signs of the other’s approaching ecstasy.
“Mine,” she gasped against my lips, her eyes losing their focus. She was very close, and I gloried in her lack of control.
“Yours. Always. I love you, Valentine.”
At my words, her body clenched around me. The sound of my name on her lips propelled me over the precipice with her, and in my last lucid moment, I knew only peace.
Chapter Eight
I woke to the sound of an angry wasp nest. Alarmed, I sat up quickly, only to discover Valentine beside me fumbling with something on the nightstand.
Her buzzing phone, not stinging insects. Slowly, I reoriented to my surroundings. My feet were tangled in crimson sheets on a king-sized bed, and floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering cityscape below. We were in our SoHo apartment, and it was almost ten o’clock in the evening. I’d been asleep for nearly three hours, but despite my body’s accelerated regeneration, I was still exhausted. I let myself sink back down onto the blankets and curled around Val, who had pushed herself up into a sitting position.
I smoothed my palm down her thigh. “We can sleep for another hour, can’t we?”
“I could sleep for another month.” Her voice sounded as gritty as my eyes felt, but she leaned over to kiss my forehead before slipping from the bed. “That was the bank, not my alarm. I need to call in. Stay and rest, baby.”
Naked, she padded toward the door. I watched her go, then pulled the covers up to my chin and allowed the distant cadence of her voice to lull me into a doze. As I hovered between sleep and waking, daydreams—both feline and human—flickered before my mind’s eye. After so much chaos, the images were gloriously mundane: lounging in the shade of a lone tree on the savannah, sharing a meal with Val at an outdoor café, holding her hand as we walked along the Hudson in full daylight. I clung to the mental pictures, sifting through their layers, craving a time when we could bring them all to pass.
At the sounds of Val’s return, I knew our momentary respite had come to an end. Her footsteps were quick and purposeful, and I opened my eyes in time to see her fling wide the doors of the walk-in closet.
“What happened?”
She turned just enough for me to observe her clenched jaw. “Christopher Blaine.”
Fatigue forgotten, I slid to the edge of the bed. Presidential candidate Christopher Blaine had some kind of strong connection to Brenner, though no one in my circle knew the precise nature of their relationship. “What did he do?”
Wooden hangers clacked together loudly as she searched for something to wear. “He’s coming after vampire assets, and my bank is directly in his crosshairs.”
I stepped inside and began to dress. “At Brenner’s orders, do you think?”
“Don’t you?” When she noticed what I was doing, she stopped buttoning her shirt. “Baby. You should stay. Get a little more sleep, and I can meet you at Headquarters.”
I took a step closer to her, running my palm across her taut abdominal muscles before doing up her remaining buttons. “No. I don’t want to be parted from you.”
That made her smile, and she lightly caressed my cheek before leaning in for a gentle kiss. “All right.”
During the elevator ride, I toyed with her French cuffs, spinning the bull-shaped links back and forth. As the sign of both the Order of Mithras and a burgeoning economy, the bull was an especially appropriate symbol for her to wear. Dressed in a dark charcoal suit over a red-and-white striped shirt, Valentine cut an imposing figure. She exuded a blend of confidence and ambition as heady as an expensive cologne. As the daughter of the Secretary of the Treasury, Val had grown up surrounded by the world of high finance, and it showed. Banking might not have been her calling, but she was adept at playing the game.
“You know,” I said, “I almost feel sorry for Blaine.”
“Oh?”
“I know that you and your father don’t
“Mine,” she gasped against my lips, her eyes losing their focus. She was very close, and I gloried in her lack of control.
“Yours. Always. I love you, Valentine.”
At my words, her body clenched around me. The sound of my name on her lips propelled me over the precipice with her, and in my last lucid moment, I knew only peace.
Chapter Eight
I woke to the sound of an angry wasp nest. Alarmed, I sat up quickly, only to discover Valentine beside me fumbling with something on the nightstand.
Her buzzing phone, not stinging insects. Slowly, I reoriented to my surroundings. My feet were tangled in crimson sheets on a king-sized bed, and floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering cityscape below. We were in our SoHo apartment, and it was almost ten o’clock in the evening. I’d been asleep for nearly three hours, but despite my body’s accelerated regeneration, I was still exhausted. I let myself sink back down onto the blankets and curled around Val, who had pushed herself up into a sitting position.
I smoothed my palm down her thigh. “We can sleep for another hour, can’t we?”
“I could sleep for another month.” Her voice sounded as gritty as my eyes felt, but she leaned over to kiss my forehead before slipping from the bed. “That was the bank, not my alarm. I need to call in. Stay and rest, baby.”
Naked, she padded toward the door. I watched her go, then pulled the covers up to my chin and allowed the distant cadence of her voice to lull me into a doze. As I hovered between sleep and waking, daydreams—both feline and human—flickered before my mind’s eye. After so much chaos, the images were gloriously mundane: lounging in the shade of a lone tree on the savannah, sharing a meal with Val at an outdoor café, holding her hand as we walked along the Hudson in full daylight. I clung to the mental pictures, sifting through their layers, craving a time when we could bring them all to pass.
At the sounds of Val’s return, I knew our momentary respite had come to an end. Her footsteps were quick and purposeful, and I opened my eyes in time to see her fling wide the doors of the walk-in closet.
“What happened?”
She turned just enough for me to observe her clenched jaw. “Christopher Blaine.”
Fatigue forgotten, I slid to the edge of the bed. Presidential candidate Christopher Blaine had some kind of strong connection to Brenner, though no one in my circle knew the precise nature of their relationship. “What did he do?”
Wooden hangers clacked together loudly as she searched for something to wear. “He’s coming after vampire assets, and my bank is directly in his crosshairs.”
I stepped inside and began to dress. “At Brenner’s orders, do you think?”
“Don’t you?” When she noticed what I was doing, she stopped buttoning her shirt. “Baby. You should stay. Get a little more sleep, and I can meet you at Headquarters.”
I took a step closer to her, running my palm across her taut abdominal muscles before doing up her remaining buttons. “No. I don’t want to be parted from you.”
That made her smile, and she lightly caressed my cheek before leaning in for a gentle kiss. “All right.”
During the elevator ride, I toyed with her French cuffs, spinning the bull-shaped links back and forth. As the sign of both the Order of Mithras and a burgeoning economy, the bull was an especially appropriate symbol for her to wear. Dressed in a dark charcoal suit over a red-and-white striped shirt, Valentine cut an imposing figure. She exuded a blend of confidence and ambition as heady as an expensive cologne. As the daughter of the Secretary of the Treasury, Val had grown up surrounded by the world of high finance, and it showed. Banking might not have been her calling, but she was adept at playing the game.
“You know,” I said, “I almost feel sorry for Blaine.”
“Oh?”
“I know that you and your father don’t
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