Levet

  The temperature dropped until Valla would swear she could see her breath.

  “Mère de dieu,” Elijah growled, his fingers cupping her chin in a grip that forced her to meet his dark glare. “You weren’t stupid enough to interfere, were you?”

  Her muscles clenched, her eyes slowly narrowing. There might have even been a bit of steam escaping from her ears.

  “Stupid?”

  He missed the edge of danger in her voice. The clan chief might be a cunning, lethal predator who ruled most of France with a brutal force, but he was still a man.

  Clueless.

  “Valla, pure-blood gargoyles are not only one of the most dangerous demons to walk the earth, but they’re ruthless, amoral, and happy to slaughter the innocent.”

  “I’m not a complete idiot, Elijah,” she said, pronouncing the words with a slow, deliberate enunciation. “I know that gargoyles are dangerous.”

  His jaw knotted, as if battling against the urge to toss her over his shoulder and haul her to the protection of his lair.

  Predictable.

  He wasn’t going to be happy until he had her locked away so he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

  “Then why would you put yourself at risk?”

  “I saw a creature in need so I did what I thought was necessary.” She met his burning gaze without flinching. “Besides, I was never at risk. I fired a few arrows from the bushes.”

  “You think a bush would have protected you from gargoyles?”

  She knocked away his hand, annoyed that even when she was furious with this vampire she still longed for his touch.

  “This conversation is over.”

  “Valla . . .”

  “No.” She pointed a finger into his obscenely handsome face. “I’m not a child that needs to be told what I can or can’t do.”

  The chill remained, but it was no longer edged with anger.

  Instead, a far more dangerous emotion swirled through the air as he studied her with an unwavering focus that made her heart slam against her ribs.

  “Believe me, I have never mistaken you for a child.”

  Her lips parted to point out the numerous occasions he’d tried to coddle her, but the words went unspoken as he grasped her face in a firm grip and kissed her.

  Or more precisely, he devoured her.

  Her hands lifted to grasp his forearms as his tongue slipped between her lips, tangling with hers as he maneuvered her until her backside pressed against the counter.

  He tasted of raw male power and opulent sensuality. A taste that was swiftly becoming her addiction.

  A groan was torn from her throat as his thickening arousal pressed against her lower stomach, his fangs fully extended. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, spreading through her body.

  Oh . . . crap, she was melting.

  And it was the most wondrous thing she’d ever felt.

  Easing his kiss, Elijah stroked his lips over her flushed cheek and then down the length of her neck, finding a sensitive hollow just below her collarbone.

  Lightning zigzagged through her, setting her blood on fire with a need she’d never even dreamed possible.

  When she was young she’d thought passion was a sweet, giddy emotion. She’d certainly felt it often enough among the nymph males who were renowned for their beauty. Then, she’d been captured by the slavers, and desire had become dark and ugly and terrifying.

  Something to be avoided at all cost.

  But now . . .

  Now this vampire was revealing that physical need could be thrilling and consuming and so intense that she was shaking from the power of the sensations pulsing through her.

  “Elijah,” she croaked.

  “Hmm.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He chuckled, his hands skimming down her back before slipping beneath her shirt to tease the tense muscles of her stomach.

  “Proving I do not see you as a child.”

  “But . . .” She forgot how to speak as his hands skimmed up to cup her bare breasts. Nymphs never needed to wear bras. “Oh.”

  He pressed his lips directly to her ear. “Do you like that?”

  Like?

  Her breath left her in a rush as his fingers teased the tips of her nipples to stiff peaks. Her toes curled in her shoes and her fingernails dug through the expensive silk of his shirt.

  Dear god. It was nothing short of paradise.

  “I can’t think,” she breathed.

  “Bon.” His lips nuzzled up her throat and along the line of her jaw. “Just feel, mon ange.”

  That was the problem. She was feeling too much.

  The exquisite brush of his fingers over her sensitive breasts. The tantalizing press of his erection against her lower stomach. The silken glide of his tongue over her lips.

  It was overwhelming.

  She shivered. “This is madness.”

  “The most delicious madness,” he murmured, kissing a path toward the side of her face she always kept turned.

  Immediately she was jerked out of her sensual haze, a sharp-edged panic making her shove her hands against his chest.

  “Don’t.”

  Elijah stilled, seemingly caught off-guard by her reaction. Then slowly he lifted his head.

  “Valla, look at me,” he commanded softly.

  “I can’t.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  It was a ridiculous question.

  They both knew that he was the one and only person in the entire world that she trusted.

  Still, she knew that her answer was important.

  “Yes.”

  “Then look at me,” he urged.

  It took a long minute to gather her courage. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she tilted back her head to discover him regarding her with a somber expression.

  “Happy?”

  His hands shifted to stroke her neck lightly. It was a gesture of reassurance from a vampire.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  “Fishing for compliments?” she tried to tease.

  “I want you to look into my eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to see what I see.”

  She found herself peering into the dark, velvety depths of his eyes. Not because he commanded. She no longer took orders from anyone. Especially not from an arrogant, sexy, overly possessive vampire.

  But because she truly needed to know what he saw when he looked at her.

  A pathetic victim in need of his constant care?

  A scarred nymph he pitied?

  Or Valla. A woman who he desired?

  “What do you see?” she whispered.

  “A strong, beautiful survivor,” he said, his voice low and hypnotic. Not vampire-mind-control hypnotic. Just deeply compelling. “A woman who could so easily have broken, but instead fought to reclaim her life.” He paused, his gaze deliberately moving to study the silvery scars. “I admire you more than you will ever know.”

  Her hand instinctively lifted to touch her ruined face. “These . . .” He captured her hand, pulling her fingers to his lips. “Are a testament to your courage.”

  She shuddered, unconsciously pressing closer to Elijah’s hard body.

  “I hate them.”

  “Because they mar your face?”

  She shook her head. “Because they remind me . . .”

  “Valla?” he gently prompted when her words faded.

  “Of the men who hurt me.”

  “But they didn’t cause these scars.” Before she could stop him, Elijah bent his head to trace the raised ridges with his mouth. “They came from your escape,” he murmured against her sensitive skin. “They’re a badge of honor, mon ange. Wear them with pride.”

  She held herself rigid, but she didn’t pull away. Odd. She’d never allowed anyone to touch her face.

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered, more for something to say than to chastise him.

  His reaction was . . . epic.

  “Eas
y?” The icy power returned, this time shattering her crystal bowl as he yanked his head back to reveal a lethal power glowing in the dark eyes. His features seemed sharper, as if the ivory skin had been pulled tighter over his elegant bones and his fangs shimmered with a dazzling white. This wasn’t the charming Elijah who could kiss a woman into bone-melting surrender. This was the vampire who’d claimed Paris from a clan chief who’d ruled this territory for over a thousand years. “Do you think that I haven’t been tormented by the knowledge of what you endured?” he rasped, a vase on the table exploding. “Do you think I wouldn’t give everything I possess to turn back the clock and protect you from the nightmare?”

  She licked her dry lips. “Elijah.”

  “Do you think I haven’t had every one of those bastards tracked down and eliminated?”

  She blinked at the stark confession. What did she do with that?

  A better woman would no doubt be horrified.

  She knew Elijah well enough to realize that his means of elimination would be a slow, appallingly painful death.

  But the knowledge that the bastards that had tortured her for so long were dead . . . and that they’d suffered . . . well, she didn’t feel at all horrified.

  She felt liberated.

  “You did that for me?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

  “Those I could find.” A grim smile touched his lips. “I discovered that Viper, the clan chief of Chicago, had most of them wiped out after he found his mate at one of the auctions. I had to be content with only a handful of trolls and a half-breed ogre.”

  She managed a faint smile at the edge of annoyance in his voice. He wasn’t pleased his thirst for revenge had been cheated by a fellow clan chief.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said so softly only a vampire could have caught the words.

  He leaned down until they were nose to nose, his power losing its icy edge to stroke over her skin in a soft caress.

  “Say that you are as happy as I am that you survived,” he murmured.

  “Of course I’m happy.”

  “Then rejoice in the evidence of your escape.” He pressed his lips to her scars. “I do.”

  Elijah had had the best intentions when he’d come into the apartment.

  He’d planned to corner Valla and convince her that he didn’t have a savior complex or whatever other lame excuse she’d invented to keep a barrier between them.

  Then he was going to reveal what he’d known from the moment he’d scooped her out of the Seine.

  She was his mate.

  And he would spend the rest of eternity, if necessary, convincing her that they belonged together.

  But he’d been distracted by her concern for the pesky gargoyle. And more delectably distracted when he’d been goaded into kissing her.

  Now he was determined to prove that the scars that marked her face only added to her beauty.

  And if words couldn’t do it, then he was willing to use more direct methods.

  Like a return to the delectable kissing . . .

  That seemed a good place to start.

  Pressing his lips against the jagged patch of skin that had been ruined by a spell meant to kill her, he savored the heat and tantalizing scent that had haunted his dreams for far too long.

  She stiffened, but didn’t pull away, her breathing shallow as he continued to caress the physical proof of her survival. He took his time, trailing his lips over the delicate shell of her ear before returning to her cheek.

  It wasn’t until her rigid muscles slowly began to loosen that he allowed his exploration to expand to include the line of her stubborn jaw and the enticing length of her neck. He shuddered, his hands slipping beneath her shirt to cup the lush abundance of her breasts.

  Mère de dieu, he loved the feel of her softness in his hands.

  He was going to love the feel of her breasts in his mouth even more, he decided, tugging the top higher as he dipped his head down to capture the tip of her nipple between his teeth, taking care not to break the fragile skin with his fangs.

  He might be ready and eager to complete their mating, but he wasn’t going to risk creating a bond she wasn’t prepared to accept.

  She’d had too many things forced on her over the years.

  Wrapping his arms around her slender waist as she shivered in pleasure, Elijah teased her tender nipple with his tongue. They groaned in unison.

  The taste of her was succulent. As sweet as fresh peaches. And her scent . . .

  His cock threatened to explode as her arousal spiced the air.

  He wanted to strip off her clothes and take her against the counter.

  Or maybe he would lay her across the dining table and feast on her for the next century.

  Of course, she might prefer the comfort of her bed, he silently acknowledged as he turned his head to capture her other nipple between his lips.

  A soft mattress. Moonlight spilling over her luscious body as he settled between her legs and thrust deep inside her. A locked door to keep out unwelcome intruders.

  Oui. The bedroom was swiftly becoming the preferable option.

  Lifting his head, he claimed her lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, demanding everything she had to offer. At the same time his fingers threaded in the satin softness of her golden hair.

  There was no hurry, he reminded his aching erection. This wasn’t sex.

  It was making love in the finest sense.

  Her hands drifted up to clutch his shoulders, as if her knees had suddenly gone weak. But even as he was congratulating himself on her sweet capitulation, she was pulling back to suck in an unsteady breath.

  “Wait.”

  With a low growl, he pulled her back so he could bury his face in the curve of her neck.

  “I have waited too long, mon ange.”

  She shivered, but despite her obvious arousal she didn’t melt beneath his irresistible touch.

  Stubborn female.

  “I’m worried about Levet.”

  “Don’t be.” He lightly ran his fang along the low neckline of her top, chuckling as she gave a strangled groan. “He can take care of himself.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know that no one interferes in Guild business.” He licked the racing pulse just below her jaw. “Not unless they want to end up dead.”

  Her hands pressed against his chest. “You’re not scared of the gargoyles, are you?”

  “A challenge, mon ange?”

  “A simple question.”

  He reluctantly lifted his head to study her flushed face with a resigned amusement.

  She wasn’t going to let this go.

  Which meant there was no comfortable mattress or lush female curves in his immediate future.

  Not until he’d convinced her to forget Levet.

  Something he sensed was going to be easier said than done.

  “Paris belongs to me, but I have no desire to start an unnecessary turf war with the gargoyles,” he explained in gentle tones, his gaze absorbing the spectacular beauty of her passion-flushed face surrounded by a mane of golden curls. It was the soft blue eyes, however, that pierced his unbeating heart. She’d been to hell and back, but there was an innate purity in her that could never be diminished. Was it any wonder his jaded soul was so fascinated? “Enough blood was shed when I became clan chief.”

  She blinked in surprise. He rarely shared his world as clan chief. Why burden her with the darker side of his position?

  “You mean when you battled to take the place of the former leader?”

  “Oui, and then for the next several decades after claiming Paris.”

  She paled. “Decades?”

  He grimaced. During those dark days he’d often wondered if he would survive from one night to the next.

  “It’s traditional for each demon species to try and kill the new leader of vampires.”

  “Why?”

  “In part because they enjoy any excuse to try and kill a vampire, but m
ore importantly to make sure a chief is strong enough to keep control of his territory,” he explained. “A weak chief is an invitation for constant upheaval, not only among his clan, but from outside threats. Peace comes from strength.”

  “And now?”

  He arched a brow, belatedly sensing the tension that hummed through her body.

  “Now?”

  “Are you safe?”

  “A clan chief is always a target,” he admitted, unable to resist outlining her lips with the tip of his finger. “Either from an ambitious vampire who wants to challenge me for my position, or from any number of demons who I’ve pissed off over the centuries.”

  “Not hard to believe,” she muttered, although the words didn’t disguise the concern that darkened her eyes.

  “Most are convinced the world would be greatly improved if they could remove my head from my body.”

  With a gasp, she pressed her hand against his lips, her expression troubled.

  “Don’t say that.”

  A fierce satisfaction cascaded through his body at her plea. Gently, he pried her fingers from his lips.

  “Careful, Valla,” he teased. “Or I might think you care.”

  “Of course I care,” she said without hesitation. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  He pressed a kiss to her palm, his thumb stroking her inner wrist.

  “Then you at last understand why I’m so anxious to protect you.”

  She thinned her lips as he neatly turned the tables on her. “Maybe. But—”

  Hmm. Perhaps he hadn’t turned any tables. Neatly or otherwise.

  “I don’t think I’m going to like this.”

  She pulled her hand free to touch his face, the light caress sending jagged bolts of arousal through his body.

  He could count the number of times she’d ever purposefully touched him. And never with such a lingering intimacy.

  “It terrifies me to know your position makes you a constant target,” she whispered.

  He held her worried gaze. “It’s my duty.”

  “Yes,” she agreed with a nod. “And while I hate the thought that you’re in danger, I would never try to stand in your way.”

  The direct hit came without warning, leaving Elijah gaping at her in bemusement.

  Hoisted by his own petard, he wryly acknowledged, recalling how often he’d tried to prevent her from even leaving her apartment without him at her side.