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Authors: Kresley Cole
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here.”
“I’m entering.” His voice was a rumbling Scottish brogue.
Deep voices were attractive. An unbidden memory arose of the vampire’s gravelly voice breaking between kisses. She shook herself. “You’ll be the first Lykae to do so. Ever.”
He leaned his tall frame against the wall, utterly nonchalant. He was as tall as the vampire, but rangier. Both were rugged, but Bowen probably would be considered more classically handsome.
Comparing him to the vampire? Lovely. As if Sebastian Wroth were USDA grade A?
“Are you alarmed, Valkyrie?”
“Do I look alarmed?” She always enjoyed asking that, since she knew the answer was invariably no. “Why now?” She’d seen Bowen fighting vampires on a battlefield ages ago—he’d been pitiless in the past, and she’d bet that hadn’t changed, either.
He answered, “A friend told me I might have a particular interest in the prize.” Yes, if possible, Bowen was more handsome, but the vampire’s eyes were so very gray, so dark and compelling. If a woman got lost in eyes like Sebastian’s, she’d want to please him in any way he desired. Bowen’s eyes? One glimpse of them, and a woman wouldn’t know whether to jump him or run from him.
Clearly, Kaderin’s blessing was holding, because she didn’t feel even a flutter of desire for the Lykae.
“You know what the prize is?” she asked, but Bowen wasn’t listening. The witches had just arrived—one called Mariketa the Awaited and another woman Kaderin didn’t know—and he was busy scowling at them. “If you’re this easily distracted,” Kaderin said, “I’ll have no problems.”
He bit out, “What are they doing here?”
Kaderin quirked a brow. “They’re here to compete. As they do every Hie.”
She knew the Lykae never purchased magicks from the House of Witches—the Lore’s mystical mercenaries. Kaderin had heard a hundred discountable rumors why, and on occasion, she’d speculated at the truth. She couldn’t imagine life without the convenience of spells—which could vampire-proof chains and trace-proof cages—any more than she could imagine life without showers. Both scenarios were barbaric to Kaderin.
Now, seeing Bowen’s expression, Kaderin wondered if the Lykae eschewed buying spells simply because the witches creeped them out. “Do you know what the prize is?” she asked again.
“I doona ken exactly,” he said, his attention locked on the two. “But I know enough to warn you that I’ll kill for it.” He finally faced her to say, “And I daresay killing you would jeopardize the Lykae’s tenuous truce with the Valkyrie.”
“So, because of Emma and Lachlain’s marriage, I should back out? Even though this is my competition, and has been since you were a wittle puppy?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’d rather no’ hurt you, all in all. I’ve never struck a female, much less done the damage I’ve heard this contest calls for. Damage like you’ve meted out.”
“Werewolf, don’t hate the player—hate the game.” She turned from him, dismissing him. An early broken leg would put the dog out.
At least there wasn’t a vamp—
The vampire appeared out of thin air.
Her claws scrabbled along the railing as she fought to stay upright.
8
H ow in the hell did he find me? She had marble under four claws from where she’d just saved herself from a fall.
He’d first appeared in the back of the gallery, and now she watched as he traced into a darkened corner. No one had noticed him yet—or they’d be scattering as if someone had pulled the fire alarm—because he was able to half-trace, barely visible and unscentable to the low creatures. She’d seen vampires who were able to do that clever trick, but they’d been much older.
Yet she’d seen him perfectly. And, great Freya, if he’d been handsome before, now the vampire was devastating.
Everything about him was different. He’d gained muscle in the last week, making his shoulders broader and
“I’m entering.” His voice was a rumbling Scottish brogue.
Deep voices were attractive. An unbidden memory arose of the vampire’s gravelly voice breaking between kisses. She shook herself. “You’ll be the first Lykae to do so. Ever.”
He leaned his tall frame against the wall, utterly nonchalant. He was as tall as the vampire, but rangier. Both were rugged, but Bowen probably would be considered more classically handsome.
Comparing him to the vampire? Lovely. As if Sebastian Wroth were USDA grade A?
“Are you alarmed, Valkyrie?”
“Do I look alarmed?” She always enjoyed asking that, since she knew the answer was invariably no. “Why now?” She’d seen Bowen fighting vampires on a battlefield ages ago—he’d been pitiless in the past, and she’d bet that hadn’t changed, either.
He answered, “A friend told me I might have a particular interest in the prize.” Yes, if possible, Bowen was more handsome, but the vampire’s eyes were so very gray, so dark and compelling. If a woman got lost in eyes like Sebastian’s, she’d want to please him in any way he desired. Bowen’s eyes? One glimpse of them, and a woman wouldn’t know whether to jump him or run from him.
Clearly, Kaderin’s blessing was holding, because she didn’t feel even a flutter of desire for the Lykae.
“You know what the prize is?” she asked, but Bowen wasn’t listening. The witches had just arrived—one called Mariketa the Awaited and another woman Kaderin didn’t know—and he was busy scowling at them. “If you’re this easily distracted,” Kaderin said, “I’ll have no problems.”
He bit out, “What are they doing here?”
Kaderin quirked a brow. “They’re here to compete. As they do every Hie.”
She knew the Lykae never purchased magicks from the House of Witches—the Lore’s mystical mercenaries. Kaderin had heard a hundred discountable rumors why, and on occasion, she’d speculated at the truth. She couldn’t imagine life without the convenience of spells—which could vampire-proof chains and trace-proof cages—any more than she could imagine life without showers. Both scenarios were barbaric to Kaderin.
Now, seeing Bowen’s expression, Kaderin wondered if the Lykae eschewed buying spells simply because the witches creeped them out. “Do you know what the prize is?” she asked again.
“I doona ken exactly,” he said, his attention locked on the two. “But I know enough to warn you that I’ll kill for it.” He finally faced her to say, “And I daresay killing you would jeopardize the Lykae’s tenuous truce with the Valkyrie.”
“So, because of Emma and Lachlain’s marriage, I should back out? Even though this is my competition, and has been since you were a wittle puppy?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’d rather no’ hurt you, all in all. I’ve never struck a female, much less done the damage I’ve heard this contest calls for. Damage like you’ve meted out.”
“Werewolf, don’t hate the player—hate the game.” She turned from him, dismissing him. An early broken leg would put the dog out.
At least there wasn’t a vamp—
The vampire appeared out of thin air.
Her claws scrabbled along the railing as she fought to stay upright.
8
H ow in the hell did he find me? She had marble under four claws from where she’d just saved herself from a fall.
He’d first appeared in the back of the gallery, and now she watched as he traced into a darkened corner. No one had noticed him yet—or they’d be scattering as if someone had pulled the fire alarm—because he was able to half-trace, barely visible and unscentable to the low creatures. She’d seen vampires who were able to do that clever trick, but they’d been much older.
Yet she’d seen him perfectly. And, great Freya, if he’d been handsome before, now the vampire was devastating.
Everything about him was different. He’d gained muscle in the last week, making his shoulders broader and
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