He ignored her struggles and the threat. “I would prefer you offer me your wrist, but I realize, given the circumstances, that is unlikely. I will have to beg your forgiveness after the bite,” he warned her before carefully moving her hair from one side of her neck.
His scent was less strong than Daemon’s because he was only holding her from behind, not crowding her from the front.
She picked up the smoky hint of fire and mossy earth. The pommel of a sword pressed against her side as he shifted to bite.
She hoped their power would be a mismatch. He would only be able to detect the magic he possessed himself, tasting for the magic-binding proteins his power needed.
How different were fire and lightning?
His warm breath moved from her ear to the side of her neck. He hovered there a moment, as if expecting her to protest further, but she deemed it too risky.
He would bite her and then move on.
She tried not to think of the tight ball of lightning in her chest, as if she could hide it from the bite by not acknowledging it.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
In a flash, it was Daemon’s mouth, inches from her neck. He was sucking hard on her wrist and staring into her eyes, his wicked gaze telling her how good it would feel if she let him take her vein next.
The sharp pain of fangs piercing her neck was quickly soothed by the healing agents in the vampire’s saliva, numbing her skin. The pull of her blood was as quick and efficient as his exam had been.
His fangs were out of her neck within seconds of puncture.
He politely licked the wound, without sucking more blood out. Swollen fangs gently brushed against her skin, still ready to feed.
A flutter started in her stomach, not as indifferent as she thought she would be to another bite.
“You are delicious, little one,” he said, whispering in her ear again.
Her nipples hardened in a delayed reaction. Arousal from the bite hit her, now that the fear of it was over.
A male in his prime had tasted her. She couldn’t deny it had been pleasant, even if she had imagined it had been another.
A witch of feeding age had a pleasurable response hard-wired into her body if she felt attracted to the vampire. Her body’s response was the same as any other physical arousal.
It primed her for feeding.
She must have liked his voice and hands more than she’d realized if that was all it took. She refused to believe the mere thought of Daemon biting her had her aroused.
It was embarrassing, especially when she realized the feelings had probably been all her own with the next words whispered in her ear.
“I hope you found another vampire’s harem to join, for our magic is not compatible,” he whispered. “I can find you by the blood I took from you. Why not make this easier and tell me his name? A beautiful witch like you would have had plenty of offers.”
She ignored the compliment. “So, you bit me to track me down, not to offer me the protection of your harem?” she accused.
Stupid to forget that aspect of tasting.
“You’re not an idiot,” he said. “Your grace, however, leaves much to be desired.”
“Maybe, a kick in the balls will be more ladylike next time you kidnap me,” she muttered half under her breath.
“I pity the vampire you are going to name, for I’m sure he has no idea what kind of trouble you are going to be, but I still need to know all the same.”
She took a deep breath and said the name guaranteed to get her released before she could change her mind. She wanted to scare the vampire that had forced his bite on her a little, too.
“Daemon.”
“I think I misheard you,” the vampire whispered.
His voice wasn’t so calm now.
“Prince fucking Daemon,” she enunciated slowly.
He got the hell off of her body, letting her go like she had the plague and backing up.
She would have taken a swipe at him once he released her, but it was still pitch black in the room.
“Why don’t you look at my wrist and you’ll see his mark,” she said, fed up with these dominating male games.
No matter that this vampire seemed to genuinely want to protect her because she was a female, a witch he presumed helpless due to her sex. Some males couldn’t stop themselves from reflexive manners when it came to females.
Feminism had a long way to go in Maeren.
“Prince Daemon doesn’t have a harem. I think you’ve been fooled.”
“Do you want to take that chance?” she asked.
“Who are you?” he asked.
He was closing in on her again, coming around to face her. She wondered if he could see in the dark better than her.
“Just another witch looking for a prince’s harem,” she said.
One of many to be lost in the crowd, she hoped.
“Well, little one, you should be careful what you wish for,” he said, sending a shiver down her spine.
He was standing so close that she could feel his body heat.
She tried to step sideways, bumping her knee into a chair before the vampire grabbed her elbow and steered her towards the door.
“Let’s try not to break anything else tonight, shall we?” he suggested.
“Should I expect to be tracked down for further midnight feeds?” she asked, worried that he could track her now.
“No,” he said. “As tempting as you are, we do not match in magic. Nor do I want to have a witch who responds to my bite when she’s thinking of someone else piercing her skin.”
Elizabeth was glad of the dark, for it hid her blush.
He was right, her response had been because Prince Daemon had gotten her so worked up earlier that it had left her vulnerable to another vampire’s bite.
He turned her toward the door, and away from him, his firm grip on her shoulders making it obvious that she was not to turn back to look at him.
As he opened the door, he gave her one last piece of advice.
“I hope we do not meet like this again.”
Make the Bed You Lie In
There was a demon in Elizabeth's bed.
It said a lot about her night that her first instinct was to close the door on him and go to sleep with Jill. The castle was bursting with nosy, pushy, and powerful vampires, so the demon wasn’t that much of a surprise.
She must have invoked him with her lie to her mother about him not being interested in her. Or the lie to the vampire that nipped her after healing her leg.
She’d misled on what that encounter on the balcony had meant.
Had she been the one misunderstanding all along?
Just what was Prince Daemon doing here?
They meant nothing to each other.
It had to be him. This was her room.
Sure, it was dark and the bed covers were drawn, but she could make out the red shirt that identified her bed’s occupant.
It was hanging on her bedpost, enough light provided by the flickering fire from the hearth to identify the shirt’s colour. She could even see the darkening, where his dried blood stained the back of the shirt.
Her chilled room was so toasty, she had almost stepped back out, thinking she had entered the wrong room.
This was entirely possible in her unfamiliar surroundings and without wearing glasses, at night, for greater detail.
It didn’t take much myopia to mistake a housecoat for a shirt. A big, half-naked male taking up half her bed was more obvious to identify.
As she looked closer, squinting slightly and blinking, she made out her familiar black bags, still packed by the foot of the bed.
Besides the shirt, there was the fire burning without wood to fuel it.
Who else, but a demon prince, had enough magic to literally burn while waiting for her to arrive?
She walked into the room, her mind racing through her options.
So much for not being interested in her. She hadn't lied to her mother, exactl
y. Omitting her punch-drunk attempt to drive Daemon away by throwing herself all over him wasn't lying.
It was understating the situation.
“Get out,” she demanded.
She’d had way too little sleep to want to deal with anyone getting in between her and hitting the sack. Her leg still ached from its recent healing and these slippers were too flimsy for the miles she’d put on them.
Stone floors really required sturdier footwear.
She watched as Daemon stretched out on her bed, plumping her pillow under his head. He looked comfortable, the bed large enough to hold his tall frame.
She would be swallowed up in its luxurious depths.
“Get out of my bed . . . now!” she ordered, emphasizing that time was of the essence.
She debated whipping the blankets off of him with air and stealing them back to make a nest in the corner of the room. Fatigue made this seem like a reasonable idea instead of an immature response to a blanket-hogging sibling.
She’d bet that Daemon wouldn’t roll over and ignore her like Jill.
He patted a spot beside him on the bed, his hand caressing her soft, warm blanket.
Point given. If possession was nine-tenths of the law, she was not getting him out of her bed.
Good thing she kept her bags packed.
She strode over to the foot of the bed and grabbed her two suitcases, quickly pivoting to walk out the door. Her first instinct had been right.
He was fast and mostly naked as he leapt out of bed and breezed past her.
She halted, torn between keeping her eyes on the demon in the dark and giving in to the impulse to squeeze her eyes shut.
Apparently, linen drawers were a thing in Maeren and they were awfully thin.
He leaned against the door jamb to block her exit and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a smug chest, an immovable block of chiselled muscle that laid claim to her door like he had the bed.
She wanted to smite that chest with a lightning bolt right to the centre of his entitled heart.
Shocking him literally wasn’t worth the risk of revealing that power.
Slamming him with the door against the wall, as she used air, was a very satisfactory second choice.
Now, she could add angry to his description of fast and mostly naked.
She couldn’t see him to tell his mood exactly, but she could guess.
The fireplace had extinguished the moment she had slammed him with the door. A chain of black fire lassoed tight against her right wrist to prevent escape.
He carefully and slowly re-shut her door with air, before he turned the lock.
She was tugged by her fire-chained wrist to the bed.
“I snore and hog the covers,” she warned him.
Her brain rejected throwing him out on his royal ass, narrowing the rest of her choices to less pleasant methods. He was too damn big.
“Undress,” he ordered her, releasing her wrist from the black fire.
He relit the hearth, so she could see him impatiently tapping his foot while waiting for her to comply.
Princes were a whole other level of entitlement.
How did she rebuff him without offending his royal sensibilities?
She thought they'd established that earlier tonight had been flirting with the boy on the wrong side of the tracks, not an invitation to bed.
Okay, so there may have been mixed signals.
He reached to help her out of her gown when she stood there too long.
She jumped away, the back of her legs smacking into the side of the bed. Her newly healed leg rebelled and she fell onto the bed.
“Stop! Not so fast,” she told him, feeling a bit foolish when she realized he hadn’t moved a step closer.
“Either you take it off or I will,” he told her.
She sat up on the bed. “Nobody is undressing.”
She looked at his golden skin on display and tacked on, “. . . further . . . Nobody is undressing further.”
He crossed his arms over his chest again, blocking her view of his carved pecs. The sizeable biceps he flexed made up for it.
“This is your room?” he clarified.
She nodded to his biceps. She refused to feel guilty about it. The demon wanted to take her to bed. She ought to be able to check out the goods first.
There weren’t males built like him in the human realm.
“You don't go to bed in a ball gown, right?” he asked, interrupting her view with having to think about a response.
She didn’t exactly take ball gowns off every night.
She didn’t go to bed with demons or flirt with them longer than to get her stake between their ribs, either, but apparently, tonight was one for many firsts.
“I can't,” she said, letting her lashes flutter as Jill did so effortlessly. Her own effort may have been wasted in the dim light. “My mother will be here any minute to help me undo all these buttons. There must be at least one-hundred.”
She looked down at her feet, the only safe area left with his nakedness filling the room.
She’d threatened him with discovery by the parental unit. Anyone that knew her mother would run now.
“Your mother undresses you?” he asked.
His voice was closer. She felt his hand reach around to brush the many buttons lining her back to confirm her problem.
“Where is your maid?”
Stupid slip up! “We travelled light,” Elizabeth tried to explain.
As if a maid was something she forgot to pack! Servants hadn’t been a part of her life since she was a toddler and Cook had let her butter the rolls in the mornings.
His hand lingered on her back, fiddling the buttons without really trying to undo them.
“You need someone with a better fashion sense. A dress is meant to enhance, not hide.”
Well, technically, that was the main purpose of this hideous gown.
“I get cold easily,” she excused.
She would have dressed in layers if her mother had allowed it. Her leather jacket with its raised collar had always been reliable at blocking unwanted fangs. It was more fashionable, too.
“Lie on your front and I’ll assist you,” he commanded and offered all at once.
He took another step forward, crowding her on the bed. His gall was astonishing!
Yelling hadn’t worked. Magic had failed to impress. A hundred tiny pearl buttons didn't scare him.
She must have done better at her seductive act than she'd believed possible with this jaded prince if he was still pursuing her.
What happened to him telling her to leave on the balcony?
This was the most dangerous male in the castle for her to tangle with if she wanted to keep her lightning secret.
She couldn't let him undress her. She didn't even think she’d be able to keep up her refusal if he kissed her lips, much less stroked her naked skin, with her magic so primed.
She was still feeling the effects of the other vampire’s bite on her neck, which Daemon hadn’t noticed yet with her hair down.
Anything more was going to set her off like a rocket.
Feminine outrage was all she had left.
She couldn’t believe it had come down to this. What she wouldn't give for a stake, but her mother had known better than to let Elizabeth keep the weapons.
Revealing she could kick demon ass was not blending in.
They had trained to use this exact tactic against old-fashioned, male protective instincts. She and Jill had laughed so hard, they nearly broke a rib, when they role-played such a ridiculous tactic.
Ha, the last laugh was on her.
“No!”
She stomped on his foot with her good leg.
“No!”
She kicked his shin, albeit with her court slippers.
It was ineffective at hurting him, but he did step back. It was surprisingly relieving for her.
Take that, you big, stupid, sexy demon!
She jumped up and started pumm
elling him with all her frustration. She had a lot built up.
He reacted as most males did when confronted with a female having a fit of fury.
“Stop it!” he ordered with a hiss as her tiny fists bounced harmlessly off his chest.
She did it again. Bam, bam, and bam!
Damn, he was hard. Swinging swords around did a body good.
Fake fighting him was working up a sweat for her but didn't seem to impact him.
She hoped this would be enough. Fake crying was too difficult.
He caught both her fists, but she was still able to stomp. His feet were bare, so her slippers made an impact on his toes as she stomped onto the floor with enthusiasm.
She twisted against his hold on her arms.
“Let me go!” she demanded.
She fought a little more earnestly.
He was getting terribly close to embracing her again.
They danced in an odd, jerking waltz as he tried to keep his toes clear, but refused to let her go.
She was tempted to hum Ballroom Blitz.
Someone knocked on the door, sending it shaking against its abused hinges.
“Elizabeth? Are you still awake?” her mother called.
Thank goodness, the thick door muffled her fight with the demon.
“Not really awake,” Elizabeth lied, breathless. “Can it wait until morning?”
Daemon took advantage of her distraction to pick her up off her feet.
Oh, he was slick.
Her mother's air barrier snapped up around the room.
“Why is your door locked?” her mother asked.
“You told me to lock myself in my room, without supper, after that little accident at the ball,” Elizabeth reminded her.
Her grumpy voice let Daemon know this was because of him.
“There were finger sandwiches at the ball,” her mother said, ignoring the complaint. “It’s Jill,” her mother added. “There is somebody with her . . . in her room.”
Ah, that explained the sudden visit.
Elizabeth slumped in the muscled arms holding her, letting Daemon take all her weight if he was going to try to manhandle her.
She knew her mother wanted her to see what her sister was up to by using her telepathic lightning connection, but it would be too risky with the demon touching her.
It was already suspicious enough that he was in her room.
Every Witch Demon but Mine (Maeren Series Book 1) Page 13
