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Authors: Denyse Bridger
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they always did,
breaths of disjointed, blood-tainted images. Fragmented and
disconnected, the scenes flew across her mind like clips from a
movie in which she was the star. Terror assaulted her, a distant,
abstract awareness, part of her, but not born of her. Within
Cliantha, an unmistakable thrill of excitement awoke—a macabre
delight in the fear that flourished all around her. A reckless
surge of abandon filled her, and she threw back her head. Laughter
filled the night, hers, and his .
A shudder penetrated the madness and she
wondered who he was . She gazed up, drowning in eyes so blue,
they filled her vision, and he smiled. That fleeting shift of
expression sent a tingle along her spine that made her arch toward
him, her body seeking contact with his. He laughed, sweeping
Cliantha into his arms.
Before she could make sense of whom he was,
the dream/vision skewed again… becoming one of lust and savagery as
images blurred and aroused a hunger she couldn't define. His lips
parted hers and demanded her soul.
She gave it.
His taste and scent filled her senses,
stirring a passion that threatened to make her scream for
fulfillment. Still he teased her, his mouth searching out the most
vulnerable places, plundering her secrets, revealing them to her
with a wickedness that made him all the more terrifying.
When he refused to answer her broken pleas,
she grew angry, and that, too, pleased him.
"Bastard!" she hissed.
"Take what you desire, Cliantha!" He matched
her anger, but still smiled. "You can have anything you want, if
you dare to claim it as your right."
Her eyes swept over the man lying beside her
and she rose to her knees. She stared at him, her passion swelling
to an agony of exquisite need with each caressing shift of her
gaze. With shaking hands, she stroked his silky platinum hair,
while her sensitive fingertips traced the mocking smile that tilted
the corners of his mouth. She parted his lips with a gentle probe
of one finger, and punctured the tip against the razor-sharp edge
of one extended fang. He licked the droplet of blood as she traced
the fullness of his bottom lip.
"I hate you," she murmured, leaning forward
to straddle his hips. Her hands wandered over his smooth, cool
chest, memorizing contours she knew better than her own. Touching
him intoxicated her like a drug, addictive, senseless, and exciting
beyond anything she'd ever known.
It had even ceased to matter that he had
forced her into his bed. His dominance had long ago stripped her of
the innocence she'd once possessed. She let another drop of blood
drip from her finger; it pooled over his heart and she bent to lick
the scarlet stain. This time he reacted, and the tiny shiver
inspired deep satisfaction, making her smile down at him. Pure
hunger blazed within her. A hunger he had cultivated and fed for
decades. A thousand years could pass and she'd still crave his
touch with an insanity that made her despise herself, and him.
"Show me how you hate me, bitch!" His hand
tangled in the waves of blue-black hair that fell forward when he
pulled her to him. She tore away from his embrace and glared down
at him. Amused, he gripped her throat.
She arched her neck, inviting without a
word. His blue eyes grew dark and dangerous. She rose and bent
forward until her lips brushed his, then allowed her tongue to
invade his mouth. Strong, elegant fingers drifted across her back,
waking trails of fire that left her shuddering against him. She
drew away from the bitter sweetness of his mouth and stared down at
him again, her chest heaving with her effort to regain control of
her body's responses.
His hands at her waist shifted, found the
fullness of her breasts and she moaned as he brushed his thumbs
across the hardened buds of her nipples. Cliantha shook her head
and slid back, pushing his hands away as she began to explore his
pale, defined body. When her mouth finished its teasing trek across
his chest, and closed over him, she shuddered at the rise
breaths of disjointed, blood-tainted images. Fragmented and
disconnected, the scenes flew across her mind like clips from a
movie in which she was the star. Terror assaulted her, a distant,
abstract awareness, part of her, but not born of her. Within
Cliantha, an unmistakable thrill of excitement awoke—a macabre
delight in the fear that flourished all around her. A reckless
surge of abandon filled her, and she threw back her head. Laughter
filled the night, hers, and his .
A shudder penetrated the madness and she
wondered who he was . She gazed up, drowning in eyes so blue,
they filled her vision, and he smiled. That fleeting shift of
expression sent a tingle along her spine that made her arch toward
him, her body seeking contact with his. He laughed, sweeping
Cliantha into his arms.
Before she could make sense of whom he was,
the dream/vision skewed again… becoming one of lust and savagery as
images blurred and aroused a hunger she couldn't define. His lips
parted hers and demanded her soul.
She gave it.
His taste and scent filled her senses,
stirring a passion that threatened to make her scream for
fulfillment. Still he teased her, his mouth searching out the most
vulnerable places, plundering her secrets, revealing them to her
with a wickedness that made him all the more terrifying.
When he refused to answer her broken pleas,
she grew angry, and that, too, pleased him.
"Bastard!" she hissed.
"Take what you desire, Cliantha!" He matched
her anger, but still smiled. "You can have anything you want, if
you dare to claim it as your right."
Her eyes swept over the man lying beside her
and she rose to her knees. She stared at him, her passion swelling
to an agony of exquisite need with each caressing shift of her
gaze. With shaking hands, she stroked his silky platinum hair,
while her sensitive fingertips traced the mocking smile that tilted
the corners of his mouth. She parted his lips with a gentle probe
of one finger, and punctured the tip against the razor-sharp edge
of one extended fang. He licked the droplet of blood as she traced
the fullness of his bottom lip.
"I hate you," she murmured, leaning forward
to straddle his hips. Her hands wandered over his smooth, cool
chest, memorizing contours she knew better than her own. Touching
him intoxicated her like a drug, addictive, senseless, and exciting
beyond anything she'd ever known.
It had even ceased to matter that he had
forced her into his bed. His dominance had long ago stripped her of
the innocence she'd once possessed. She let another drop of blood
drip from her finger; it pooled over his heart and she bent to lick
the scarlet stain. This time he reacted, and the tiny shiver
inspired deep satisfaction, making her smile down at him. Pure
hunger blazed within her. A hunger he had cultivated and fed for
decades. A thousand years could pass and she'd still crave his
touch with an insanity that made her despise herself, and him.
"Show me how you hate me, bitch!" His hand
tangled in the waves of blue-black hair that fell forward when he
pulled her to him. She tore away from his embrace and glared down
at him. Amused, he gripped her throat.
She arched her neck, inviting without a
word. His blue eyes grew dark and dangerous. She rose and bent
forward until her lips brushed his, then allowed her tongue to
invade his mouth. Strong, elegant fingers drifted across her back,
waking trails of fire that left her shuddering against him. She
drew away from the bitter sweetness of his mouth and stared down at
him again, her chest heaving with her effort to regain control of
her body's responses.
His hands at her waist shifted, found the
fullness of her breasts and she moaned as he brushed his thumbs
across the hardened buds of her nipples. Cliantha shook her head
and slid back, pushing his hands away as she began to explore his
pale, defined body. When her mouth finished its teasing trek across
his chest, and closed over him, she shuddered at the rise
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