Vanya knew it was wrong.
All of it.
Every word. Every entreaty. The logic was so…flawed.
So selfish.
And yet, it all rang so true.
The vampire’s breath scorched her ears; the feel of his skin heated her flesh; and the desperation in his raspy voice seared her soul like an eternal flame, rising from somewhere deep within, threatening to consume her very being. It wasn’t passion. It wasn’t desire. It was a need as old as time itself, born from countless centuries of feeling alone…remaining untouched.
Unknown.
Despite her very real objections, her wholesale aversion to his touch, her mouth found his and parted. He inhaled and exhaled with her, and the feeling was overpowering. She wanted to run away, to drop the cloaking spell and scream for Ramsey or Santos to break through the magical veil, to stop what was happening in its tracks, before it went too far. But gods help her, she was like a captive bird caught in the vampire’s palm.
Entranced.
Intrigued.
Entrapped.
And the need wasn’t just his—it was hers. All those years in Romania, afraid for her life, watching the steady demise of her people, never belonging to anything but the aristocracy; all those years buried in the earth, entombed in the ground, while something deep inside of her shut down, it was all rising to the surface.
It was true: She did not remember the Long Sleep or the pain of that existence, but surely the utter sense of seclusion, the overwhelming experience of abandonment—the fact that her repose could have ended up being eternal—had scarred her in ways she could not even fathom. And what had finally saved them? Herself and Ciopori? It had not been her cherished brother Jadon coming to the rescue as he had promised. It had not been some higher calling to a better life, or even an intervention by the gods—she and Ciopori had been saved by Marquis Silivasi, by the fact that someone had deeply and eternally loved her sister.
Not her.
She winced at the realization of this fact and the pain she never let herself feel.
Saber couldn’t love—she knew this.
Hell, he couldn’t even breathe on his own, without needing to take the life force of another, more evolved being, but he was alive and alone. And he belonged to no one.
No one.
Just like her.
The dragon must have sensed her inner conflict because he immediately went in for the kill: He was no longer simply sealing her mouth in order to steal her breath, but kissing her with a passion born of necessity and desperation, in a way that stole her sanity. Saber Alexiares was all around her, all at once. She felt him above her, below her, inside of her head, his hands, as they swept possessively up and down the small of her waist to the flare of her hips; his thumbs as they came to rest just beneath her breasts and began to knead; and his seeking fingers as they molded, grasped, and teased her flesh into growing submission.
She wanted to push back, to fight, to force him away, but she didn’t know where to begin.
He enveloped her slight frame like a blanket, wrapping his broad chest around her shoulders like a cloak of masculinity, harsh yet inviting in its pulsating warmth, its scorching fire. He towered over her, however unintentionally, his looming height compelling her back until she was forced to arch to meet his demands, to keep from losing her balance.
Dearest gods, he was like a hurricane, a cyclone enveloping her very soul.
“Saber,” she panted, breathless, hoping he would hear and release her from his grasp.
“Vanya,” he answered longingly, only tightening his hold. And then just like that, he was lifting her, cradling her in his arms as he carried her across the room in three long strides toward the cot.
No!
Stop!
What was he thinking?
She thought the words, but she didn’t speak them.
Her own lips were following his in a lethal, erotic dance of their own, unable to stop responding, tasting, licking. By all that was holy, he was like a drug she could not help but consume. He tasted like fire…and ice…and ecstasy.
She moaned as he laid her down beneath him on the cot, half in protest, and half in desperation. Where was this going? What was he going to do to her?
Oh, heavens…help her!
And then her soft, sheer blouse was simply gone. What had he done with it? Did he remove it—there had to be a dozen buttons—or did he rip it? She could hardly wrap her mind around the thought, when a more pressing matter stole her attention: the feel of rough yet passionate fingers finding their way beneath her silk camisole. “Oh, Saber, no!” she cried out as two large hands cupped the fullness of her breasts and began to knead with a mind-numbing skill that wasn’t even possible for one such as he—what practice could he possibly have with seduction?
The tips of his thumbs and forefingers found her nipples, even as that harshly beautiful mouth descended upon the same, each one seeking in turn, to nip, to lave, and to suckle.
“Saber!”
“What?” he growled low in his throat, coming up for air.
“Please…”
He flicked her left nipple with his tongue, teasing it harshly into a rigid state; and then he bit down, the softest of nips on the rose-colored tip, before taking the whole of the crown into his mouth.
She gasped.
He repeated the act on the right side, purring deep within his throat like the primal animal he was.
Tears began to fall from Vanya’s eyes. She was so conflicted. So overwhelmed. So uncertain and afraid.
So lost in the dragon’s fire.
“Shh, Printesa dulce. Taci. Da-ti drumul. Traieste cu mine.” He spoke the words in the purist Romanian tongue she had ever heard, at least since she had awakened, and the beauty of his native accent, so graceful and alluring, sent chills along her skin, burrowing its way into her thundering heart: Shh, sweet Princess. Be quiet. Let go. Live with me. The phrase continued to echo in her mind.
“Mi-e foarte teama—I am so afraid,” she responded in kind.
He drew back on his arms then, capturing her gaze with a look of such intensity, such hunger, that it stole her breath. His powerful arms nearly glistened in the moonlight, the rippling muscles contracting like two hard globes as he arched above her. “Vanya,” he practically purred the word, “I will not harm you this night.”
This night?
What did he mean by that?
Before she could respond, he lowered his body to blanket hers; he cupped her jaw in his strong, unyielding hands; and he propped himself up on his elbow in order to kiss her once again, this time, with an urgency she could no longer resist. His passion was tender yet savage, reckless yet controlled. He simply consumed her, and she melted away, becoming one with his desire.
Vanya got lost in the sensations: Saber’s moist, warm mouth; his fierce, erotic touch; the play of his fingers against her delicate skin; even the nip of his teeth along her throat, her shoulders, her breasts… Time and time again, he played her like a well-crafted instrument in need of fine-tuning, adjusting his pressure, choosing new erogenous zones, alternately demanding and coaxing submission, all the while building a slow, heated fire in her core.
When he began to grind his sinewy hips between her thighs, her eyes flew open and she studied his face—she was only a heartbeat away from leaping from the cot and bolting—that is, if she could break away from his impassive strength. His eyebrows were creased with tension from the strain of holding back his full ardor; and his jaw was taut with tension as he struggled to remain in control. Yet his harshly beautifully mouth was slack with pleasure, almost as if he couldn’t believe the sensations himself. He reached down to loosen the tie on her skirt, and then he slowly rose to his knees in order to ease the garment from her hips.
She was trembling, and, when it was finally revealed, her concave stomach felt like a newly constructed drum: taut, trembling, and heretofore untouched.
Saber sighed, a cross between a long ex
hale and a deep moan. “Be at ease, sweet Princess, I will not hurt you.” And then he removed her panties.
Vanya shivered as he covered her mound with the palm of his hand, meeting the chill and her fear with firm, intoxicating pressure. As he slowly, expertly, began to rotate his hand in dizzying circles, she jackknifed off the bed unexpectedly, her hips rising upward of their own accord. He stared at her brazenly then, his piercing eyes nearly gazing straight through her, as he watched, evaluated, and calculated his every move. As his hand continued to make magic between her thighs—testing, teasing, and finally probing—she held her breath, and he smiled, however faintly.
The dragon smiled.
A tear rolled down Vanya’s cheek, and he reached out to swipe it away. And then, he placed it on his tongue and tasted it. The very act of relishing the droplet must have given him an idea because he, all at once, scooted lower on the bed; crouched down before the apex of her thighs; and dipped his head to savor her heat, licking slowly at first and then nuzzling her entirely, while pleasuring her peak with his tongue.
Despite her trepidation, she reacted with abandon.
She drew back her legs, bent each at the knee, and dropped the weight of one thigh against his thick mane of hair, unable to hold it steady for her trembling. He stroked her thigh with avid approval and delved deeper into her core, pushing her ever more closely toward impending release.
When, at last, Vanya felt as if she could take no more—her body was going to come apart and splinter into a thousand pieces—Saber withdrew his mouth from her heat; released his fangs with a slow, easy hiss; and deftly pierced her femoral artery, latching on to the flesh of her inner left thigh.
Vanya jackknifed off the cot.
She cried out from the unexpected pain, and then she simply fractured—completely—lost to the insanity of… pleasure… beyond her imagining.
As the orgasm deepened, grew in intensity with every drop the dragon took of her royal blood, Vanya whimpered from the sensations. She was just about to lose her mind, to try and force him to let go so she could stop writhing so erratically, when he released the bite, retracted his fangs, and quickly sealed the wound with his venom. Before she could catch her breath, he lowered his cargo pants from his narrow hips, rose gracefully above her, and nestled his impossibly thick manhood against the seat of her pleasure.
And then he plunged forward.
Without gentleness or restraint.
Breaking through her maiden’s barrier with shocking ferocity, while stretching her so impossibly she feared she might just split down the middle.
A sharp cry of agony escaped her lips, and she struggled to claw her way out from beneath him, to free herself from the sharp, scorching spear at her middle. Dearest gods, had he not known she was a virgin?
Saber looked all at once startled and confused—inexplicably horrified.
With his body still lodged deeply in hers, he locked their gazes and reached aggressively for her mind. Without hesitation, he burrowed deep inside her psyche and immediately blocked the pain—he simply stole it away as if it never existed, taking the sensations into his own body, instead.
Vanya breathed a sigh of relief; and then she watched in rapt fascination as the conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure—her experience and his, respectively—began to register on the vampire’s face. His brow grew heavy with tension as he juggled the overwhelming ecstasy engulfing his manhood with the scorching pain searing her sex. He slowly pulled back. His angular jaw drew taut with indecision as he warred with his desire to force her open and her need to have him withdraw. He rocked instead of plunging. His chest began to quake as he resisted the masculine need for completion in favor of the feminine need for comfort. He slid in and out instead of stabbing.
Saber paused as Vanya stretched.
He felt his way to the right level of pressure until, at last, her body accepted his completely, and a new fire began to build. Then—and only then—he began to release his psychic hold. He transferred Vanya’s sensations back into her body, waiting as patiently as he could while she took possession of her own sensations until, at last, she felt her own pleasure—and he could experience his.
The pace picked up, as did the desperation.
As Saber approached the point of no return, his strokes became harsh and unrelenting. Vanya clung to his back, with her hands curled into fists, as she followed him helplessly over a second cliff, spiraling right along with the dragon into a second, even more powerful orgasm.
When at last her heart stopped racing, and his stopped pounding, she cupped his face in her hands, her fingers trembling around his angular jaw. He started to draw back out of impulse and surprise—the moment was obviously far too intimate—but he stopped himself just short of retreating. “Dragon,” she whispered softly. “You did something…kind.”
He shook his head in protest, clearly taken aback by her words, as well as the truth within them.
And this made her smile. “Do not worry,” she reassured him. “You are still—”
“A monster,” he grunted.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Always,” he insisted. “Don’t ever forget.”
She started to smile, to make an offhanded comment; but he stared her down with a heated gaze, an implicit look of warning, and then he placed an extended finger over her mouth to silence her. “Don’t ever forget,” he repeated.
She nodded, feeling suddenly bereft; for he hadn’t really changed. He had only gotten lost in a moment of passion and anguish. He had given in to the desperate need to escape his grief, if only for a moment, but he was still the same fire-breathing dragon. “I won’t,” she said forlornly.
She would not forget the life he had lived up until now, the brutality he had inflicted upon the house of Jadon, or what had brought him to these circumstances to begin with. And he was right to remind her.
Still, she had new memories to add to her cache now: She would not forget his intelligence or his consideration, either, the keen perception that led him to seduce her with such uncanny insight into her longings, nor his innate responsiveness to her needs. And she would not soon forget the surreal moment when Saber Alexiares, caught up in the throes of passion, realized that he had taken a virgin and chose, instinctively, to carry the full burden of her pain upon his own shoulders—to shield her from discomfort at his own expense.
No, she would not soon forget.
“Do not worry,” she repeated. “I will remember always, Dragon.”
sixteen
Vanya sat at the antique French dressing table in the upstairs guestroom at her sister’s house, staring into the exquisitely framed mirror while trying to brush out her long, bountiful hair with a refurbished animal-horn brush she had managed to hold onto from the time before the Long Sleep. Crude as it might be, it was a keepsake that had belonged to her mother, and her mother before that. Using the simple, rudimentary tool always reminded her of her early childhood, before all the insanity, and calmed her nerves.
It had been nearly twelve hours since she had left Saber’s cell, and she felt restless to say the least. Placing the palm of her hand flat against her stomach, she tried to quell her nerves. The last thing she needed was to alert Ciopori or her brother-in-law to the events that had transpired the night before. She could hardly believe what had occurred herself.
A soft knock rattled the heavy wooden door, and Vanya took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Vanya. May I come in?” Ciopori’s lyrical voice pierced the lingering solitude, and Vanya knew it was time to face the music: She could hardly put her sister off any longer.
“Of course, sister,” Vanya replied, trying to speak in a pleasantly dispassionate voice.
Ciopori turned the knob. She pushed the door open and sidled through the narrow opening, her long black hair sashaying as she walked. Truly, she was a rare beauty. “Good evening,” she called cheerfully.
Vanya smiled. “Good evening. And how is
Marquis this night? Nikolai?”
Ciopori positively beamed at the mention of her favorite males. She rolled her lovely golden eyes and began to chitchat about the latest antics in the Silivasi house, hardly stopping to take a breath, when, all at once, her face went slack, her hands flew up to her cheeks, and her expression turned grave with concern. “Dearest goddess Andromeda!” she exclaimed. She rushed across the room, removed the brush from Vanya’s hand, and pulled her up from her seat, nearly causing her to stumble.
“Ciopori!” Vanya chastised, snatching her wrist back from her sister. “Whatever has gotten into you?” Surely, the female was not that perceptive. True, Ciopori was not only an original celestial-human being but also a vampire now, with all the powers and enhanced perception that entailed, but taking one look at her little sister and knowing she was no longer a virgin? Impossible.
Ciopori shook her head from side to side, slowly trailing her gaze up and down Vanya’s slender body. As her examination grew more discerning, her eyes began to grow misty with pressing tears. “What…” Ciopori whispered, biting her lower lip. She took a deep breath as if she were trying not to hyperventilate. “When…” A tear escaped her eye, and she quickly brushed it away. “How did this happen?”
Vanya was more than a little concerned. She felt her knees weaken, and she wondered if her face wasn’t growing pale. Oh hell, Ciopori knew. But how?
“It’s not what you think,” she said, rushing the words like an errant teenager who had just been caught by her mother. Of course, it was exactly what Ciopori was thinking, but surely, Vanya did not have to explain her actions to her older sister. “I can explain,” Vanya said, ignoring her own indignation.
“Did he force you?” Ciopori asked. “When!” She turned toward the door in alarm. “Marquis!”
Vanya moved swiftly then. She snatched her sister by her elegant arm, tugged her forward, and thrust a curved hand over her mouth. “Be quiet! I mean it!” She gestured wildly with her hands. “Are you insane?” She eyed the door, listening for Marquis’s heavy footsteps pounding down the hall, praying he wouldn’t just materialize in the room. “Do you want to get me killed? Do you want to have all hell break loose in this valley?” She took a calming breath and held her shoulders back, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity. “I mean it, Ciopori. I will not have it. You are my sister—not my mother—and you will not bring Marquis into this.”