Bound By Darkness (11 page)

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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: Bound By Darkness
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“Patience, poppet.”
She hissed, her fingers tugging at the clasp holding back his hair to allow the chestnut strands to spill over her skin, heightening the pleasure that pulsed through her body.
Don’t bite
, she fiercely reminded herself, as his hands branded a path down the curve of her hips and over her thighs. Things were complicated enough without taking his vein.
It was a compulsion that was becoming increasingly difficult to resist as Ariyal eased his hand between her legs and sought the aching cleft between them. Her hands shifted to his shoulders, her fingers unwittingly digging into his flesh to draw a pinprick of blood.
The potent scent of herbs filled the air even as his finger stroked over the sweet spot of her pleasure. She was falling into a maelstrom of sensations that were almost overwhelming.
“Ariyal.”
Perhaps sensing her battle against her twin hungers, Ariyal lifted his head to stroke his lips over her mouth.
“Let go, Jaelyn,” he softly urged.
“I can’t,” she rasped.
“What do you fear?”
She moaned as her hips instinctively lifted to press more firmly to his caressing finger.
“Losing control.”
He lifted onto his elbow and peered deep into her wary eyes. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
For a long moment she studied his starkly elegant face.
His beauty wasn’t the same as the frigid perfection of a vampire. He was mist and hot enchantment and dark magic.
Don’t be a fool
,
Jaelyn
, a warning voice whispered in the back of her mind.
She’d been taught a brutal lesson in trusting others.
One she didn’t intend to repeat.
But even as her mind warned of caution, her hands were framing his face so she could kiss him with the pent-up passion that thundered through her.
He groaned, his hand shifting to spear his finger into her body. He swallowed her cry of pleasure as her hips left the mattress, his tongue stroking a dangerous path over her fully extended fangs.
She was being consumed by flames, drowning in the heat of his touch and the blaze of his unrestrained need.
Opening her mouth to his thrusting tongue, she skimmed her hand down his chest. She didn’t mind sharing control, but she wasn’t a passive lover.
Ariyal sucked in a startled breath as she brushed her fingertips over the rippled muscles of his stomach and then clutched his cock in a firm grip.
“Shit,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “I can’t play games tonight.”
She knew the feeling.
She was close. So very close.
“Then finish this.”
“Yes.”
Holding her gaze as she positioned him, Ariyal gave her one last stroke of his finger before sinking his erection deep inside her.
They groaned in unison, holding absolutely still as they absorbed the sensation of being so intimately connected. Then, feeling the hunger once again threatening to overwhelm her, Jaelyn dug her fingers into the tight muscles of his ass.
“Ariyal.”
“I know,” he muttered against her mouth, his hips slowly pulling back before shoving forward with a blissful force. “Hold on tight.”
She pressed her face into the curve of his neck as he set a fierce pace, her fangs aching and the bed shaking beneath the impact of his thrusts.
“Please,” she moaned, the building pressure narrowing to a shimmering promise that hovered just out of reach.
“More. I need ...”
“That’s it, poppet,” he breathed into her ear, his hand slipping between them to caress the tiny nub of pleasure. “Trust me and let go.”
“Yes.”
Her entire body clenched and hovered for a timeless moment; then with shocking force she shattered into a million, joyous pieces.
Chapter 8
A part of Ariyal cringed at the realization he’d just made fierce, passionate love to this beautiful female in surroundings that weren’t fit for a hellhound.
No matter how desperately he wanted Jaelyn, he should have been capable of waiting until he could offer her at least the illusion of comfort.
But a larger part of him was indifferent to the hard, narrow bed and grimy cell. Or even the distant stench of demons entering a large room overhead.
He had just experienced the most shockingly blissful climax of his long, long life. The last emotion he could stir up was regret.
Actually, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was feeling as he snuggled the silent vampire against his chest, his fingers running through the cool silk of her hair.
“Tell me about your nightmare,” he commanded before he could halt the words.
Not surprisingly she stiffened, her reluctance to discuss her past a tangible force in the air.
“Give it a rest, fairy,” she growled.
“ No.”
She pulled back to stab him with a steely glare. “Do you want to talk about your years with Morgana le Fey?”
His jaw clenched. Of course he didn’t want to discuss that crazy-ass bitch. If he had his choice the name of Morgana le Fey would be scrubbed from the history of the world.
But for reasons that should no doubt be making him wail in fear, he wanted to know what haunted her when she slept.
No, not wanted.
Needed.
“What do you want to know?”
She frowned, caught off guard by his abrupt capitulation. Had she been bluffing? Then he felt the slight easing of her muscles as she nestled against him and a genuine curiosity melted the frost on the indigo eyes.
“Were you her lover?”
“I was her slave, not her lover.”
She gave a slow nod. Did she understand the soul-numbing difference between the two?
“Did she hurt you?”
“She took pleasure in causing pain.”
“She tortured you?”
“In the beginning.” His arms tightened around her as he was battered by the memories he struggled so hard to keep buried. “Eventually she discovered that it caused me far greater distress to see my brothers hurt.”
She paused, clearly sensing his injuries ran far deeper than a few scars.
“Did she use her magic?”
“Sometimes.” His voice was thick as he choked on the vivid image of blood. So much blood. “Usually she preferred to carve them with her knife.” He shuddered. “She called it her living art.”
She stroked a tentative hand over his chest. As if unfamiliar with offering comfort.
“She made you watch?”
“Yes.”
“Bitch.”
Oddly her simple condemnation was more soothing than any amount of fancy words of sympathy.
“That was the general consensus,” he agreed dryly.
She paused, studying him with an unwavering gaze. “Was it worth the sacrifice?”
He shrugged.
It was a question that was never far from his mind.
It didn’t seem possible that anything could be worth enduring such pain and loss. But then he had only to recall the brutal days beneath the rule of the Dark Lord to be reminded of why they were willing to sacrifice everything to be free.
“It will be if I can prevent the return of the Dark Lord,” he said, tugging a strand of her raven hair. “Which is why I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him imprisoned.”
She ignored his warning. “What will you do if you succeed ?”
“Live in peace with my tribe.”
“With you as their prince?”
He shrugged. He’d never asked to become prince.
“Until they choose a new leader.”
“Do you get a throne and a crown?”
His brows lifted. Was she actually teasing him?
The thought was unexpectedly erotic.
Okay, every thought that included Jaelyn was erotic, he wryly conceded, rolling on top of her slender frame with a low groan of satisfaction.
“No, but I do get my choice of consorts,” he murmured.
“Really?” Her lips tightened. Ah, feminine disapproval. It spanned the species. “I suppose you have them all picked out?”
He shifted until he could press his hardening erection against her inner thigh.
“One, at least.”
A dark emotion flared through her eyes before it was being ruthlessly crushed.
Had it been ... yearning?
No, impossible.
“Don’t look my way, fairy. Even if I didn’t want to constantly punch you in the face, I’m not consort material.”
“I’m a patient man,” he assured her, bending down to whisper against her lips, still swollen from his kisses. “I’m willing to train you.”
She rammed her fingers into his hair, but she made no effort to push him away.
Thank the gods.
“For a fairy who claims he wants to live in peace you play a dangerous game.”
He traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. “Your turn to share.”
She shivered, the scent of her arousal spicing the air. “I think I’ve shared more than enough.”
“Tell me, Jaelyn.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why do you have nightmares?”
She cursed, abruptly pressing her hands against his chest. “Levet.”
He lifted his head with a frown. “The gargoyle?”
“Yes.”
Ariyal had a vague recollection of the miniature demon who had been traveling with the vampire Tane.
Aggravating pest.
“Well, he would certainly give anyone nightmares, but I’m not sure what he has to do with our conversation,” he muttered.
“He’s approaching.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“ Damn.”
With a pang of regret, he rolled off the bed and yanked on the jeans that had replaced his dojo pants before he left Avalon. Then, holding out his hand, he muttered the harsh words of magic that called his bow and arrows.
Behind him he heard Jaelyn pulling on her bits of spandex before she moved to stand at his side.
“What are you doing?”
“His arrival can’t be a coincidence.” Ariyal concentrated on the door, prepared to shoot the moment it opened. “The creature has obviously followed us here.”
“Not us,” Jaelyn corrected. “He’s looking for your charming spirit.”
“Who?”
“Yannah. He has some sort of gargoyle crush on her.”
He turned to watch her efficiently pull her hair into a smooth braid.
“Is this a joke?”
She crushed his brief hope with a decisive shake of her head. “No. He scented Yannah on me when I arrived in London and decided to join us.”
“And you let him?” he snarled in disbelief.
“Hey, he helped me rescue your ass, so just ...”
“Just what?”
“Chill.”
 
 
The King of Were’s lair in St. Louis
 
Santiago shuddered as the mists at last cleared.
Mierda.
He hadn’t signed up for this when Styx had sent him in search of Cassandra.
He was prepared to battle demons, Sylvermyst, and even a mage if necessary.
He wasn’t prepared to be hauled around in a strange, choking mist by an exquisite female who had turned her back on the world centuries ago.
Or to abruptly find himself in an unfamiliar room miles from where he’d started.
Swiftly he took stock of his surroundings.
A dirt floor. Cement walls that were lined with towering shelves that held hundreds of dusty bottles. A collection of aged-wood barrels in the center of the room. And at the far end a series of arched doorways where Santiago could catch the low hum of refrigerators.
A wine cellar?
“Where the hell did you bring me?” he muttered in confusion.
“I am not entirely certain.” Nefri shrugged, not looking nearly as troubled at having dumped them in this strange cellar as she should. Not even when an unmistakable stench filled the air.
Santiago yanked the dagger from the sheath hidden at his lower back.
“Dogs,” he hissed.
“Bloodsucker,” a mocking voice retorted as one of the shelves slid aside to allow a pureblooded Were and a cur to step out of a hidden tunnel.
Santiago lifted his brows at the sight of Salvatore and his faithful sidekick Hess.
As always, the King of Weres was dressed in a hand-tailored designer suit. This one was an Italian wool in a pale charcoal with a white shirt and a burgundy tie. With his dark hair pulled into a neat tail and his lean face freshly shaved, he looked more like a mobster than a Were. His companion, on the other hand, looked like a hired thug with his six-foot-six, heavily muscled body and shaved head.
“Ah, not just a dog, but the King of Mutts,” he taunted, grimacing as Salvatore snapped his impressive teeth in his direction. “Shouldn’t royalty be house-trained?”
Pointing a gun that was loaded with silver bullets directly at Santiago’s heart, Salvatore nodded toward Hess, who swiftly moved to stand behind Nefri. The cur’s indecent bulk and the brutal glint in his eye made the slender female appear dangerously vulnerable, but no one in the room was stupid enough to doubt that she could kill any of them in a blink of an eye.
Her power pulsed about her in terrifying waves.
“Santiago.” Salvatore placed himself so he could keep an eye on both intruders. “Clearly I need to have a word with Styx. The arrogant bastard doesn’t seem to understand the concept of barriers.”
“Styx had nothing to do with our ...” Santiago considered his words. Vampires and Weres were natural-born enemies. And both species relished their mutual desire to exterminate the other. But for the past few months Salvatore and Styx had called an uneasy truce as they were forced to work together to halt the greater evil. The Anasso would skin Santiago alive if he screwed up the temporary treaty. “Unexpected arrival.”
Salvatore narrowed his gaze. “You expect me to believe you managed to sneak past my guards without assistance?”
Santiago deliberately glanced toward the silent Nefri. “Our arrival was unconventional, to say the least.”
The King of Weres turned to study the dark-haired vampire, giving a whistle as he took stock of her delicate beauty.
“Cristo.”
He returned his gaze to Santiago. “She’s way out of your league,
amico
. Did she lose a bet or are you holding her hostage?”
Santiago scowled. Out of his league? Was he supposed to be insulted? Nefri was out of everyone’s league.
Not only was the female heart-meltingly beautiful with the sort of regal grace that made a man itch to tumble her on her back and kiss away that aloof perfection, but she was also proving to be intelligent, cultured, and surprisingly resourceful.
And oh yeah, there was a very real possibility that she was the most powerful creature walking the face of the earth.
Besides, even if he was idiotic enough to long for the exquisite, unattainable Nefri (which he most certainly was not) she was a member of a clan who thought they were superior to the common vampires.
Arrogant snobs.
“She’s an Immortal One,” he said, his voice carefully bland.
“Really?” Salvatore blinked in genuine shock. “I thought they were a myth.”
Santiago met Nefri’s dark gaze, childishly annoyed by her serene composure. Did nothing rattle her?
“Unfortunately they’re very real.”
“Unfortunately?” Salvatore shot him a glance filled with pure male disapproval. “Have you gone blind?”
“He is somewhat prejudiced,” Nefri explained, a mysterious smile curving her lips.
Salvatore moved toward the bewitching female, leaning close enough to draw in her exotic jasmine scent.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Santiago didn’t even know he was moving until he was suddenly standing at Nefri’s side, his fangs bared in warning.
To hell with the treaty.
If Salvatore touched Nefri he was a dead dog.
“Stay back.”
The golden eyes briefly glowed as the wolf sensed a direct challenge; then with a sudden laugh the Were stepped back.
“Feeling a little possessive, are you, Santiago?” he mocked.

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