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“So, you wield some type of magic?” she said. “All right. I can roll with the idea of a magical vampire. But really, a lot of people assume science is magic, so are we talking about planar, natural, runic, divine or metaphysical, because I can—”
“Jane.” She was a babbler. He found the trait … charming. He frowned. Charming? Truly? The need to taste her must be clouding his judgment.
Abashed, she smiled. “I’m sorry. Curiosity and puzzles are my downfall. At least, they used to be. I thought I’d come to hate them, but, well, as you can see, that’s no longer the case.”
That smile … had he ever seen so open and innocent a sight? Another spark of guilt ignited in his chest, but again, he quickly ground and scattered it. Easier done this time, as the force of his arousal intensified, becoming his sole focus.
No. Only escape mattered, he told himself.
“Why me?” she asked. “I mean, how did you know to summon me?”
He’d wanted a female susceptible to the lure of a vampire, one untainted by the evil of the Queen of Hearts, one who was not afraid of blood, who would understand his plight. He told her none of that. He knew women—or, at least, thought he did—and knew it would not please her. “Order my release. Now. Hurry.”
Frustration suddenly radiated from her. “How?” she demanded.
“Summon the guard,” he said. “Tell them to unchain me, that you wish to take me to your bedchamber. Then, tell them to bring the healer to us.”
“The healer?” Her concerned gaze swept over him. “Are you hurt?”
No. But the healer had bound his memories and powers, and so the healer could easily free them. And, he mused darkly, he wanted to kill the bitch. “I do not hear you calling for the guard, Jane.”
“Then your ears are working perfectly, Nicolai. So, the guards will do what I tell them?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”
“In their minds, you are the princess Odette. Oldest daughter of their queen, and soon to be their ruler.” Nicolai finally allowed himself to stride the rest of the way to the bars, his chains rattling. Closing in … “They will do anything you tell them to do.”
She released the metal and backed away before he could touch her. As if he were dirty, unworthy. He probably was. “Yes, but why do they believe I’m Odette?”
A muscle ticked below his eye. Her continued questioning irritated him, yes, but her distance irritated him more. When close to her, the scent of her was nearly overpowering and so delectable he was probably drooling. “Because.”
“Because why?”
Stubborn baggage. “Because my … vampire magic made them,” he said flatly. To tell her more was to, perhaps, send her running. Humans were so easily frightened by what they did not understand.
For the moment, he needed this woman on his side, and calm. Although, to be honest, she’d handled things very well so far.
“How?” she insisted.
He shook the bars. “Do as I told you, Jane. We must hurry.”
She arched a brow. “You’re cute when you’re ordering me around, you know that?” The color in her cheeks brightened, and her breath became shallow. “And you … you smell like sandalwood.”
She liked his scent as much as he liked hers, he realized. It aroused her. Her nipples were pearling beneath her robe, begging for a touch, a kiss. Did her belly quiver? Was she already moist between her legs?
His hands fisted at his sides. “I don’t know why I’m here or how they captured me, but I do know that I don’t belong here. I know that if I stay, I will be tortured again and again. Tell me you are not like them, Jane. Tell me you do not like to watch a man be tortured.”
Her dark gaze fell to the metal linked around his neck, then dipped lower, perhaps following the beads of dried blood that rode the ropes of his stomach before stopping at his tented loincloth.
Another shiver from her. “I don’t,” she said on a broken wisp of air. “But what happens if they realize I’m not truly Odette?”
“They won’t find out.” This lie did not leave him smoothly. “All right? All you need to know to aid the illusion is that you bought me at the Sex Market. You own me. Demand my release, and escort me to your—”
The sound of footsteps echoed, and Nicolai pressed his lips together. Jane tensed. An audience, exactly what they did not need right now. Then Laila rounded the corner, a scowl marring her already ugly face. She was as short and squat as her mother, her cheeks just as padded as Odette’s, and her jowls just as noticeable.
Without the hooked nose, however, she was the “beauty” of the family. The length of her dark hair was coiled on top of her head, ringlets hanging at her temples. She wore an opulent gown of bright green velvet to match her eyes, though there was nothing in this kingdom or any other that could make her attractive. The evil of her soul was simply too dark.
A silver timepiece hung from a chain around her neck. She was never without it, and the sight of it never failed to twist Nicolai’s stomach with rage. Why?
She ground to a halt when she spotted Jane, hurriedly smoothing her features into a doting expression. “What are you doing here, sister dear? And in your nightgown, no less.” An anxious laugh. “You should be resting. We don’t want you getting sick, do we? You’ve already suffered so much.”
Her voice never failed to disgust him, either. He’d heard it over him, under him, behind him, her warm breath trekking over his skin. Now, so close to escape, he had to bite his tongue to hold his curses inside.
Soon, he would destroy her.
Jane gulped, looked at him.
Do what I told you, Jane, he projected at her, a part of him resenting the need to do so. He’d never had to beg for anything in his life. He’d always—a sharp ache erupted in his temples, cutting off his thoughts. A memory, dead and gone before it had a chance to live.
“You are Princess Laila. My sister. Yes.” Jane breathed deeply, squared her shoulders, and faced her “sister.” “He’s—he’s mine. I own him.” What she lacked in conviction she made up for with determination.
Good girl.
Laila gritted her too-white teeth, and shifted from one sandaled foot to the other. “Yes, but you were gone, darling. I took over his care. He’s mine now.” She stroked the timepiece. “In situations such as this, Mother always sides with the one in possession.”
“I don’t care. He’s mine.”
“Odette, be reasonable.” How patient Laila appeared. A falsehood. “He attempted to slay you once, and nearly succeeded. He is too much for you to handle and I have grown used to—”
“I said he’s mine.”
Good girl, he thought again. So badly Nicolai wished he could unleash the torrent of power inside him, now rather than later. He would crush Laila, smile when she screamed, laugh when she died, then raze this palace brick by brick and dance atop the rubble.
Soon. The word was a constant inside him.
He didn’t know what powers he could wield, or if they’d be strong enough to do everything he wanted to this kingdom. Absolute, total destruction. But he wasn’t worried. Were his powers not too weak, he would raise his army and they would march—
Another ache tore through his head, another memory destroyed. He hissed from the pain, clearing his mind before he shut down completely.
Both women flicked him a glance before refocusing on each other. But Laila’s attention quickly returned to him, to his erection—still pulsing with need of Jane—and her mouth hung open with shock. “You’re aroused.”
Silent, he reached under his loincloth and stroked his length up and down, taunting her with what he’d never willingly offered her.
Laila gave a strangled choke, her eyes widening as she faced her sister. “How did you arouse him?”
“I—I—” Jane blushed as becomingly as she smiled. So innocent and sweet, sunlight and moonlight twined together. Taste.
“Never mind,” Laila snapped, all pretense of love and patience vanishing. “It doesn’t matter. Mother’s on a rampage and demands a word with you. She mourned your death for days, and was ecstatic by your return. But that happiness will not save you from a whipping if you continue to defy her.”
A mother, mourning her child for days. How sweet, Nicolai mentally sneered. But then, the Queen of Hearts was known as a brutal tyrant, an unforgiving bitch and a power hungry murderer. Nicolai’s own mother had—
He clenched his jaw against the pain.
“I heard you were on your way down here,” Laila went on, “and came to get you. You don’t want to keep your queen waiting, do you?”
“I—I—”
“No. You don’t.”
Damn this. Jane was letting Laila direct her, proving she had not the strength of will to lead. His one and only chance for escape was withering with every second that passed.
“Laila, no. I—”
“Your poor, addled mind hasn’t yet recovered from your fall, has it, darling? But you like having skin on your back, I know you do. Guards,” Laila called.
Jane twisted her fingers together, clearly agitated.
“I—I—there’s no need. I don’t want to be whipped, but I really need to—”
Two armed guards swung around the corner and stopped behind Princess Laila. They kept their gazes straight ahead as they awaited orders.
If they touched Jane, Nicolai would execute them. He would cut their throats, and spit on their remains. The ferocity of the thought should have surprised him. Jane was here for one purpose, and one purpose only, whether she acted like it or not, and remaining untouched by the citizens of Delfina was not it. Surprised, Nicolai wasn’t. Nothing would stop him from attacking these men in cold blood. Jane was his. His savior, his to handle. Only his. No one else was allowed.
Until he left her.
He bit his tongue so hard he tasted his own blood.
“Muzzle the prisoner and cart him to my chamber,” Laila commanded, and he relaxed somewhat. The men weren’t here for Jane, then. “My sister and I will visit with the queen.”
“No,” Nicolai growled before he could stop himself.
“No?” Astonished, Laila leveled her attention on him. She wrapped her fat little fingers around the timepiece hanging from her neck and squeezed. “You dare issue commands, slave? To me?”
“Odette stays.” Jane might have fooled the servants and her sister, but she would not find the Queen of Hearts so gullible. She had groomed Odette in her image, and no one knew her better. Jane and her odd speech would be found out. Killed before Nicolai could use her.
Heart … hardening.
Softening …
Laila floundered. “You’ll try and kill her again. That’s why you want her here. I know it. That’s why you’re pretending to desire her.”
He flicked his tongue over his fangs. “I need inside her. That’s why I want her here.”
Once again, Jane blushed.
“You … you’re lying,” Laila stammered. “You hate her. You wouldn’t want to bed her.” “I crave her.”
A pause, heavy with tension. Motions clipped, Laila closed the distance between her and her sister and wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist. “Don’t listen to him. He’ll say anything to gain a second chance to harm you. Come now. I’ll protect you.”
“No!” Jane jumped from Laila’s embrace and glared up at the guards. “Take Nicolai to my chamber, but don’t muzzle him. And tell M-Mother that I’m in need of rest. I’ll speak to her later.”
Laila paled as the men leaped into action. Seconds later, hinges were squeaking as the door to Nicolai’s cage swung open. There were more footsteps, then a key was inserted into the metal base that pinned him to the wall.
His relief was palpable.
“But … but, Odette. You are placing yourself in danger,” Laila said, desperate.
“He. Is. Mine. Nothing more needs to be said.”
Wrong words. The claim—he is mine—affected him, giving birth to a savage animal inside him. Hers, he was hers, and he would have her before he left her, no matter the consequences. Over and over again. In every way imaginable. He would drink her, and possess her body.
There would be no stopping him, no reasoning with him. Not now.
Chapter 4
The guards forced Nicolai onto the bed, the feathered mattress dipping and puffing under his weight. They anchored the metal links curling around his neck to a steel hook in the wall, just above the headboard, then removed the chains from his ankle and wrists—only to cuff him to the bedposts.
Odette had brought slaves here before, Jane realized. The posts were scarred, the deep grooves evidence of their resistance. A lot of resistance. How many times had Nicolai suffered this kind of indignity with the princess?
At least he didn’t try and bite the guards, and they didn’t try to hurt him, and Jane didn’t have to side with a “slave,” fueling suspicion. Already she felt as if she had a neon sign blinking over her head: Imposter.
Thank God Laila hadn’t realized the truth. And wasn’t the other princess a shocker? Short, squat and foaming-at-the-mouth-rabies mean. Seriously. If the Wicked Witch of the West had slept with Hannibal Lecter, and the two of them had a baby, that child’s name would be Laila.
Pay attention to what’s happening around you, Parker!
Right. Jane focused. She watched, flabbergasted, as one of the guards cleaned Nicolai from head to toe and the other oiled him.
She placed the book on the nightstand, considered protesting what was being done to him, but wasn’t sure “Odette” would do such a thing. Therefore, she held her tongue. Through it all, Nicolai remained silent, his expression blank, but his gaze, oh, his gaze was glued to her. His pupils were huge, his irises still sparkling with … desire.
For her, or for her blood? His fangs were sharp and long, revealing the depths of his hunger.
Just then, he was the poster child for bondage, blood and a badass fetish. He was chained, yes, but he would be in control. He was strong, in body and in mind, and he exuded something, pheromones, perhaps, that drew slavelike desires from her. Every cell in her body ached, frantic to know his touch. He was the most physically perfect being she’d ever encountered.
Seeing such a proud, strong man bound like that, lying atop a bed of pink lace and ruffles, being readied for her use, should have caused her stomach to churn with sickness. But she only wanted him more.
Her mind had pictured him before she’d ever met him, yes, but her mind had not done him justice. He was tall, at least six foot four, with wide muscled shoulders, a stomach roped and corded, and skin as smooth as cream mixed with coffee. He had shoulder-length hair as dark as midnight, and eyes the color of moonlight glinting off snow, silvery yet threaded with gold.
She didn’t see her death in those eyes, as the book had promised. She saw her seduction. How many times had she had to stop herself from reaching out, letting him “mark” her, whatever that meant, just to feel his skin against hers? Too many. That’s why she’d jumped away from him when he’d reached for her. She’d feared her reaction, afraid of an increase in the desire she felt. Already being near him was becoming a need as necessary as breathing.
The same force that had brought her here had to be responsible for what she was feeling.
Though he was cut and bruised, with dried blood caked along his arms and legs, he had not a single scar. In fact, he did not have a flaw, period. The closest thing to an imperfection he had was the thin trail of dark hair traveling from his navel to the waist of his loincloth—and that wasn’t an imperfection so much as a roadway to heaven.
Speaking of the final destination of that naughty roadway … down in the cell, he’d been aroused by her, and he hadn’t tried to hide it. He’d boasted about it, drawing attention to his groin. With very good reason. Besides her dreams and single fantasy about him, she had been with only one man. And that man could not compare. She doubted any man could. “Big” was an understatement in Nicolai’s case.
When he’d touched himself, running his fingers up and down his length, her body had ached. She’d forgotten her circumstances and imagined dropping to her knees. Tonguing him, drinking him in.
Mind, stop dipping your toes in the gutter pool!
Finally the guards finished and strode toward the door. Her shouted command, “Leave the key,” stopped both men.
The shorter of the two faced her and bowed. “You have the key to these restraints, princess.”
Oh. Odette would have known that. “Well,” she said, swallowing, “the fall … from the cliffs—you heard about the cliffs, right?—must have caused me to forget. You can, uh, leave us.” She waved toward the door, as princessy as possible. God, acting like someone other than who she was—like someone she’d never met—was not fun.
The door shut with a soft clink.
She rounded on her “prisoner,” closing the distance between them, stopping only when the edge of the bed forced her. Again, she wanted to touch him, but she couldn’t allow herself the luxury. Those teeth … He could take her jugular as a souvenir.
“The key is in the drawer of the nightstand,” Nicolai said, breaking the silence first. “Use it.”
Even his voice was a delight. A sensual feast of tones and nuances. Raspy, husky, a wisp of smoke. She shivered, licked her lips. “You might have summoned me or whatever, but you are not in charge. So listen up. I’ll get the key—after you tell me more about what’s going on.”
“You and your ‘afters.’” He glared at her, the long length of his lashes fused together and shielding the uniqueness of his dual-colored irises. “This is blackmail.” As irritated as he appeared, he also seemed … proud.
Why proud? In and out she breathed, luxuriating in the scent of sandalwood. Far stronger now than when she’d dreamed or read the book. “Yes, it’s blackmail, and I won’t back down.”
Cruel of her, but she suspected the moment she released him, he’d feed first, then race out the door, leaving her behind without giving her a single answer. He had the look of a cornered panther, ready to bite and bolt. Plus, he hadn’t wanted to talk to her in the dungeon and wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t pressed him. Therefore, she would continue to press him.
“Apparently, I’m risking a whipping by being here with you,” she added. “You kind of owe me.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he gritted.
She’d graduated high school at the age of fifteen. Acquired her master’s at eighteen. Then, while working toward her doctorate, she’d joined a highly classified branch of the government to research unexplainable abilities and phenomenon, as well as find ways to accomplish the unexplainable. The only reason she’d quit and changed the focus of her studies to health sciences was to move back home and help her mother, who had just been diagnosed with breast cancer.
“I think I can keep up,” she said dryly. She anchored her hands on her hips, the material pulling tight over her chest.
His gaze lowered to her breasts, and his lips stretched taut over his teeth. “Very well. We’ll talk. After you straddle me.”
She blinked at the sensual request, even as her body responded to him, readying for penetration. “What … why?”
“You get what you want, I get what I want.” “Blackmail?” she parroted, not nearly as controlled as she sounded. Blood rushed through her veins at an alarming rate.
“Yes.”
Tempting. So tempting. And probably meant to cow her. “Well, I’m not caving.” One of them had to keep things on a business level.
“Are you wet?”
Breath caught in her throat. Clearly that someone was not Nicolai. Really, what kind of question was that? “I—I don’t even know you, of course I’m not … I can’t be … what you asked.”
“Jane. I saw the way you looked at my cock. You can be. So. Are you wet?”
“Yes,” she whispered, blushing. She’d done that a lot today. And just as clearly, she wasn’t that someone, either.
“I’m hard for you.”
I know. I sooo know. “That doesn’t matter.” Oh, God, that mattered. She wanted to introduce herself to that hardness properly. Meaning, a nice, firm handshake. “I mean, uh, are you planning to hurt me like you hurt the real Odette?”
A beat of silence. “Odette, I hated. Jane, I crave.”
Such sweet, intoxicating words, all the more potent because she couldn’t accuse him of only lusting for what was available. Laila, too, had wanted him in a bad, bad way, but he hadn’t wanted the princess at all. So, logically, Jane had to believe he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Yeah, logically. And not just because she was trembling and desperately wanted it to be true.
He could simply be trying to soften her up.
Oh, great. The upsetting thought poked its way from an ugly place inside her. A place that never wanted her to be happy. A place that felt she didn’t deserve to be happy. They’d been butting heads for months; more and more, she won the battles. Today, she might not.
“If I hurt you, you would not help me,” he said in a silky tone. “I want you to help me, and I am not a foolish man.”
No, he was a sexy one. “You’re a violent man. I know you are.” “Yes.”
His honesty deflated her upcoming argument before she could start.
“Do you fear me, little Jane?” “Maybe. What if you bite me? Or do that marking thing?”
“You’ll like it, the bite and the marking, but I won’t do either until you beg. You have my word. Now. Straddle me,” he repeated. “I’m also capable of giving pleasure. Giving and taking. That’s what we’ll do here and now. Give and take pleasure while we talk.”
Beg. Sweet heaven, she just might. Because deep inside, at the core of her femininity, she wanted to be with him. As if she’d been born for him, and him alone. Or bespelled. But even the thought of magic couldn’t dull her desire for this man. The desire was somehow as familiar as his scent.
“I’m not taking off my robe. Or my panties. We just met. That would be, uh, tacky.” Idiot. “I’m trusting you to keep your word. And I’m only doing this for answers,” she lied.
“Don’t care why. Just want to feel you.”
Slowly, unsure, she climbed on top of him, placing a knee on each side of his waist. Her robe hiked up, revealing the length of her thighs. Just as slowly, she lowered her body until her female core brushed his erection. She gasped at the contact. He moaned.
This was better than her fantasy. He was hot, so hot. Hard, so hard.
“Talk,” she said, flattening her palms on his chest. Before she did what she’d said she wouldn’t and stripped out of her panties.
He arched up, pressing more firmly against her. They moaned in unison, his heart drumming as erratically as hers. She liked that.
A moment passed. “You said you enjoy puzzles,” he mentioned huskily. His gaze settled on her neck.
Her pulse fluttered, as though happy to have gained his notice. “Yes.”
“We fit together very nicely, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” God. How moronic she sounded. Yes this, and yes that. It was just, he’d fried her circuits. She was on top of him, poised over his cock. And she ached. Ached like a drug addict in need of a fix. Why else would she have practically thrown herself at a vampire?
He waited. When she said no more, he arched his hips again. “What did you want to know, Jane?”
She rubbed against him. An accident, she told herself, and just once, but enough to leave her sweating. “I want … to know … about you. About why you summoned me to free you?” There. She’d found her voice, without panting like she was climbing a mountain. Or a well-endowed man.
“You never said,” she continued. “Do I look like Princess Odette or something?” If so, Odette and Laila must have been an odd sight. The blond giant and the brunette toddler. Jealous? “I mean, you told me that, in everyone else’s mind, I’m their princess.” She rubbed again, harder, but slow, so slow, and impossible to label as accidental. Need drove her. “But when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw, well, myself.”