Claimed

  Emma stumbled into the room, finally yanking her arm from Dage. What the hell was his problem? She hadn’t lied to him. Even so, she backed away from what appeared to be a furious vampire. “You’ve no right to be angry.”

  He took three long strides, leaned against the cherry wood desk, and crossed his ankles. A red flush slid across his face, and his normally silver eyes swirled with a dangerous blue. Gone was the diplomat, leaving pure, pissed-off male in its place. “You denied who we are. That will never happen again.” An animalistic growl rode every word.

  She gazed at him, her nostrils flaring as the truth of the matter struck her dead center. “You only pretend that smoothness.”

  He raised an eyebrow, his massive shoulders tensing. “Excuse me?”

  How could one simple phrase sound like a threat? “The diplomatic suit you don—it’s bullshit.”

  He raised his head and slowly lowered his lids to half mast, his bluish-silver eyes focusing on her like a wolf with a trapped doe. “I don’t believe the Queen of the Realm should use such base language.”

  The low rumble of his voice, the inherent danger threading through each word, nearly distracted her from the fact they were talking about him. “I don’t give a shit.”

  Every tiny movement, every royal thought focused with incredible precision in those metallic eyes as they focused on her. Completely and absolutely. He didn’t move. He appeared to barely breathe. Yet the strength of that focus kept her rooted firmly in place. How could so much power come from one gaze?

  She lifted her chin—the potent energy swirling around the room belonged to both of them.

  Then he grinned, and she lost her breath for a moment. Okay, maybe more of the power was his. For now.

  At the realization, her temper spiked. “Do you really think I failed to see you coming?”

  He cocked his head to the side, a glimmer of challenge sparking his eyes to flint. “Do tell.”

  The pure arrogance of his stance, the full cockiness of his words forced a rushing sound to fill her ears. “I saw you. In visions.” She slapped her hands down on her hips. “I’m ready, Dage. I know what you can do”—she showed her teeth, lowering her voice—“and I prepared for it.”

  He pushed away from the desk, standing to his full height. She locked her knees to keep from stepping back; even so, her legs trembled with the need to retreat.

  His eyebrow lifted and his lips tipped in the slightest amusement as if he enjoyed her struggle. “You have no idea what I can do.” Silky and dark, his voice slid over her skin, raising goose bumps and need.

  Damn him. She hadn’t backed down from a challenge her entire life. “Try me.”

  Surprise flashed across his hard face before blue completely banished the silver of his eyes. “As you wish.” He flicked a glance at the top button of her sweater, and it flew through the room to ping against a Russell painting. The second hit the doorknob and the third a window. A dark flush played over his high cheekbones. “Shall I continue?”

  She kept her hands on her hips, refusing to make the obvious move and clasp her sweater together. It lay open to just below her bra, and a small part of her enjoyed the heat filling his eyes when the cool air brushed across her breasts, pebbling her nipples through the sheer satin.

  He’d moved quicker than she’d expected, but now she was ready. “Kiss my ass.”

  His head jerked up and he took a step toward her. The air changed, heated, stilled. He dropped his gaze to the next button, and she threw up a shield. Imagining shards of ice between her sweater and his eyes, she pushed.

  The button remained closed, and Dage lifted his chin, then tilted his head to the side. “Indeed.” Wonder filled his eyes, even as a muscle began to tick in his jaw. “I very much would like to avoid breaking you, mate.”

  His words sent a chill down her spine, rivaling the imaginary ice protecting her clothing. “I don’t believe you could.” The words came unbidden. She knew better than to challenge him, yet some things couldn’t be helped.

  He inhaled deeply as if stealing control from the oxygen around them. “You forget, Emma. Your new trick is here because we’ve begun the mating process. Your power comes from me.” He gave a slight mental push against her shield, as though testing her strength.

  She pressed back, relieved when her block held firm. “Maybe.” Of course this power came from him—it certainly wasn’t human. “But it’s mine now.” And it was—sheer intelligence had prepared her to take, adapt, and learn. The king fooled himself if he thought her anything but a worthy adversary.

  “Is that what you are?” he asked, his gaze traveling up the cashmere to her eyes. “Are you sure that’s what you want to be?”

  She faltered and he snatched the fourth button out of the air as it zinged by his ear.

  “Stay out of my head, Dage.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I believe all bets are off, sweetheart.” Flipping the button through the air, he caught it in his other hand. “Two buttons left, then the clasp of your bra.” He slid the tiny disc into his pocket. “Then your skirt.” His hands went to the buttons of his silk shirt, slowly undoing each one until the material hung open to reveal a broad chest. “Then those satin panties that match your pretty bra.”

  Then what? She gulped in an uneasy breath and eyed the door.

  A sharp click of the lock snapping into place provided her first clue. She focused back on Dage.

  He smiled slow and dangerous. “Then what? Well ... then I’m going to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you scream my name.” With a shrug of his strong shoulders, the silk shirt dropped to the floor, revealing tanned, hard muscle. “I guess you were right. The smoothness is bullshit.”

  Chapter 6

  Emma’s knees trembled in earnest. But it wasn’t with fear—not even close. Want and need slammed so hard through her she wondered how she didn’t combust right then and there in the well-appointed gathering room. She cut her eyes to the desk, then back to the King of the Realm.

  His hands went to his belt, drawing out the motion of releasing the buckle and pulling the leather through the loops. She waited for him to drop it to the floor with his shirt and lost her breath as he tightened his grip on the belt instead.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to give you one chance here, Emma.”

  The woman in her wanted to either kick him in the balls or rip his pants off and take him hard and fast. “What would that be, Dage?” Pride filled her at the steadiness of her voice.

  “Drop the shield, remove the rest of your clothing, and ... come here.” His voice rumbled down to smooth silk at the end.

  Her rational side warred with her emotional side as the air beat around them with a tension of its own. Desire, raw and pure, fought with the pride she’d held on to her entire life. “Bite me.” Apparently pride won out.

  Dage placed the belt next to him on the desk without breaking eye contact. “I plan to, mate. Never fear. Probably right after I mark you as I should’ve done last night.”

  She took a step back. “But you promised.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t mark you last night, love. And I didn’t.” His gaze traveled down her form and up again, leaving a tingle of awareness along every nerve ending. “You’ve lost the right to bargain with me now.”

  Bargain? Bargain? The man wanted to brand her and he thought this a negotiation? The flush burning her face actually hurt.

  And then ... he waited. A powerful being, one who could’ve struck fast and hard, he waited. Eyes dark, muscles tense, hands at his sides. For the love of God, why didn’t he just toss her over the desk?

  The uncertainty, plus the unfairness of the fact that he had three hundred years as well as advanced biology on her, spiked a fury through her that filled her bones. Or maybe the basic need clawing beneath her skin did that. Either way, she channeled every bit of that energy into fortifying her shields. To keeping him out.

  “You’ll never keep me out, Highness,” he said, soft an
d slow.

  “You want to bet?” she snapped out, readying her stance. She’d learn to block her thoughts.

  The smile sliding across his face could never be considered kind. “Bet? You already threw down the gauntlet, Emma. The battle has continued this length of time only because I’ve allowed it—to grant you a chance to retreat, as you know you should.”

  Retreat? Not a fucking chance in hell. Pure strength of will had her slamming imaginary mental shields around her brain. She nearly jumped at the sound of them clicking into place.

  He lifted his head, true appreciation flashing through his eyes. “Nicely done, love. Very nicely done.”

  His approval unnerved her as nothing else could have. He should be furious. Dread pooled to mix with the desire in her stomach—his confidence was real and probably earned.

  Keeping his predatory gaze focused on her eyes, he mentally tapped against the shield covering her body. Just a bit at first, then with more force.

  She held firm, every muscle she owned tightening in response.

  He shoved harder, looking for all the world like a guy preparing to take a casual stroll. The effort cost him nothing, yet a fine bead of sweat emerged on her forehead. Then her upper lip. Her shoulders started to tremble with the effort it took to block him.

  Sighing, he gave a sharp push and her shields crumbled to the ground, the sound of shattering ice echoing throughout her ears. Damn. He’d been playing with her.

  Her final two buttons dropped to the floor with soft pings and a gust of air ripped the sweater off her body.

  She tilted her head to the side. Even with the raw need cascading through her, the scientist’s mind wondered how he’d get the skirt off. Pencil thin, tight, she’d need to step out of it.

  She wouldn’t.

  He showed his teeth, and the sound of shredding fabric rent the air. The skirt split down the middle to pool onto the floor. He’d ripped her skirt! She hissed low, she’d liked that skirt.

  “Then you should’ve removed it when I told you to do so.” His gaze cut to her bra. As if an imaginary knife slashed through the air, the straps on her shoulders sprang free and the center clasp released. The bra sailed across the room to hang drunkenly from a curtain rod.

  Her breasts hung heavy and full, needing something.

  Someone.

  Him.

  She ached, standing vulnerable in her panties and three-inch heels. She lifted her head, pure stubbornness forcing her to face him.

  Her panties snapped in two.

  “You may keep on the heels, love,” he drawled. His gaze ran over her nude form, the silver returning to blend with the blue in his eyes and deepen to a color not even close to human. “I can smell your heat, Emma. Sugared peaches, saucy rum, feminine. For me.”

  “I can smell yours too, Dage,” she snapped back. If power had a smell it was Dage. Raw, sandalwood with amber, dangerous. For her.

  “Come here, Emma.” He straightened, the intricate ink webbing over his shoulder and down his arm standing out against the bronze of his skin. A wicked, sharp tattoo.

  She told herself she didn’t take orders from him. In truth, she balked. A cold slap of air pushed at her from behind, propelling her forward. Damn it. He controlled the air, too?

  “Sometimes,” he acknowledged. “The elements are Jase’s forte, but I have some talent as well.”

  Talent, her ass. It was a weapon and he knew it. She forgot how to breathe as she came to rest before the king. Not a force existed on earth that could’ve kept her from lifting her chin and squarely meeting his eyes.

  He gave a short nod of appreciation. “You are truly fit to be a queen.” Placing a large hand to rest against her neck, he drew her forward and dropped his mouth to hers.

  Roaring fire lanced through her and she groaned, trembling from need. Her hands went to the hot skin of his abs to trace the ridges of hard muscle even as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept inside her mouth, claiming, yet a gentle restraint echoed throughout his entire body.

  As if he waited.

  He lifted his head, showing his teeth in the smile of a wolf. “I told you how I wanted you, Emma.”

  She dropped her hands, her gaze sliding to the desk and back again. He was crazy if he thought—

  “Not crazy,” he murmured, apparently still in her head. The hand at her neck slid down between her breasts. “You waged war, love.” Tracing a path down to her stomach, he leaned even closer. “You lost.” The rough timbre of his voice encouraged the trembling deep inside her womb. Was it possible to orgasm just from a voice? “Now you surrender.” He reached his final destination and cupped her core.

  Her knees buckled. There was no other explanation for it. His other hand went to her waist, keeping her upright. Nearly dazed, she glanced at the exit. His gaze followed hers, and the lock disengaged with an audible click, the door moving slightly ajar.

  He straightened, removing both hands. Cold and emptiness rushed over her and she shivered. “You want to run, Emma, do so now.”

  There was no way her pride would allow her to run, and they both knew it.

  His muscles began to vibrate with a need she felt in her own womb. “Make your choice, Emma. The desk or the door.”

  Pride was a dangerous animal. They both knew he could have her on the desk in seconds should he choose. He was bigger and most certainly stronger. Yet the king had pride, too. No way would it allow him to make this easy on her.

  She’d challenged him—and she’d lost.

  Keeping her head high, she shifted to the side, placing both hands on the cold, smooth wood of the desk. Her gaze failed to acknowledge the beautiful oil painting before her, every ounce of focus she owned stayed on the man behind her—the vampire she could no longer see. She stubbornly refused to turn her head to track him.

  He didn’t make her wait. One palm spread out between her shoulder blades. She jumped. “Ah, Emma. You make it so easy to forget.” He traced a line down her spine, his callused finger caressing each vertebra, his voice low and soft. She shivered in need, no longer able to hide even that. “So much spirit, nearly larger than life.” He reached her tailbone and went lower. “I forget how very small, how very fragile you are.”

  Cupping her ass, he caressed to the apex between her legs. She gave an audible gasp, pushing back against his hand until he slid one, then two fingers inside her. She was wet and ready, and pretty much certain she was going to kill him if he waited any longer.

  The release of his zipper coincided with his deep chuckle at her ear. Heat surrounded her from behind as he removed his hand and the rustle of clothing sounded.

  He gave a gentle nudge to her ankles above the high heels and she widened her stance, eyes crossing as he pressed himself against her—hot, hard, and male. His hand returned, warm and heavy, to her shoulder blades, guiding her down until her cheek rested on the cool wood of the desk. Oh God.

  Grasping her hips with both hands, he drove into her.

  The cry she gave was for him and him alone. She lifted up to her elbows, pushing back and encouraging him to increase his speed. He accommodated her, thrusting hard and fast until a spiraling tickle of awareness began to hum deep inside her. Then he slowed.

  “Hey—” she protested, clenching around him.

  “Say my name, Emma.” Animalistic need rode every word.

  Jesus, she’d recite the Gettysburg address if he’d hurry up. “Dage.”

  “You’ll scream it.” Releasing her hips, he gathered all of her hair into one broad hand, tilting her head to the side. Her flesh rippled around him.

  He was going to bite her again.

  He increased the strength of his thrusts, his hand clenching in her hair, his heat filling her. Her muscles tightened, a trembling beginning to echo somewhere deep inside her.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  More.

  Flesh slapped against flesh. He hit a spot she hadn’t known existed. Stars sparked behind her eyes. Then his other hand
clasped her shoulder. A piercing pain shot through her bliss followed by a burst of reality. Of shocked awareness.

  He’d branded her. On her upper right shoulder—for the world to see.

  Fury blast through her even as the hum returned to her womb. Even as she pushed back against him. Pressing his entire length against her back, increasing his thrusts past what was humanly possible, he yanked her head farther to the side and struck. His fangs pierced her skin, and her orgasm slammed home.

  And she did, indeed, scream his name.

  Chapter 7

  He’d branded her.

  Fury cut through Emma until she feared a brain embolism as she yanked on jeans in their room. The arrogant ass had had her clothes moved that morning while she’d sipped tea. She clasped her shaking hands together, facing Dage. “What just happened changes nothing.”

  The rasp of a zipper filled the space when he donned his jeans. “That’s a stupid thing to say, love.” His jaw could’ve been made from rock and his eyes from slate. “I strongly suggest you don’t mess with me.”

  Awareness slid through Emma at the declaration that lacked a qualifier. Most people warned not to mess with them “right now.” Not Dage. His was a blanket statement for all time. The king epitomized absolute control and flame-filled promise. As if Sister June from her Catholic school cautioned her against touching him, Emma wanted nothing more than to step forward and get burned.

  She shook her head to concentrate. “I need to get to work, Dage.” Her data and recent results needed to be combed through for a solution to the virus problem.

  “I know.” He yanked a dark shirt over his head. “The best lab for you will be the one Kane’s designing, and you know it.”

  Yeah. Considering they’d blown up her last lab. “I’m sure many labs are adequately equipped for me to continue my research.” A weak argument at best.