by Tessa Dawn
She felt her larynx constrict. “I meant…thirsty. I think I’m very, very thirsty.”
He appraised her thoughtfully for the span of several heartbeats, and then he extended his hand. “Come here.”
She eyed the patio doors, the railing, and finally, the space between them, every cell in her body wanting to take off running. Just why, she couldn’t articulate if she had to. “I’m fine,” she murmured.
“Natalia, what’s going on? Have we not made further inroads than this? You know me, at least a little. You know who I am. Why the sudden fear?”
God bless her—and if the angels were truly merciful, they would just strike her dead—but her eyes went back to his crotch, again. There was just so much…going on there. Well, not like things were moving…or changing…but there was just way too much…stuff…packed in those gym shorts, and it was seriously making her nervous. Mortified, she dropped her head into her hands and covered her face with her fingers.
She was a bona fide idiot.
“Hey…” His voice was soft and sultry—and directly in her ear. Somehow, Santos had glided forward, though she had never heard him move. “Natalia girl…” He tunneled one hand in her hair, and slowly lowered her wrists with the other.
She peeked up at him through descending lashes, and he held her gaze, unerringly.
She started to jolt, to pull backward, and he slid his hand down from her hair to the small of her back, holding her steadily in place. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You can look at me.”
She blanched, felt her face grow flushed, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He just stood there, his eyes locked to hers, anchoring her in place with his hand.
Her gaze drifted up from his eyes to his perfectly shaped brows, and she reached out with a tentative finger to trace the symmetrical outline.
He didn’t move a muscle: He was so quiet, so steady, so easy…
She drew back her finger and angled her head to the side, momentarily shying away.
He just waited…
And she regarded him again, this time studying his timeless features; the sharp, dynamic angles of his cheekbones and the straight, solid ridge of his nose. And then her eyes dropped down to his lips—those tantalizing, firm, almost pouty lips—she had never seen anything like them. Her breath quickened as she reached out once more to trace the contours of his mouth, before swiftly withdrawing her hand, closing her eyes, and retreating back into awkward silence.
He took her hand in his, slowly raised it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss into the center of her palm. “You know what I find most surprising?” he asked, waiting until she reopened her eyes.
She shook her head shyly and bit her bottom lip.
His expression warmed. “The fact that you are the single most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and unquestionably, the most alluring, yet you find my presence…my body…intimidating.” Following the lead she had already set, he traced her slender shoulders, outlined her narrow collarbone, and trailed a soft, gentle finger along the swell of her breasts, causing her satin robe to fall open. “Rest assured, Natalia, I am the one who is at your mercy.”
Natalia gasped.
She swept a nervous hand into her hair and tucked a thick grouping of long, dark locks behind her ear. “I’m like a fish out of water.” She spoke so softly it was nearly inaudible.
“You are like a precious, uncut diamond, still ensconced inside a magnificent mountain: sharp, yet stunning; dazzling, yet pure; dangerous, yet so very resplendent,” he said, caressing her cheek with his hand, and then he slowly bent down to kiss her, stopping just short of touching his lips to hers.
She shivered, waiting, as he hovered above her, but to her surprise, he did not close the distance between them. He simply lingered…tantalized…settled into the magnetic connection. And in that moment, his breath mingled with hers like the scent of fresh snow on a pine-topped mountain—crisp, cool, and inviting—and his soul transcended her hesitation.
Natalia rose up to her toes, braced both palms on his shoulders, and pressed her lips to his.
And that’s when Santos took over.
Natalia Giovanni was a walking paradox.
Bold, yet shy.
Hungry, yet reluctant.
Deeply desirous of sensual contact, yet wholly terrified of intimacy.
And the way she stared at Santos had set his blood on fire…
But he had to be careful.
Oh, so careful…
Scooping her into his arms, he carried her off the terrace, through the living room, and down the hall, back to his master bedroom. Their first time would not be carnal and wild, outside on the open deck, or hurried in any way.
Laying her gently atop his mattress, he felt both her fear and her hesitation: the way the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and her arms coated with goose bumps.
But he also felt her longing.
And he wanted her to feel his presence, the full measure of his masculine desire, the security of his arms and his body wrapped around her, so he didn’t hesitate to blanket her feminine curves with his rock-hard frame, or to settle his hips up against hers.
She squirmed just a bit, nervous and uneasy, but then she settled quietly beneath him.
Careful to keep the brunt of his weight off her slender figure, he began to caress her in non-intrusive places: along the length of her neck, down the curves of her shoulders, under her arms, and beside her breasts…down the length of her body.
She arched into his touch, and he lowered his mouth to taste her.
First her lips, then her jaw, then the hollow beneath her ears.
He dragged his fangs, ever so lightly, along her jugular, and he felt her hips swivel beneath him. He groaned because he couldn’t help it, and then he captured her mouth once again, this time tasting her lips, her tongue, and her curiosity, before deepening the contact with more passion.
When Natalia pulled back, Santos moved his attention to her forehead, her eyelids, her jawline. When she turned toward him, he took her mouth again, dancing between pleasing and tasting. When she initiated exploration, seeking his tongue with hers, he knew she was coming awake beneath him, and he nipped her bottom lip with his canines and swirled his tongue in the blood, allowing his primal being to savor the taste of his destiny.
She was panting now and beginning to squirm in earnest.
He brought his wrist to his mouth, scored it with the tips of his fangs, and held it just above her parted lips, allowing the crimson elixir to drip into her mouth like wine. A few droplets stained her bottom lip, and despite all her previous reservations, her tongue darted out to taste it. When a soft, feminine purr rose in her elegant throat and her stomach clenched beneath his, Santos knew that he had her.
His hands went to her breasts: claiming, kneading, massaging.
He circled and teased her nipples—at first, through the satin—until he felt the peaks respond to his touch and stiffen. Drawing back to remove her robe—to slide the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders—he suppressed a shudder at the sight of her soft, full, perfect breasts.
Dear celestial gods; she was utterly…and unequivocally…flawless.
He bent to taste each of the tantalizing offerings, spending more time than a male had a right to, teasing her into near incoherence.
She breathed his name, and it was like a prayer: a beautiful, spiritual offering.
“I want you, Natalia,” Santos rasped. “Your body…your mind…your essence. I want to bury my body deep inside yours and take you with me to heaven. Will you come with me, angel?” He slid his hand down her waist, over her hips, and into the alcove between her pelvis and her thigh. Her head fell back against the downy pillow, her trembling lips parted in wonder, and her dark, glorious hair fanned out around her like a celestial halo.
She looked like an angelic goddess with a crown made of deep brown, gossamer silk.
Santos grinded his groin against her, allowing her to feel the
full length and girth of his masculine desire—his hunger, his arousal, and his need—wanting her to grow familiar with his throbbing erection.
She stiffened just a bit.
Froze for a couple of seconds.
And then her thighs drew back, and she cradled him in the nexus of her body.
He moaned in pleasure, rotating his hips again…and again…and again, against her.
“Santos…” Her voice was raw and breathy.
He drew back, just far enough to slowly undress her—to remove the rest of her robe and her nightgown—and then he dipped down to taste every inch of feminine flesh, the moment he exposed it: tantalizing…teasing…exploring, through her panties.
Oh gods, they were delicate, red, and lacy.
He almost snarled, but he repressed it.
Rather, he slid his tongue beneath the lace as he removed it: tracing every contour, claiming every silhouette, and exploring every centimeter of exquisite definition, until his lips finally settled on the heat at her core, and he began to suckle in earnest.
Natalia writhed and whimpered.
She buried her hands in his hair and jackknifed off the bed, and Santos knew he had her invitation.
Slipping out of his gym shorts, he locked his mind with hers, redirecting her pain receptors to filter through his synapses instead. And then he didn’t give her time to overthink it or worry. He buried the full length of his erection deep into her center and held his body above hers as she adjusted and finally shuddered in pleasure…pain…and satisfaction.
The corners of her eyes filled with tears, but she wasn’t experiencing any discomfort.
If anything, Santos was the one catching his breath as Natalia’s stretching, burning, and invasion channeled through his quivering body.
A few tentative moments.
Relaxing into the union.
Allowing her body to receive his penetration.
And she began to rock against him.
He released the mental hold on her sensations and began to thrust in earnest: slow and steady, then rhythmic and firm, until he was finally driving with abandon.
Time stood still, their union seeming to last for a lifetime, until at last, they reached a climax together, and she clung to his shoulders and cried out in ecstasy.
Gently lowering his mass to settle on top of her, he kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her lips before he withdrew his body, rolled to his side, and cradled his destiny close to his heart.
Natalia was weeping.
And Santos had to take a moment to process the intensity of her emotion…
Closing his eyes, he dipped into her mind—he had to be sure he hadn’t hurt her: not her body, not her spirit, and not their burgeoning connection. He had to know she wasn’t crying out of regret…but it was nothing like that.
Natalia was crying because she had finally let go…
Of all her fear, her self-control, and her endless isolation.
She was crying because it had finally hit her…
For the first time in her life, she was free.
For the first time in her life, she was no longer alone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Keitaro Silivasi stared at Marquis as the Ancient Master Warrior paced along the expansive front porch.
Zayda was still sitting on the front stoop, looking shocked, terrified, and completely lost.
Nathaniel and Nachari were each leaning against the log-pine railing, restless but keeping a lid on their emotions. And Kagen; he was fit to be tied. The Ancient Master Healer was having a very hard time accepting the fact that, at least initially, Keitaro would have to go it alone, embark on the mission without any backup, but Xavier’s instructions, via a text on Keitaro’s phone, had been explicitly clear:
When the clock strikes midnight (Sunday becoming Monday), meet me alone at the original cobblestone well. You will find a single harness affixed to a single rope. Lower Zayda into the structure. Arielle will already be in the water, waiting. When Zayda slips out of the harness, Arielle will take her place—you may draw her up at exactly 12:05 AM. Don’t try anything stupid. We have manufactured a temporary, makeshift entrance, deep inside the well, a provisional portal to Mhier. If you don’t come alone (and a werewolf can smell a vampire several miles away), you will never see Arielle again. If you try to hold on to Zayda, you will never see Arielle again. If you, or any other warrior, approach the well before midnight, you will never see Arielle again. Ms. Nightsong-Silivasi has not been harmed, but she will be sufficiently trussed in diamond-embedded restraints, so don’t count on her assisting in her own escape. This is a one-time offer, a one-time exchange. As badly as I want to bring my daughter home, I am willing to let her perish: I doubt you feel the same about Kagen’s mate. Midnight. The old abandoned well. Come alone—just you and Zayda.
Keitaro knew the exact location Xavier had referred to, a section of forest outside of Dark Moon Vale, and thus, absent of energetic wolf traps: When the Vampyr had first come to the new continent, following their banishment from Romania—and long before the house of Jadon was well-established in the Dark Moon valley—they had been drawn to the Rocky Mountains due to their uncanny similarity to the Transylvanian Alps. Along with their lives, families, and treasured belongings, they had brought many human servants in tow—after all, they had needed a reliable food source, and as it turned out, many of these families would remain loyal for generations. In establishing a small human colony around 791 BC, deep in what was now the Roosevelt National Forest, they had built a cobblestone well for their wards, and the old, abandoned structure was still standing in its original location—to this date, it was still filled with water.
How Xavier had known about the colony or the well, Keitaro had no idea. But then again, the lycans were an ancient race, a timeless species, and they had likely existed in Mhier long before the Vampyr came to North America. And they had hunted vampires since the species’ inception. It wasn’t unreasonable that they knew about the well.
Nonetheless, Kagen was infuriated. He objected to the entire plan on the grounds that the vampires had no leverage, Xavier was certainly planning to double-cross them, and it was his mate whose life was at stake.
But what could the vampires do?
They couldn’t exactly call Xavier in Mhier and insist that he craft a more amenable proposal: The time to get a leg up on the werewolf was before he took Arielle, not after.
In a very real sense, Xavier was holding all the cards because, as he had pointed out, he was willing to let his daughter perish, whereas the Silivasis were desperate to get Arielle back. And they had thought of virtually every contingency: Hiding Marquis, Nathaniel, or Kagen nearby was an absolute no-go. Xavier would smell the additional vampires. Having Napolean Mondragon send his essence into the well—the fearsome male could travel through space and time, appearing anywhere in physical form in an instant—was also dead on arrival. The piece about the makeshift portal was far too risky and volatile. If the lycans could also travel through space and time, appear inside the well, or exit it just as swiftly, then the moment the king materialized, Arielle could be gone. Keitaro had no doubt he could best the lycan general in one-to-one combat, but it didn’t sound like he would get that chance. Xavier had made no mention as to where he, himself, would be during the five-minute window.
Again, they would all be mere heartbeats away from an open portal…
And while Nachari had offered to use magic—or the panther—it still didn’t nullify the risks.
According to the Master Wizard, discovering how to open a portal to Mhier had taken around four weeks, before, when Keitaro’s sons had entered the forbidden world in a journey to bring their sire home. The boys had been lucky; the entrance had since been destroyed; and the magic had been recalibrated—there was no guarantee that the vampires could ever do it again, and they most certainly could not approach the well to scope things out, prior to midnight.
The whole damn thing was infuriating.
<
br /> As it stood, there was little Kagen could do to retrieve his beloved destiny, other than to wait on Keitaro and trust a filthy lycan to keep his unreliable word.
“He’s not going to keep his promise,” Kagen spat, repeating the same point for the umpteenth time. “The moment we lower Zayda into that well, he’ll take both women back into Mhier.”
Nachari regarded his older brother circumspectly, the wizard’s deep green eyes filling with shadows of concern. “There is a very good chance of that, Kagen, but I don’t believe he’ll do so. I honestly don’t.”
Marquis grunted and glared at Nachari sideways. “Is this some wizardly intuition, some sort of divine premonition, or are you just pontificating out of your ass?”
Okay, Keitaro thought, that was entirely uncalled for, but Marquis is riding a razor’s edge. Despite his surly ways, he loved his brothers, and his copper-haired sister-in-law had indelibly captured his heart. Marquis would die for Arielle in a minute…
Nachari seemed wholly unaffected. “Brother,” he said in a calm, even voice, “I truly believe that all Xavier wants this time is his daughter. Think about it, if they take Arielle back through the portal, they know we will never give up. We will never stop trying. We will never stop looking. We will never stop attempting to discover and open another door to their world.” He shrugged his broad, powerful shoulders and took a deep, steadying breath. “Look, it may be true that they’ve sealed the gateway so securely, we may never find or open it again. But there has to be just a fissure of doubt—we did it before; perhaps we can do it again. I don’t think they would want to take that chance, knowing we could bring Napolean with us next time and annihilate their entire race. Why dangle a red cape in front of a house of bulls? I think Xavier just wants Zayda.”
Zayda hugged her arms to her chest, shuddering at Nachari’s words, and Keitaro strolled to the stoop to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Zayda…” He spoke her name softly. “Don’t be alarmed. We will figure something—”
