chance.
Sometimes living up to that trust was hard.
There was one sexy little werewolf in
particular. She was ravishingly pretty, and appeared young, which
maybe explained why she feared his kind so much, and why she
scurried away whenever he came close. But never fast enough so he
couldn’t smell the hot, sweetness of her blood, laced with the
intoxicating scent of her fear.
And now, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was
hovering outside his door. He ran a hand through his hair and
pushed down his hunger. Rolling onto his feet, he pulled on his
pants, strode across the room, and flung open the door.
And stopped.
She’d swapped her normal T-shirt for a black
slinky top that left her shoulders bare and piled her long dark
hair into a loose knot on top of her head, exposing the graceful
line of her throat.
His gaze fixed on the pulse beneath the
fragile layer of skin, and his gums ached.
Life wasn’t fair.
***
I am not weak. I can do this.
Maria tried to force herself to take a step
forward. When her feet refused to move, she closed her eyes, leaned
her body towards him, and raised her chin, baring her throat.
Could she be any more obvious?
When nothing happened, she opened her eyes.
He was watching her, his brows furrowed.
“Why?” he asked.
The question took her by surprise. “Does it
matter?”
“Yes.”
Irritation flared—why couldn’t he just
co-operate? “I need to prove I’m not afraid.”
He leaned close, breathing deeply.
“Sweetheart, I can smell your fear.”
A shudder ran through her. “Okay. I need to
prove that I can conquer my fear. That my fear doesn’t rule
me.”
A look of disbelief flashed across his face.
“What am I? Some sort of therapist?”
She shrugged suddenly uncomfortable.
“Maybe.”
He considered her, head tilted to one side.
“So why are you afraid of vampires?”
Was he crazy?
“Jesus. You’re a goddamned blood-sucking
monster. Why the hell wouldn’t I be afraid?”
A brief smile curved his
lips. Then he stood back and gestured for her to enter the room.
Maria became aware that he wasn’t wearing much, just a pair of
black pants that hung low on his lean hips. At any other time, and
had he been anything else, she might have admired the sleek lines
of his body, the ridged muscles of his flat belly. As it was, they
hardly registered. It wasn’t what was in his pants that made her pulse
race.
She took three steps forward. Her breathing
short and sharp, as she stood, frozen in place. She didn’t think
she could run now even if her life depended on it. Which might very
well be the case.
“A sacrificial lamb,” he murmured.
“How…delicious.”
Circling her slowly, he came to a halt
behind her. As he touched her lightly on the shoulder, she
jumped.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered close to
her ear, his cool breath feathering across her skin. “Calm
down—this won’t hurt.”
Maria didn’t believe him. It was nearly
seventy years now, but she could still see her mother’s dead
staring eyes, filled with the agony of her last moments.
His lips touched her throat in the softest
of kisses as his hands settled on her shoulders and he drew her
back against the coolness of his naked chest. His mouth opened
against her skin. Maria swallowed and braced herself for the pain.
For an instant, his body tensed, his fingers tightened. Then his
fangs sank into her.
No pain.
Just a rhythmic tugging that pulled at
places deep within her body. Relief held her motionless for a
moment, then she tilted her head to the side to give him better
access. He growled low in his throat, his hands sliding down her
arms to enfold her, pull her closer against his hard body.
What was he doing to her?
Her breasts ached, and a pulse throbbed
between her thighs. She arched back against him, and his palm swept
up over her stomach to cup her breast. He squeezed, and lightning
shot down through her belly. The strength drained from her limbs,
and she would have fallen but for his
Sometimes living up to that trust was hard.
There was one sexy little werewolf in
particular. She was ravishingly pretty, and appeared young, which
maybe explained why she feared his kind so much, and why she
scurried away whenever he came close. But never fast enough so he
couldn’t smell the hot, sweetness of her blood, laced with the
intoxicating scent of her fear.
And now, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was
hovering outside his door. He ran a hand through his hair and
pushed down his hunger. Rolling onto his feet, he pulled on his
pants, strode across the room, and flung open the door.
And stopped.
She’d swapped her normal T-shirt for a black
slinky top that left her shoulders bare and piled her long dark
hair into a loose knot on top of her head, exposing the graceful
line of her throat.
His gaze fixed on the pulse beneath the
fragile layer of skin, and his gums ached.
Life wasn’t fair.
***
I am not weak. I can do this.
Maria tried to force herself to take a step
forward. When her feet refused to move, she closed her eyes, leaned
her body towards him, and raised her chin, baring her throat.
Could she be any more obvious?
When nothing happened, she opened her eyes.
He was watching her, his brows furrowed.
“Why?” he asked.
The question took her by surprise. “Does it
matter?”
“Yes.”
Irritation flared—why couldn’t he just
co-operate? “I need to prove I’m not afraid.”
He leaned close, breathing deeply.
“Sweetheart, I can smell your fear.”
A shudder ran through her. “Okay. I need to
prove that I can conquer my fear. That my fear doesn’t rule
me.”
A look of disbelief flashed across his face.
“What am I? Some sort of therapist?”
She shrugged suddenly uncomfortable.
“Maybe.”
He considered her, head tilted to one side.
“So why are you afraid of vampires?”
Was he crazy?
“Jesus. You’re a goddamned blood-sucking
monster. Why the hell wouldn’t I be afraid?”
A brief smile curved his
lips. Then he stood back and gestured for her to enter the room.
Maria became aware that he wasn’t wearing much, just a pair of
black pants that hung low on his lean hips. At any other time, and
had he been anything else, she might have admired the sleek lines
of his body, the ridged muscles of his flat belly. As it was, they
hardly registered. It wasn’t what was in his pants that made her pulse
race.
She took three steps forward. Her breathing
short and sharp, as she stood, frozen in place. She didn’t think
she could run now even if her life depended on it. Which might very
well be the case.
“A sacrificial lamb,” he murmured.
“How…delicious.”
Circling her slowly, he came to a halt
behind her. As he touched her lightly on the shoulder, she
jumped.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered close to
her ear, his cool breath feathering across her skin. “Calm
down—this won’t hurt.”
Maria didn’t believe him. It was nearly
seventy years now, but she could still see her mother’s dead
staring eyes, filled with the agony of her last moments.
His lips touched her throat in the softest
of kisses as his hands settled on her shoulders and he drew her
back against the coolness of his naked chest. His mouth opened
against her skin. Maria swallowed and braced herself for the pain.
For an instant, his body tensed, his fingers tightened. Then his
fangs sank into her.
No pain.
Just a rhythmic tugging that pulled at
places deep within her body. Relief held her motionless for a
moment, then she tilted her head to the side to give him better
access. He growled low in his throat, his hands sliding down her
arms to enfold her, pull her closer against his hard body.
What was he doing to her?
Her breasts ached, and a pulse throbbed
between her thighs. She arched back against him, and his palm swept
up over her stomach to cup her breast. He squeezed, and lightning
shot down through her belly. The strength drained from her limbs,
and she would have fallen but for his
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