in his gums stabbed at him again.
He chose a spot under her collar bone, well away from major arteries and veins, and traced it with his thumb. He didn’t need a gusher, just a taste.
“Cut wide and shallow and slip your finger into the wound,” she instructed him. “Then replace it with your tongue, or it will heal too quickly.”
“Ready?”
She nodded, her eyes trained on the blade. He inserted it under the bone just until the blood began to flow and then widened the gash enough to accommodate his tongue.
She groaned when he covered the wound with his mouth and tasted the salt and sweet of her, laced with that floral perfume. It took every ounce of self-control not to come.
Damn. Superhero vampire erections might actually outweigh the no masturbating problem. If you had a lifelong mate, that was.
He savored her, first squeezing both her small breasts in his hands, then dipping one splayed palm between her legs. She spread them wider, and he penetrated her with two fingers. She tilted her pelvis, rocking on him, and her tongue glided over his neck, lingering on his pulse. He angled his head to better expose the artery, a submission he didn’t begrudge in the least, not with all the ones she’d made.
“Ready, my love?”
My love. She means me.
He grunted a yes against her chest.
She struck fast and her fangs were white hot pleasure inside him. Their magic worked on him in wave after wave of arousal, his skin burned, his tongue thrust deeper into the wound in her neck, and then his gut melted with need. He couldn�
�t wait any longer to have her. His face still pressed into her chest, he pulled his fingers out of her wet heat, and raised his hips to position himself.
No, this was wrong. He had to look at her. He lifted his head, tugging his neck from her grip.
She whimpered.
“I need to see your face. I need proof that this is happening.”
In reply, her tongue lapped at his skin, which tickled as it knit back together.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Finally, they faced each other nose to nose. Apologies and declarations of love and lewd intentions swirled in his mind like the frenzied lyrics of a punk song. His lips parted to speak, but no words completed the journey to his tongue.
Damn it. Her bottomless brown eyes rendered him speechless.
“I know all of it, Bel. You do not need to speak.” She smiled like a woman who had watched empires rise and fall, but saw the sun and moon set with him. Whether she had chosen it or not—she wanted him and it shone on her face.
His heart erupted with tenderness, and he kissed the tip of her nose. Then, his cock parted the hot silk of her pićka, and he slid home. Yes. That’s what she was—had always been—his home.
Her chin lifted and she tried to throw back her head.
“Don’t you dare look away from me, Uta.”
Her breaths came irregularly, her lips pressed together, and she nodded her acquiescence. At least he wasn’t the only one undone.
Then he began to move.
Her core clenched around him instantly—she was already coming. Just barely, he resisted spilling inside her and gentled his thrusts. When her spasms subsided, he pressed her harder, driving her into the bed with everything he had. She met his force, slamming herself onto him and making feminine groans each time he stroked her core. He reached between them to touch her clit, and she squeezed him with even more force. Damn, vampires were strong everywhere.
“Oh gods of Illyria, Bel, please do not stop.”
“Never, Uta. Now that we’ve started, I will never stop.”
He hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t even been sure until the words spilled out. Tears shimmered over the surface of her eyes, and one pink bead trickled down her temple into her hair.
He knew exactly how she felt, could very nearly have cried with his own relief. Together at last. The emotions overwhelmed him, and tipped him over the edge. He closed his eyes as the pleasure washed over him, and he collapsed on top of her, reveling in the fullness of their reunion.
The belt tore from the head board with a soft rip. Then her arms circled his shoulders, her hands tangling his hair. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Thank you, my love. I cannot possibly tell you how grateful I am for this gift. Please believe me when I say it was the greatest moment of my life.”
Silly old girl, getting all sentimental on him. Not that he wasn’t indulging in a little mush himself.
He squeezed her tight and rolled her on top of him. “You don’t say?” He smoothed her gorgeous hair off her damp forehead and smiled up at her, expecting an amused look in return.
But instead the corners of her mouth turned down, and a furrow appeared between her eyes.
“Forgive me, my love.” She brushed a kiss across his lips, and disappeared in a blur of motion.
Uta gazed down at Bel’s ruggedly masculine face—all angles and stubble and sullen beauty, his mouth pouting even when he teased. By all the gods, she wanted to stay with him, and laugh, and joke, and share pleasures with him forever.
But he couldn’t possibly mean the promises he had uttered, still could not imagine what forever really meant. Clearly, he had given himself to her impulsively, an attempt at heroism he had not yet had time to second guess.
But he would.
She would fail at the task Rize had given her, fail to stop the violence, and Bel would leave her.
This way, he would finally be free. It was so much easier for them both.
“Forgive me, my love.”
She could not trust her feet, so she flew, a straight shot down the hall, piercing the front door like a missile. She landed barefoot in cool grass, and just like the other times, the sun blanketed her bare skin, its first kiss pleasant and warm before the pain of searing flesh reached her brain.
However, it did not.
A cool breeze blew, tightening her skin into goose bumps. She stood in the clearing in front of the house, surrounded by evergreens. She stood in the sun for the first time in the millennia.
No. It could not be. She had only fed from a Hunter on that one instance, weeks ago.
As if in slow motion, Bel appeared in the doorway, his jaw set, his expression stony. Leo pushed in alongside him, looking Uta up and down.
She followed the path of his gaze, realizing she was completely naked.
“Well,” he said, “this is awkward.”
Indeed. Shamefully bare, and having failed even at killing herself.
“You are a coward,” Bel spat. “Just like my mother.”
“Your mother erred by allowing Andre to bond to her,” Uta cried, pleading for him to understand. “With her suicide she spared them both an eternity of misery.”
Bel exhaled through his nose. “And abandoned her little boy.” Shaking his head, he turned back toward the house.
She had wounded him again, had thrown all he offered away for nothing, and she no longer had any escape. “Bel, wait!”
He did not, but he shouted over his shoulder. “If you want to be a hero like Mila, next time, make sure you succeed.”
Chapter 41
LUCAS LAY ON HIS TOO-EMPTY BED, staring at his phone. No news from Pedro.
His man hadn’t called him to say hi, to say I love you, to say, don’t worry, I don’t want to fuck pretty little Leo. And any second now, Lucas might jump right out of his tight, stir-crazy skin.
After Loki’s death, a mournful hush had fallen over the estate. The initial reports had arrived from the first round of friendly kidnappings, but then his computer had gone quiet too. His plan was underway, and he could only wait while, all around the world, several hundred Hunters were being subjected to some friendly fang.
He envied them. He hadn’t been apart from Pedro this long since he’d come to Kaštel, and he missed the friendship and the fang. Loneliness gnawed at him, that and hunger. But nothing settled in his stomach right.
He needed a distraction from this misery, so he stomped through the cellar and when he reached the makeshift cell, he didn’t knock. No need to extend politeness to his brother’s punching bag girlfriend. She had to be responsible for the explosion that killed Loki, but Lucas couldn’t guess how she’d gotten news of the Justicia’s departure to the Hunters from inside the estate.
He slid the bolt and swung the door wide. She’d clearly heard him coming, and had backed herself against the far wall. Not a hint of fear showed on her impassive face and it enraged him, sending blood to pound in his ears. He would find out how she was communicating with Ethan, or convince one of these torture-reticent vampires to get it out of her.
Oh right, this bitch liked torture. They might have to give her what she wanted.
His heart pounded hard against his sternum. He closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms to quiet the hyperactive organ in his chest. “Loki’s dead.”
Her chin came up like a frightened rabbit. “How?”
“A rocket-propelled grenade blew up his car.”
“Oh no.” She deflated, sinking inches down the wall. “He was very kind, and so old. All that knowledge…”
“He was uncertain whether to trust you. I, however, am not. Your being here has Ethan written all over it. He loves Trojan horses. Zoey was his first.”
Gwen pressed her tongue between her lips for a moment before she spoke. “Then why are you here?”
“Did you know about the bomb?”
“No.”
He wanted to throttle her frail neck, but he fisted his hands and pressed agains
t the door instead. “Liar. What else is Ethan planning? Does he know how the shield works?”
“He never shared things like that with me, just demanded I translate his precious codex.” Her peevish tone nearly persuaded him, but not quite.
“I know you are communicating with him.”
“How could I? Zoey searched me.”
She made perfect sense, and it infuriated him even more. He broke out in a sweat, and trembled with anger. “You’re on the wrong side, Gwen. Ethan is not the good guy.”
She lowered her head. “I know that. But if you don’t believe me, just leave me be. I’m fine here. I’m safe, as long as I’m away from him.”
“No. You’re not. No one is safe until this war ends. A war he escalated by stirring up all this violence. Did you see them, Gwen, the women and children he sacrificed to his cause?”
She closed her eyes and swallowed, by all appearances the first genuine response she’d showed.
“If that’s how you feel, tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, another false emotion, a watery curtain to hide behind.
Perhaps he had to speak Ethan’s language to get through to her—a disgusting last resort. He raised his hand to hit her.
A white hot pain pierced his gut and he doubled over. She stood against the wall, hands pressed flat, her mouth fallen open—just as surprised as he was. The pain knotted and twisted, like someone turned a giant corkscrew inside him. Then he toppled, and the world went black.
Gwen stared at the crumpled form of Lucas at her feet, then across the cement floor at the gray steel door, closed but unlocked.
His warm breath against her hand confirmed he was alive. How long would he be out? She gently shook his shoulder, but he didn’t murmur or stir at all.
His unexpected faint provided her a way into the house. If she came across someone, she could claim to be searching for help. But hopefully she would find the shield instead. She glanced at the pillow on the bed. Would it buy her more time to smother him with it?
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