Blood Vengeance

  She tried not to moan.

  Oh, he was definitely using some sort of vampire-magic, some sort of compulsion or supernatural power. The pads of his fingers were like a taut, gentle bow, and she was like a fine violin. He was tuning her strings to his own vibration, playing the nerves on her skin like sweet, legato notes, tweaking her desire with his hands.

  She felt the sensation in her toes.

  It was beyond sensual or arousing. It was all-consuming, like he was touching her body, her mind, and her soul, all three domains at once.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered helplessly.

  “You like?” he breathed huskily. And then he swept his hands down the curve of her waist, grasped her narrow midriff in his massive palms, and hauled her forward with one sharp tug. The afghan slid away; her thighs fell open; and her knees instinctively hugged his hips. The only thing keeping their bodies from pressing together intimately was the thin layer of silk on her panties and the coarse layer of denim on his jeans. He rotated his hips and growled.

  “Ramsey!”

  “Mmm?” He clasped her by the small of her back, pressed his arousal against her, and swallowed her protest with his tongue, sweeping her up into the most profoundly erotic kiss she had ever experienced.

  She clung to his shoulders for purchase, feeling utterly exposed and provoked.

  Once again, he must have used his preternatural power because there was no accounting for the level of arousal that assailed her. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, and she was suddenly filled with a hunger so intense, an ache so extreme, that she almost shuddered at their contact, coming apart at the seams. He deepened the kiss, his lips, tongue, and mouth making child’s play out of her desperate responses. He knew exactly when to tease, how to please, and where to nip or bite. He knew precisely when to devour her mouth, torment her throat, and torture the tops of her breasts, careful to stay away from the most personal zones… almost as a tease.

  Tiffany slid further into him, cursing herself for her response. Her hips were beginning to rotate in harsh, beckoning circles, pressing back against his groin. Her back arched sharply, as if by its own accord, and she hooked her ankles behind him, wanting to keep him close.

  Needing to bring him closer.

  “That’s it, Blondie,” he rasped in her ear, causing her to tremble in response. “Stop thinking,” he instructed. “Just start feeling.” He reached down and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans, sliding the zipper open.

  She tried to pull away…

  Or did she?

  She should really voice some protest…

  Or should she?

  She wanted to tell him that it was way too much, way too soon, that she was losing herself in the moment, and he was utterly devastating her—but she couldn’t find the words. When she felt him drag his fangs along her collarbone, swirl his tongue over the vein in her neck, and tighten his grip on her waist like a flesh-and-bone vise, she squirmed wildly. “Ramsey!”

  He bit her, and she fractured.

  What!?

  Oh… no… not this soon!

  Not like this.

  They hadn’t even—

  He flung his jeans aside, ripping the denim like it was mere, flimsy paper, and then he dropped his head to her breasts and virtually devoured her flesh. He teased her nipples, flicked the taut peaks with his tongue, and drew her areolas deep into his mouth, where he tasted, suckled, and tantalized the flesh until she felt her tension mounting once more.

  He grasped her by the back of the neck, turned her gently to face him, and locked his gaze with hers. “Again,” he commanded softly, and like a marionette on a puppet-master’s strings, her body obeyed his directive: She fractured—once again—splintering into a second, wild, uncontrollable orgasm.

  “Stop!” she gasped, feeling utterly astonished, undone, and overwhelmed. It was like she had been swept up into a swirling vortex of sensation, passion, and pleasure—a tempest of eroticism unlike anything she had ever known—and she couldn’t find the eye of the storm. She couldn’t identify the ground. She couldn’t make sense of the sky. She couldn’t stop spinning with pleasure and sensation, and she had never even seen the tornado approach.

  Sensing her confusion, if not her impending panic, Ramsey wrapped her in his arms, held her unbearably close to his heart, and whispered softly in her ear. “It’s okay, baby girl. I’ve got you.”

  Tiffany blinked back pressing tears.

  She was simply overcome with emotion.

  Never before had she opened herself up to a man like this, not even while making love. There was always some carefully masked, inherently protected, hidden piece of her self that she held back and kept guarded.

  Kept stored away in a microscopic vault.

  But Ramsey had unlocked that safe—exposed it, touched it—like he had always held the key. Like the map to her hidden treasure was written on his soul.

  And they hadn’t even made love yet.

  He was leaving her no escape.

  “What are you so afraid of, my love?” he murmured, as if reading her thoughts. In one graceful movement, he drew back, grasped his form-fitting tee in his fist, and tugged it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

  Her mouth dropped open as she gaped at his utterly magnificent masculine form. Yes, she had seen him, briefly, earlier that day, but this was entirely different. This wasn’t a man. Hell, this wasn’t a vampire. This was a finely honed, flawlessly defined, living work of art. “You’re way too… way too… ” The words escaped her.

  He hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic bands of his cotton boxers and slid them down his hips. “Way too what?”

  Her eyes bulged. “Way too… everything. Too big. Too powerful. Too much.”

  He slid the boxers past his thighs, over his knees, and to his ankles, where he kicked them carelessly behind him, utterly unashamed of his nudity and the straining erection, so boldly exposed. He bent his head and began to kiss his way along the inside of her thigh, slowly approaching her core. “Stop playing games, baby. What are you afraid of?”

  Her eyes swelled with tears, and he rocked back on his heels to watch her, his own expression growing ripe with concern. “Tell me.” He placed his open palm over her heart and watched as her chest heaved up and down in heightened response. “Because your heart is racing, yet your desire is with me. Your body is on fire, even as your eyes are filling with tears.”

  She nodded and placed her hand over his. “I know.”

  He ran his hand down the center of her chest, careful to avoid her breasts, and then paused at the round of her belly. “Then tell me what’s going on, Blondie.” He lowered his arm, ever so slightly, until the heel of hand pressed gently against her hot feminine core. “You want me as badly as I want you, so what’s the conflict?”

  She sighed, nearly moaning from the pleasure of his touch. There was no denying that she wanted him. He wasn’t wrong in his assessment. Her body had utterly betrayed her, and even as he touched her, now… there… she felt her stomach tighten and her desire mount, another climax beginning to coil. “I just… I just… ” She grasped his thick wrist with her hand, hoping to stop him from using those fingers more intimately, knowing that she would come apart… again. Her body would be his to command.

  “You just?” he prompted, waiting.

  Oh, what the hell.

  Who was she kidding, and what was she hiding from? Why was she acting like this? Her body was inflamed. Her heart was melting beneath the heat of his gaze, and her soul was swimming in the velvety pool of his masculine beauty—her mind was spinning with the possibilities, the promise of his impending possession…

  She was virtually yearning for his invasion, yet something inside of her was reeling, and she had to try to express it, even if she sounded like a fool. “I’m afraid I’ll lose something,” she whispered tentatively, “that I’ll somehow get lost.”

  His expression changed to one of deep empathy as he slowly shook his head. “No, b
aby, you won’t. You’re too strong for that.”

  “But what if I’m not? What if I lose my way?”

  “You can hold onto me, follow where I lead.”

  “What if I lose my power?”

  “You can borrow some of mine.”

  “What if lose my self—my identity?”

  “You aren’t going to lose that, Blondie. In fact, I think for the first time in your life, you’re going to finally find it… with me.”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “I feel like I’m falling, like I’m drowning, like you’re about to consume everything I am. I am powerless in your presence, Ramsey, and not just because you have such a strong personality, not just because you’re such a dangerous species. I feel like you’re bigger than me, more certain than me, and in the end, if I let you have me, I’ll be nothing by comparison.”

  There.

  She had said it.

  She was afraid that Ramsey was bigger than life, more powerful than she could ever hope to be, and if she submitted her very being to him, when it was all said and done, she would be nothing.

  twenty-two

  Ramsey Olaru let out a deep, measured breath and stared at the beautiful, sensual woman before him, trying to make sense of her words. Her usually stylish hair was disheveled in the most adorable way; her deep, sea-green eyes were heavily lidded with desire, even as they were lined with confusion; and his body was getting in the way of his brain. In fact, his manhood was so incredibly strained, swollen, and hard that he was having trouble remembering his name, let alone processing the depth and gravity of what Tiffany was trying to say.

  But he thought he got it.

  He thought he got her.

  She would resist him forever if she could because that solid core inside of her was so carefully contained, so fiercely independent, and so neatly controlled that to give herself completely to another being felt almost like a death of sorts. And Ramsey would never settle for just a part of her personality, a piece of her body, or an arm’s-length romp in the hay. The celestial gods had chosen the two of them for one another, and he intended to make them one. Maybe, if she hadn’t died and come back from the grave, he might have approached things differently. Maybe, if he hadn’t failed her so miserably before, he would not feel the need to claim her so completely now. But Ramsey understood, perhaps for the first time in his long, monotonous life, what a destiny truly was.

  Who Tiffany truly was.

  She was his: his heart, his providence, his other half.

  She was his reason for being, and he was hers.

  And they would never come together if he continued to allow any sort of distance between them. The fact that he was a vampire—a predatory, dominant male—and she was yet human, his sensual partner, created to yield, was beyond reasoning or debate. It was simply the way of creation. The will of the gods. And she would come to understand, ultimately, that he was as vulnerable as she was, that their pairing was as revealing for him as it was for her. That with all he might take, he would give even more. In asserting his strength, he would also relinquish control—

  To her.

  But not if he allowed the procrastination to continue.

  “Baby,” he whispered ardently. “You aren’t nothing. You’re everything. My sky, my moon, my sun, my air, my life as we go forward. I would die for you. I would die without you, and if you give me your trust, all of you—your body, your heart, and your mind—I promise, I will never let you fall. I will never let you sink or drown. And I will never take anything from you that I’m not willing to give back in equal measure. Give yourself to me, Tiffany, willingly. Let me take you. Claim you. Let me love you.”

  Tiffany sat forward and looked deep into his eyes. She cupped his jaw in her hands and stared at his mouth for what seemed like eternity, and then she brushed her thumb along the scruff on his chin. “You are so incredibly handsome… so harshly, ruggedly… beautiful.” She nearly groaned the words. “Your eyes. Your mouth. Your features.” She ran the pad of her finger along the bridge of his nose, circled the indentation in his cheek, and then traced the contours of his lower lip. “You are utterly terrifying in your perfection, Ramsey.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “I swear, sometimes, it actually hurts to look at you.”

  He inhaled sharply and grasped both of her wrists in his hands. “Right back at you, Blondie.”

  She chuckled softly, and then playfully shook her head. “Are you kidding? I’m a mess.”

  There was nothing playful in his eyes as he tried to convey his appreciation with his gaze, the quirk of his lips, and the slant of his head. “You’re my mess, baby girl, and I’m just… gone. Just utterly and completely gone over you. Not the Curse, not the prophecy, not even the urgency of this Blood Moon. You, Tiffany.”

  Her eyes lit with surprise, and then she quickly glanced away. “If you didn’t have to choose me, would you? I mean—”

  “Oh, yes,” he interrupted, “I want you, angel, more than you can imagine. I want to be inside you. I want to touch your heart and your body with my own. I want you to know me… feel me… get how much I need you.”

  She gulped, as if trying to swallow his words. And his request. She leaned forward and kissed him with abandon, and he responded in kind. She linked her fingers in his hair and breathed in his essence as he deepened their kiss and pulled her to the edge of the seat. She extended her shapely legs for his consideration and waited as he gently removed the remaining vestiges of her clothes and positioned his hips between her thighs.

  There would be time for extended foreplay in the future.

  There would be nights of wild passion—perhaps even broken furniture and screaming each other’s names—as their expression became more natural, their bodies became more familiar, but this was not the time… or the place.

  This was their joining.

  Their first union.

  This was Ramsey’s claiming.

  Sliding his palm beneath her lower back to support her weight, he thrust himself inside of her, waited for her body to adjust to his, and then slowly began to pump his hips. When her graceful neck arched, her head fell back, and a feminine moan of pleasure escaped her lips, Ramsey growled with satisfaction.

  His destiny was finally his.

  And together, they would find their rhythm.

  Together, they would find their way.

  Regardless of how it happened—or when it all came together—one thing was for certain: Ramsey Olaru would never, ever let this beautiful creature slip away from him again.

  twenty-three

  Tiffany curled up beneath Ramsey’s protective arm and snuggled closer to his heart, turning to the side so she could wrap her legs around his—there just wasn’t an inch of extra space in the oversized chair and ottoman, and while the afghan covered her nicely, he was hanging out on both ends.

  She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Wow. Just… wow.

  “You good?” he asked in that deep, raspy voice.

  She smiled. “I’m very good at the moment, thank you.”

  He absently brushed her hair out of her eyes and shifted in the chair, trying to get more comfortable.

  “So,” she said in a lazy voice, “tell me more about you.”

  He ran his palm down her arm and then gently caressed her back. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  He chuckled. “Could you be more specific?”

  She burrowed deeper into his arms. Let’s see, what do I really want to know about this mysterious guy? It was probably better to start simple. “Red or blue?”

  “Excuse me?” he said dubiously. She loved the tenor of his voice.

  “Red or blue?” she repeated.

  “Blue.”

  “Why?”

  He paused. “It’s more mellow than red.”

  She propped herself up on her arm and gazed into his eyes as if looking for the truth. “You consider yourself mellow?”

  He shrugged.


  “Fine.” She settled back into his arms. “Rock-and-roll, jazz-and-blues, or classical?”

  “Rock.”

  She thought some more. “Hot or cold? The beach or the mountains? Racquetball or swimming?”

  He laughed out loud, and the sound was both resonant and melodic, almost inviting. “Where do you come up with these questions? Cold. The mountains. And we have an indoor pool.”

  She sighed. “Oh yeah, that’s true.”

  “Never racquetball,” he added to her surprise, “too frilly for my taste.”

  “Frilly?” she asked. “How is racquetball frilly?”

  “Dancing around with a little paddle in your hand, trying to work up a sweat with some basic hand-eye coordination—not very challenging for a vampire.”

  “Ah,” she said, “so you’ve tried it?”

  “Nope,” he answered. “Too frilly.”

  This time she laughed out loud. “Okay, so the questions are going to get harder.”

  He waited, clearly undaunted. “I think I can handle it.”

  “Playful or serious? Happy or sad? Saxson or Santos?”

  He shook his head in bewilderment. “Seriously? I don’t even know what that last question means.”

  “Just answer,” she prompted.

  He sighed. “I can be playful… with someone who knows me. I take a lot of things seriously, but not everything. Happy or sad?” He scrunched up his handsome face. “Damn, Blondie. I guess the first thing I’d say is this: These are all black-or-white questions. In most things, I’m some shade of gray. Happy? Do I skip down the lane, marveling at the birds and the bees?”

  “No!” she interjected decisively.

  “No,” he said more softly. “But do I lock myself in my room, listen to sad violin music, and bemoan the fact that the world’s a gloomy place? Absolutely never. Not in a million years.”

  She pondered his answer. “Because you don’t think about things like that?”

  He tilted his head to the side, thinking. “I don’t take on things like that. If I see something that bothers me, I handle it. If I see something I want to change, I change it. If I see something that’s none of my business, I keep walking.”