BloodlustBundle

by Margaret Carter, Crystal Green, Erica Orloff, Patricia Rosemor

  “This.” Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he untied his shoes. “You wanted to see me naked.” Once divested of shoes and socks, he unbuttoned his shirt. She stared at him in silent shock. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be reciprocal unless you choose. Although, I won’t deny how much I crave the sight and touch of you.”

  “I’ll think about it.” “Think” wasn’t quite the word for the turmoil in her brain and body. Already she itched to stroke the fine hair on his chest and listen to him purr. She noticed a tremor in his hands. I don’t believe this, he’s nervous, too.

  “No other female has ever seen me unclothed.” He shrugged out of the shirt and unfastened his belt buckle.

  “You mean no human female, don’t you?” Oh, Lord, he’s really undressing!

  “No, I meant what I said. I’ve never been chosen to mate, so I’ve never had a reason to do this with anyone.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve never—” It seemed incredible that a man who’d ravished her into oblivion was technically a virgin.

  “You needn’t look at me in that pitying way,” he said with a grin. “I can’t miss what I’ve never had. Besides, according to males of my species who’ve experienced both, feasting on the passion of a willing donor far surpasses the intensity of simple mating.”

  “Drinking blood is better than sex?”

  “For us, it is sex—or rather, our means of erotic satisfaction. And it’s more than the blood. The donor’s fulfillment feeds us.” In his voice she heard a longing that echoed the burning intensity of his gaze. “Yet for the first time I feel I have missed something vital. I want to join with you and fulfill you in every way, with every facet of my body and mind. But only if you desire it.”

  Her cheeks burned at the thought of how she’d writhed in delirium under his touch. “Just how many other women have you ‘feasted’ on the way you did me? Hundreds? Thousands?”

  “No others, not like that. I’ve never allowed any others to know the full truth about my nature. I’ve never before merged my thoughts with a donor’s and stripped my own emotions bare.” After stepping out of his slacks, he removed his briefs, too, and draped the clothes over the headboard. The triangle of hair ended in a point at his navel, below which a thin line of the same velvety dark hair arrowed downward. He looked like an ordinary man below the waist. Except that few ordinary men had lean, catlike muscles overlaid by skin the paleness of marble. “I’m thirsty for you. Not just for your blood, but for that total union. I’ve dreamed of it over and over, then awakened feeling hollow.”

  Hollow. Oh, yes, so have I! She flashed on a fantasy of twining herself around him and drawing him into her to fill that aching emptiness. She sensed his awareness of that image and the way his thoughts mirrored hers, though he said nothing.

  Conscious that she was staring, she dragged her gaze up to his face. “I’ve dreamed, too. Lots of times. About the time you drank—the time we bonded. If that’s what you call it.”

  He nodded. “My kind aren’t supposed to dream with such frequency and vividness. It’s never happened to me before. As if you had invaded my mind and wouldn’t leave.”

  “I felt that way too, about you. But you were a couple of thousands of miles away, so it wasn’t you. It was me.” Admitting her desire aloud, with the reassurance that it wasn’t one-sided, loosened the tightness in her chest. “What now?”

  “Whatever you decide. I’m entirely at your mercy.”

  “I want to touch you.”

  He froze, not even visibly breathing. Linnet got up from the chair and stood over him. When she ran her palms down his chest, enjoying the silken-velvet texture of the hair, he tilted his head to look up at her. Determined not to give way to her fears, she met his eyes. A trace of red glinted in their silver.

  She picked up his right hand, turned it over, and fingered the tiny hairs in the palm. He shivered as if her touch chilled him. “What’s wrong?” she murmured.

  “Nothing. It’s very…intense.”

  “This?” She traced a circle on his open hand.

  “Yes…” he sighed. “It tingles. Almost as intensely as when I caress you and feel the heat of your blood.”

  The words set off a tingling in her own body. Her nipples peaked. She trailed her fingers down his chest again. This time she didn’t stop at the waist. When she reached the nest of hair at the apex of his thighs, she paused. He encouraged her with a slow nod.

  She gently closed her hand around his shaft. Unlike a human male, he hadn’t shown any response there so far. When she squeezed, though, the flesh hardened. “You like that?”

  He closed his eyes momentarily. “Any touch from you brings pleasure.”

  “You said that kind of contact wasn’t a priority for you.”

  “It isn’t.” He opened his eyes and made a sound like a rumbling purr, while she stroked up and down. “That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. With you.”

  With her free hand, she lifted his hand to her lips and flicked the fine hairs with her tongue. He convulsed as if she’d bitten him. Weird, she thought. This is more of an erogenous zone than…? Smiling at his discomfort, she licked his palm again and skimmed her fingernails over his erection.

  “Linnet, please,” he groaned. “Let me touch you.”

  “All right,” she whispered.

  He insinuated one hand into her hair and pulled it free of the scrunchy, rubbing the back of her neck until she wished she could purr, too. His other hand crept under her T-shirt and cupped each breast in turn. She arched her back, impatient with the barrier of her bra.

  As if he could read her thoughts even in the absence of mental contact, he said, “I want to savor you without all this.”

  Past worrying about the wisdom of letting him get that close, she peeled off her shirt, then unhooked the bra and tossed it aside. He fondled both breasts, the hairs in his palms tickling the nipples, making them harden and prickle. “Oh, yes,” he hissed.

  “That’s not all you want, is it?”

  “My whole body is ravenous. I want to run my hands over your naked skin, taste you, bathe in the glow of your aura.” Abruptly, he stopped caressing her. “Forgive me. I didn’t plan to influence you this way.”

  “Too late,” she gasped. “Don’t stop now.” At his questioning look, she said, “Don’t worry, I won’t accuse you of seducing me out of my right mind. I want you, too. I admit it. You satisfied now?”

  “I haven’t begun to be satisfied.” With a growl, he returned one hand to her neck, massaging the nape under her hair and teasing the pulse point at the side of her throat, while his other hand attacked the zipper of her shorts.

  Trembling, she helped him, wrestling with a tangle of cloth until she stood over him fully exposed. Clasping her derriere, he lowered his mouth to her waist. He nibbled a path over her stomach, down to the triangle of hair and into the cleft below. A bolt of fire lanced through her. Moaning, she grabbed his shoulders, afraid she might collapse. Her nails dug into his flesh. Like a dancing flame, his tongue flickered over the aching nub until she exploded.

  “You taste wonderful.” He eased her onto the bed. Her head spinning, she let him place her on her back. “It’s almost the same flavor as your blood. And you smell delicious.”

  A hot blush spread over her whole body. “All sweaty, with no perfume?”

  “I don’t want perfume. It only disguises your irresistible fragrance.” To her surprise, he licked her stomach, circling her navel and making her skin tingle. “What a delectably salty appetizer. May I give you pleasure again?”

  “You didn’t ask permission the first time.” She could hardly force herself to meet his crimson-tinged gaze.

  “Your body invited it. I felt your need. But I don’t want to go any further against your wishes.” He turned onto his back. “What do you want of me now?”

  She clasped his erection again. “If we made love in the regular way, should I worry about getting pregnant?”

  “No, our males
are infertile except with females of our own race.” His voice wavered, as if he worried about how she might react to this admission. She couldn’t focus on side issues now, though.

  “But you could still…penetrate?” The firmness of his shaft left her little doubt.

  “If that is what you want.”

  Before she could lose her nerve, pushed him to his back and she climbed astride him. Her hot wetness opened to him. Even if she’d changed her mind at the last second, her body couldn’t have stopped. He gasped aloud as she took him in. “Linnet, please, I need—”

  “What?” she whispered, already absorbed in the rhythm of rocking on top of him, her nails scoring his chest.

  “Let me in—all the way.”

  Hearing the desperation in his voice, she couldn’t deny him. She threw her mind wide-open. He slipped in as smoothly as he’d plunged into her body. Yet just before they completed the merging, she sensed fear in him. He dreaded getting swallowed up as much as she did. The kernel of ice at the center of her own fear dissolved at that realization. It’s all right, Max. Come in. She dove into the depths of his mind like jumping into a cold pond, which almost instantly heated to a steaming whirlpool.

  Their thoughts flowed together like two streams into a lake, yet each current remained itself. What was I afraid of, anyway? She felt his delight at the pressure of her internal muscles around him. At the same time, she felt her own climax building and sensed his passion rising to its peak in unison with hers.

  Yes, he silently urged. Again—again—let me soar with you—once more—yes! She spiraled up over and over, carrying him with her, while his renewed passion ignited hers whenever it began to fade. Draw my blood, Linnet. Taste me.

  Spurred by the frantic need that strained within him, she scored his chest with her nails. In their aroused condition, neither of them felt the scratch as pain. When the blood trickled, he begged, Now, taste me. Please!

  She licked the drops and felt him shudder in fresh surges of ecstasy. Unlike the faintly salty taste of her own blood when she’d occasionally sucked on a small cut, Max’s vital fluid fizzed like champagne on her tongue. Yet she also felt his sensations, a burning in his throat and the pit of his stomach. You’re thirsty.

  I told you that. But if you don’t want your blood sipped, I’m content with the energy you’ve lavished on me. It’s more satisfaction than I’ve had in—than I’ve ever had.

  Go ahead. Drink! She threw her head back. His teeth nipped the hollow of her throat, and his tongue lapped, goading her to another cycle of climaxes. She tasted the tart sweetness of her blood on his lips. Finally she melted into a blissful daze.

  When her head stopped reeling, she snuggled up to the cool, smooth length of his body. “See, there was nothing to be afraid of.”

  Tightening his arm around her, he nuzzled the top of her head. “Are you reassuring me or yourself?”

  “Both, I guess. Taking the plunge into total commitment can be scary whether you’re human or not.” She drew breath for the final dive. “Max, I love you.” While she waited for his response, her heart raced with anxiety, a sound she knew he could hear.

  “And I love you.” The statement sounded tentative, almost a question. “I love you,” he repeated more firmly. “It feels very strange to say that. But it must be true, because I can’t bear the thought of losing you. Linnet, could you accept living a large percentage of your future in darkness?”

  “Why not? Darkness is just as natural as light.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Will you spend your life with me?”

  “No matter how short it is compared to yours?” She couldn’t forget the catastrophic end of Anthony and Deanna’s love.

  Max guided her hand to his chest, so that she felt the pounding of his heart. “Forget about duration. No one can guarantee that. Take each night as it comes. We’ll make every one unforgettable.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Oh, yes, my beloved. Always.”

  Joy bubbled up in her. She nudged him onto his back and rolled on top of him. “In that case, want to start with tonight?”

  The Huntress

  By Crystal Green

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Camille Howard tried to control her heartbeat as she shifted under the sweating, beefy man who was straining on top of her.

  She was on her back in a Transylvanian meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, thighs wrapped around the thick, vein-strung neck of a local peasant.

  Choking and gurgling, the man clutched at her formfitting khaki fatigues as she squeezed her legs together. His eyes bulged, watering. A tear dropped onto her chest from the slope of his cheek.

  Good for him. He’d lasted longer than the other four guys she’d wrestled so far.

  But he still hadn’t proved he could be of any use.

  Infinite seconds passed as he huffed. A burst of wood smoke darkened the spring sun, then cleared. She had enough time to turn her head, to survey the crowd of Vasile village men watching the match.

  All of them looked about ready to wet their pants.

  Their fear—her own hovering fear, too—concerned Camille. None of them had the luxury of being afraid. Not if they were going after the strigoiaca.

  Strigoiaca. Camille clenched her thighs even more at the thought of them. Five female vampires who’d survived hundreds of years on the blood of Romanian men. They roamed the countryside, looking to sustain themselves once every year, when their pet males died and the female creatures needed to replenish their food supply.

  Nine months ago, they’d stocked up in the village of Juni. Now Camille wanted to take back what was hers.

  Damn the strigoiaca.

  The peasant gave a tiny catlike yowl between her legs.

  All right. So he’d had enough of her Brazilian jujitsu, a martial art that didn’t depend solely on strength. A lot of it was technique.

  Hell, even a five-foot-five-inch, 124-pound scrapper like her could take down the Hulk with her training. As she was now proving.

  Camille held back a resigned sigh when, after a last-ditch grunt, the peasant tried to pry her legs apart. She reacted by calmly grasping her shin, levering her leg farther downward.

  “Opri!” Stop. His plea was a desperate wheeze.

  Dammit. If any of these Vasile men were going to be of any help whatsoever, they were going to have to grab their sacs.

  Frustration—bitterness—roiled through her veins. Instead of letting the man free, she held him steady.

  He let out an anguished groan. Wuss.

  “So you want me to stop?” she asked in pretty flawless Romanian, if she said so herself.

  Well, her accent had better be perfect. She’d been in Romania for most of the past year studying the language…and more. The doc, Beatrix Grasu, would throttle her if she heard even a trace of American pie creep in.

  “Opri! Yes!” The peasant’s face was the color of a plum that’d been crushed under an 18-wheeler’s tire.

  Finally, she loosened her grip a little, but didn’t let go. She needed to prove a point to these guys, these men who thought that their village women weren’t strong enough to hunt vampires.

  She shot a glance at the rest of the male crowd. Their friend’s indignity had collected some perspiration on the
ir brows, right under their fur caps.

  Just you wait, she thought. This is nothing compared to what we’ll go through out in the wilds.

  “Ah!”

  Camille’s captive pounded at her thighs. Oh, brother. She hated when she made men cry.

  Not to be cruel, but…

  She allowed her fingers to linger on her ankle, almost as if she was intending to snap the guy’s neck off with one more wrench southward.

  The crowd pulled in a shocked breath.

  Another flex of her fingers. Ready to jam down, to cut off air with more viselike pressure.

  The peasant’s eyelids fluttered.

  It was a good thing she didn’t have fangs, she thought. This peach would’ve been drained three minutes ago.

  Just as one of the peasant men stepped forward—right, as if he was really going to take her on—she released her victim, rolled to a sitting position, then to a stand, in one fluid motion.

  She made a point of looking pissed off, of drilling a stare into each and every male in the front row. They all glanced away, clearly embarrassed to have been manhandled by a whippet-thin, pale chick who wasn’t much to inspire thoughts of superheroine beauty.

  “You think that was harsh?” she asked in their tongue. “I’ve seen what those vampires can do.”

  She held out her arms in invitation to the men as her victimized peasant balanced himself to his knees, grabbed his tumbled cap and slunk away.

  “So who’s next? Who’s quicker?” She lowered her chin. “Who can tear me apart before I can do it to you?”

  No answer.