Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER

“Raw, and dark, and sexy. Lord of the Vampires sizzles.”

—Nalini Singh

“A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!”

—J.R. Ward on The Nymph King

“Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”

—Kresley Cole on Playing With Fire

“Dark and tormented doesn’t begin to describe these cursed Lords of the Underworld … This is darkly satisfying and passionately thrilling stuff.”

—RT Book Reviews

“The Showalter name on a book means guaranteed entertainment.”

—RT Book Reviews on Twice as Hot

Dear Reader,

I’m so thrilled to bring you Lord of the Vampires, the first tale in the dark and sizzling ROYAL HOUSE OF SHADOW series.

Writing this book was such a blast! A world with vampires, werewolves, witches and monsters? Hell, yes! A prince known for his wicked ways and fearsome temper? Even better! A human woman who will either save or destroy him—bringing him to his knees in the process? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

Throw in upcoming stories by Jill Monroe (Lord of Rage), Jessica Andersen (Lord of the Wolfyn) and Nalini Singh (Lord of the Abyss) and I’m practically drooling about this series. E-mailing these ladies about the different books was truly inspiring.

I hope you enjoy our modern takes on beloved fairy tales. We certainly had fun writing them.

All the best,

Gena Showalter

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER has been praised for her “sizzling page-turners” and “utterly spellbinding stories.” She is the author of more than seventeen novels and anthologies, including breathtaking paranormal and contemporary romances, cutting-edge young adult novels, and stunning urban fantasy. Readers can’t get enough of her trademark wit and singular imagination.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalterblogspot.com.

Also available from Gena Showalter The sensational LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD series

The Darkest Night

The Darkest Kiss

The Darkest Pleasure

The Darkest Whisper

Dark Beginnings

The Darkest Passion

The Darkest Lie

The Darkest Secret

COMING SOON

The Darkest Surrender

Lord of the Vampires

Gena Showalter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for Jill Monroe, Jessica Andersen and Nalini Singh. Amazing ladies and talented authors. I’d plot with you guys anyday!

And to Tara Gavin, for her amazing support and enthusiasm for the ROYAL HOUSE OF SHADOWS

Prologue

Once upon a time, in a land of vampires, shape-shifters and witches, the Blood Sorcerer coveted the only power denied him: the right to rule. He and his monstrous army attacked the royal palace, slaughtered the beloved king and queen of Elden and sought to do the same to Nicolai, the crown prince, as well as his three siblings, Breena, Dayn and Micah.

The sorcerer succeeded in all but the latter. He had not counted on a king’s hunger for retribution and a mother’s love for her children.

Just before expelling his final breath, the king used his power to fill his offspring with an unbreakable need for vengeance, ensuring they would fight for eternity to claim their due. At the same time, the queen used her power to send them away, saving them. For the time being.

Only, the king and queen were weak, their minds fogged from pain, and their magic conflicting.

And so, the royals were now bound to destroy the man who had slain their parents, yet they were also cast out of the palace, each flung to different kingdoms within the realm with only one link to the Royal House of Elden: a timepiece, given to them by their parents.

Nicolai, the Dark Seducer as his people called him, had been in bed, but not alone. He was never alone. He was a man known for the violence of his temper as well as the deliciousness of his touch; and after his youngest brother’s birthday celebration, he’d adjourned to his private chamber to sate himself on his newest conquest.

That’s when the dual natures of the enchantments struck him.

When he next opened his eyes, he’d found himself in another bed—and not with his chosen partner. He was naked still, only now he was chained, a slave to the very desires he’d evoked in his lover. Desires that had mingled with the magic and sent him straight to the Sex Market, where he was quickly sold to a princess of Delfina, his will no longer his own, his pleasure no longer his own, his timepiece stolen and his memories wiped from his mind.

But two things could not be taken from him, no matter how fervently the princess tried. The cold rage in his chest and the blistering need for vengeance in his veins.

The first, he would unleash. The second, he would savor. First with the princess, and then with a sorcerer he could not quite remember, but a sorcerer he knew he despised all the same.

Soon.

He had only to escape….

Chapter 1

“I need you, Jane.”

Frowning, Jane Parker placed the note on her kitchen countertop. She studied the scarred, leather-bound book resting inside an unadorned box, surrounded by a sea of black velvet. A few minutes ago, she’d returned from her five-mile jog. This package had been waiting on her porch.

There’d been no return address. No explanation as to why the thing had been left for her, and no hint as to who “I” was. Or why Jane was needed. Why would anyone need her? She was twenty-seven years old and had only recently regained the use of her legs. She had no family, no friends, no job. Not anymore. Her little cabin in Smallest Town Ever, Oklahoma, was secluded, barely a blip in the neighboring expanse of lush green trees and wide open, blue sky.

She should have tossed the thing. Of course, curiosity far outweighed caution. As always.

She carefully lifted the book. At the moment of contact, she saw her hands covered in blood and gasped, dropping the heavy tome on the counter. But when she lifted her hands to the light, they were scrubbed clean, her nails neat and painted a pretty morning rose.

You have an overactive imagination, and too much oxygen pumping through your veins from the run. That’s all.

Cold hard logic—her best and only friend.

The book’s binding creaked as she opened to the middle, where a tattered pink ribbon rested. The scent of dust and musk wafted up, layered with something else. Something … mouthwatering and slightly familiar. Her frowned deepened.

She shifted in her seat, a twinge of pain shooting through her legs, and sniffed. Oh, yes. Her mouth definitely watered as she caught the slightest trace of sandalwood. Goose bumps broke out over her skin, her senses tingling, her blood heating. How embarrassing. And, okay, how interesting. Since the car accident that ruined her life eleven months ago, she had experienced arousal only at night, in her dreams. To react like this in daylight, because of a book … odd.

She didn’t allow herself to ponder why. There wasn’t an answer that would satisfy her. Instead, she concentrated on the pages in front of her. They were yellowed and brittle, delicate. And beaded with blood? Small dots of dried crimson marred the edges.

Gently she brushed her fingertips along the handwritten text, her gaze catching on several words. Chains. Vampire. Belonged. Soul. More goose bumps, more tingling. Some blushing.

Her eyes narrowed. At last the sandalwood cologne made sense. For the past few months, she’d dreamed of a vampire male in chains and woken to the fragrance clinging to her skin. And yes, he’s the one who had aroused her. She’d told no one. So, how had anyone known to give her this … journal?

She’d worked in quantum physics for years, as well as what was considered fringe science, sometimes studying creatures of “myth” and “legend.” She’d conducted controlled interviews with actual blood drinkers and even dissected the corpses brought to her lab.

She knew that vampires, shape-shifters and other creatures of the night existed, even though her coworkers on the quantum physics side of the equation had not been privy to the truth. So, maybe someone had found out and this was a simple joke. Maybe her dreams had no connection. Except, forever had seemed to pass since she’d had any contact with those coworkers. And besides, who would do such a thing? None of them had cared enough about her to do anything.

Let this go, Parker. Before it’s too late.

The command from her self-preservation instincts made no sense. Too late for what?

Her instincts offered no reply. Well, the scientist in her needed to know what was going on.

Jane cleared her throat. “I’m reading a few passages, and that’s that.” She’d been alone since leaving the hospital several months ago, and sometimes the sound of her voice was better than silence. “‘Chains circled the vampire’s neck, wrists and ankles. Because his shirt and pants had been stripped away, and a loincloth was his only apparel, there was nothing to protect his already savaged skin. The links cut him deeply, to the bone, before healing—and slicing open again. He did not care. What was pain when your will, your very soul, no longer belonged to you?’”

She pressed her lips together as a wave of dizziness crashed through her. A moment passed, then another, her heartbeat speeding up and hammering wildly against her ribs.

Raw images tore through her. This man—this vampire—bound, helpless. Hungry. His lush lips were pulled taut, his teeth sharp, white. He was surprisingly tanned, temptingly muscled, with dark, mussed hair and a face so eerily beautiful he would haunt her nighttime fantasies for years to come.

What she’d just read, she’d already seen. Many times. How? She didn’t know. What she did know was that in her dreams, she felt compassion for this man, even anger. And yet, there was always that low simmer of arousal in the background. Now, the arousal took center stage.

The more she breathed, the more the sandalwood scent clung to her, and the more her reality altered, as if this, her home, was nothing more than a mirage. As if the vampire’s cage was real. As if she needed to stand up and walk—no, run—until she reached him. Anything to be with him, now and forever.

Okay. Enough of that. She slapped the book closed, even though so many questions were left dangling, and strode away.

Such a strong reaction coupled with her dreams utterly nixed the idea of a joke. Not that she’d placed much hope in that direction. However, the remaining possibilities upset her, and she refused to contemplate them.

She showered, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and ate a nutritious breakfast. Unbidden, she found her gaze returning to the leather binding, over and over again. She wondered if the enslaved vampire were real—and okay. If she could help him. A few times, she even opened to the middle of the book before she realized she’d moved. Always she darted off before the story could snare her.

And perhaps that’s why the stupid thing had been given to her. To hook her, to send her racing back to work. Well, she didn’t need to work. Money was not a problem for her. More than that, she no longer loved the sciences. Why would she? There was never a solution, only more problems.

Because when one puzzle piece slid into place, there were always twenty more needed. And in the end, nothing you did, nothing that had been solved or unraveled, would save the ones you loved. There would always be some dumb guy throwing back a few cold ones at the local bar, getting into his car and hitting yours. Or something equally tragic.

Life was random.

Jane craved monotony.

But when midnight rolled around, her mind still hadn’t settled in regards to the vampire. Giving up, she returned to the kitchen, grabbed the book and stalked to bed. Just a few more passages, damn it, then she’d start craving monotony again.

Jane’s oversize T-shirt bunched at her waist as she propped the book on her upraised legs, opened to the middle of the story, where the bookmark was still set, and returned her attention to the pages. For several seconds, the words appeared to be written in a language she did not understand. Then, a blink later, they were written in English again.

O-kay. Very weird, and surely—hopefully—an I-just-need-sleep mistake on her part.

She found her place. “‘They called him Nicolai.’” Nicolai. A strong, luscious name. The syllables rolled through her mind, a caress. Her nipples beaded, aching for a hot, wet kiss, and every inch of her skin flushed. She thought back. She’d never interviewed a vampire named Nicolai, and the one in her dream had never spoken to her. He had never acknowledged her in any way. “‘He did not know his past or if he had a future. He knew only his present. His hated, torturous present. He was a slave, locked away like an animal.’”

Just like before, a wave of dizziness slammed through her. This time, Jane pressed on, even as her chest constricted. “‘He was kept clean and oiled. Always. Just in case Princess Laila had need of him in her bed. And the princess did have need of him. Often. Her cruel, twisted desires left him beaten and bruised. Not that he ever accepted defeat. The man was wild, nearly uncontrollable, and so filled with hate anyone who looked at him saw their death in his eyes.’”

The dizziness intensified. Hell, so did the desire. To tame a man like that, to have all of his vigor focused on you, pounding into you … his participation willing … Jane shivered.

Lose the ADD, Parker. She cleared her throat. “‘He was hard, merciless. A warrior at heart. A man used to absolute control. At least, he thought he was. Even with his lack of memory, he was patently aware that every order directed his way scraped his nerves raw.’”

Another shiver rocked her. She grit her teeth. He needed her compassion, not her desire. He’s that real to you? Yeah, he was. “‘At least he would have a few days’ reprieve,’” she read on, “‘forgotten by one and all. The entire palace was frothing over Princess Odette’s return from the grave and—’”

The rest of the page was blank. “And what?” Jane flipped to the next, but quickly realized the story had ended on an unfinished cliff-hanger. Great.

Thankfully—or not—she discovered more writing toward the end and blinked, shook her head. The words didn’t change. “‘You, Jane Parker,’” she recited hollowly. “‘You are Odette. Come to me, I command you. Save me, I beg you. Please, Jane. I need you.’”

Her name was in the book. How was her name in the book? And written by the same hand as the rest? On the same aged, stained pages, with the same smudged ink?

I need you.

Her attention returned to the part directed to her. She reread “You are Odette” until the urge to scream was at last overshadowed by curiosity. Her mind swirled. There were so many paths to take with this. Forged, genuine, dream, reality.

Come to me.

Save me.

Please.

I command you.

Something inside her responded to that command more than anything else in the book. The urge to run—here, there, anywhere—beat through her. As long as she found him, saved him, nothing else mattered. And she could save him, just as soon as she reached him.

I. Command. You.

Yes. She wanted to obey. So damn badly. She felt as if an invisible cord had been wound around her neck, and was now tugging at her.

Trembling, Jane closed the book. She wasn’t searching for anyone. Not tonight. She needed to regroup. In the morning, after a few coffee IVs, her head would be clear and she could reason this out. She hoped.

After placing the tome on her nightstand, she flopped into her bed and closed her eyes, trying to force her brain to quiet. An unsuccessful endeavor. If Nicolai’s story was true, he was as trapped by those chains as surely as she had once been trapped by her body’s infirmities.

The compassion grew … spread….

While he was kept in a cage, she had been bound to a hospital bed, her bones broken, her muscles torn, her mind hazed by medication, all because a drunk driver had slammed into her car. And while she had been—was—tormented by the loss of her family, since her mother, father and sister had been in the car with her, Nicolai was tormented by a sadistic woman’s unwanted touch. She felt a wave of regret, a crackle of fury.

I need you.

Jane inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly and shifted to her side, clutching her pillow close. As close as she suddenly wanted to clutch Nicolai, to comfort him. To be with him. Uh, not going there. She didn’t know the man. Therefore, she wasn’t going to imagine sleeping with him.

But that’s exactly what she did. His plight was forgotten as she imagined him climbing on top of her, his silver eyes bright with desire, his pupils blown. His lips were plump and red from kissing her entire body, still moist with her flavor. She licked at him, tasting him, tasting herself, eager for anything and everything he would give her.

He growled his approval, flashing his fangs.

His big, muscled body surrounded her, his skin hot, little beads of sweat forming, causing them to rub and glide together, straining toward release. God, he felt good. So damn good. Long and thick. A perfect fit, stretching her just right. Rocking, rocking, faster and faster, taking her to the edge of sensation before slowing … slowing … tormenting.

She clawed at him, her nails scouring his back. He groaned. She raised her knees, squeezing his hips. Yes. Yes, more. Faster, faster still. Never enough, almost enough. More, please more.

Nicolai’s tongue thrust into her mouth, rolling with hers before he bit down, drawing blood, sucking. A sharp sting, and then, finally, oh, God, finally, she tumbled over.

Ripples of satisfaction swept through her entire body, little stars winking behind her eyes. Her inner muscles clenched and unclenched, liquid heat pooling between her legs. She rode the tide for endless seconds, minutes, before sagging against the mattress, boneless, unable to catch her breath.

An orgasm, she mused dazedly. A freaking orgasm from a fantasy man, and she hadn’t even needed to touch herself.

“Nicolai … mine …” she whispered, and she was smiling as she at last drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2

“Princess. Princess, you must wake up.”

Jane blinked open her eyes. Muted sunlight pushed into the bedroom—an unfamiliar bedroom, she realized with confusion. Her room was plain, with white walls and brown carpet, the only furniture an unadorned bed. Now, a lacy pink canopy was draped overhead. To her right was an intricately carved nightstand, a bejeweled goblet perched on top. Beyond that, a plush, glittery carpet led to arched double doors framing a spacious closet bursting with a rainbow of velvets, satins and silks.

This wasn’t right.

She jolted upright. Dizziness hit her—familiar, but not comforting—and she moaned.

“Are you all right, princess?”

She forced herself to focus and take stock. A girl stood beside her bed. A girl she had never encountered before. Short, plump, with a freckled nose and frizzy red hair, wearing a coarse brown dress that appeared uncomfortably snug.

Jane scrambled backward, hitting the headboard. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Even as she spoke, her eyes widened. She knew five different languages, but she wasn’t speaking any of them. And yet, she understood every word that left her mouth.

No emotion crossed the girl’s features, as if she were used to strange people yelling at her. “I am Rhoslyn, once personal servant to your mother but now personal servant to you. If you agree to keep me,” she added, unsure now. She, too, spoke in that weird, lyrical language of flowing syllables. “The queen has bid me to rouse you and escort you to her study.”

Servant? Mother? Jane’s mother was dead, along with her father and her sister. The latter two had been killed on impact, the drunk driver having slammed his car into their side of the vehicle. Her mom, though … she had died right before Jane’s eyes, her life dripping out of her and onto Jane, their car propped against a tree, their seat belts holding them in place, the metal doors and roof smashed so completely they’d had to be pried out. But, by then, it had been too late. She’d already taken her last, pained breath.

She’d died the very day she was told her cancer was gone.

“Don’t you dare tease me about my mother,” Jane growled, and Rhoslyn flinched.

“I’m sorry, princess, but I do not understand. I tease you not about your mother’s summons.” How frightened she sounded now. Tears even beaded in her dark eyes. “And I swear to you, I meant no offense. Please do not punish me.”

Punish her? Was this some sort of joke?

The word joke was as familiar as the dizziness. But, really, joke still didn’t fit. Nervous breakdown, perhaps? No, couldn’t be. Breakdowns were a form of hysteria, and she was not hysterical. Plus, there was the language thing. Come on. You’re a scientist. You can reason this out.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” Her last memory was of reading the book and—the book! Where was the book? Her heart thundered uncontrollably, a storm inside her chest, as she panned her surroundings once more. There! Her book rested on the vanity, so close, yet so far away.

Mine, every cell in her body screamed, surprising her. Equally surprising, the absolute rightness of the claim. But then, she’d practically made love to the thing. And, oh, damn. Her blood heated and her skin tingled, her body readying for absolute, utter possession.

I need you, Jane. The text. She remembered the text. Come to me. Save me.

Consider this logically. She’d fallen asleep, dreamed of a vampire’s decadent touch and, like Alice in Wonderland, had woken up in a strange, new world. And she was awake. This was not a dream. So, where was she? How had she gotten here?

What if …?

She cut off the thought before it could veer into a direction she didn’t like. There had to be a rational explanation. “Where am I?” she asked again.

As Jane scooted from the soft confines of the feather-lined mattress, the “servant” said, “You are in …

Delfina.” She spoke with a question in her tone, as if she couldn’t quite grasp the fact that Jane didn’t already know the answer. “A kingdom without time or age.”

Delfina? She’d … heard of it, she realized with a start. Not the name, but the “kingdom without time.” A few of the beings she’d interviewed had mentioned another realm, a magical realm, with differing kingdoms outside the notice of humans. At the time, she hadn’t known whether to believe them or not. They’d been prisoners, locked away for the good of mankind. They would have said anything to gain their freedom. Even offer to escort her into their world.

What if …?

What if she’d crossed the threshold from her world and into the other? Jane finally allowed the thought to reach its conclusion, and her stomach churned with sickness.

Before the car accident changed her life so radically, she’d studied more than the creatures of myth. She’d studied the manipulation of macroscopic energy, attempting the “impossible” on a daily basis. Like the molecular transfer of an object from one location—one world—to another, and she had succeeded. Not with life-forms, of course, not yet, but with plastic and other materials. That’s why she’d been deemed an acceptable risk for interacting with the captured beings, both dead and alive.

What if she’d somehow transferred herself? But how would she have done so, she wondered next, when the necessary tools were not in her cabin? Latent effects of her contact with the previously transferred materials, perhaps?

No. There were too many variables. Namely, her new, royal identity.

“Rhoslyn,” she said, keeping her narrowed gaze on the girl as she settled her weight on her legs. Her knees knocked together, and her muscles knotted, but thankfully the dizziness did not return.

“Yes, princess?”

She gave herself a quick once-over, blinked with another dose of surprise and had to look again. She wore a lovely pink gown she hadn’t purchased herself and had never before seen. The material bagged around her reed thin body, dancing at her ankles.

Who the hell had dressed her?

Doesn’t matter. She focused on the here and now.

“What do I look like?”

Rhoslyn reached out, and Jane pursed her lips as she darted away. “Please, princess, you have been unwell. Allow me to assist you.”

“Stay where you are,” Jane told her. Until she figured out what was going on, she would trust no one. And without trust, there would be no touching.

The girl froze in place. “Wh-whatever you command, princess. Did you wish me to fetch something for you?”

“No, uh, I just want to grab something from over there.” Jane lumbered forward. The carpet fibers were as soft as they appeared and caressed her bare feet, tickling the sensitive areas between her toes. She moved slowly, allowing the tension to drain from her abused legs. By the time she swiped up the book and turned, she felt normal. Still the girl had not moved, her arm extended toward the bed, shaking now. “At ease,” she found herself saying.

With a sigh of relief, Rhoslyn dropped her arm to her side. “You asked what you look like. Beautiful, princess. As always.” Said automatically, with no real feeling.

Half of Jane’s attention remained on her while the other half focused on the book. She frowned. The dark leather was unmarred. She flipped to the middle. There was no bookmark, and the pages were new, fresh. Blank. “This isn’t my book,” she said. “Where’s my book?”

“Princess Odette,” Rhoslyn replied smoothly. “To my knowledge, you did not arrive with a book. Now, would you like—?”

“Wait. What did you call me?”

“Pr—princess Odette? That is your title and name. Yes? Did you wish me to call you something else? Or, perhaps I can summon the healer, and have her—”

“No. No, that’s okay.” Princess Odette, returned from the grave. Jane had read those very words. She’d also read, “You, Jane Parker. You are Odette.”

She twisted and leaned into the vanity, watching her reflection in the mirror. The moment she came into view, she stiffened. Light brown hair flowed over one shoulder. Her hair. Familiar. Her dark eyes were glassy, crescent-moon bruises underneath. Also familiar.

She reached out. Her fingertips pressed into the glass. Cool, solid. Real. If she lifted her gown, she would see the scars that marred her stomach and legs. She knew it.

She hadn’t morphed into Princess Odette overnight, then. Or, hell, maybe she and the princess looked alike.

“How did I get here?” she croaked, swinging back around to face the girl.

I need you, Jane.

Nicolai. She sucked in a breath as his name suddenly filled her mind. Nicolai the enslaved vampire, chained, abused. Nicolai the lover, sliding into her body, her legs parting to welcome him, then squeezing to hold him captive.

Come to me.

Come to him, as if he knew her. As if she knew him. But she’d never met him. At least, not to her knowledge.

Such a thing was possible, she supposed. Paradox theory suggested—damn it. No. She wasn’t going to hypothesize about paradox theory until she had more information. Otherwise, she’d be lost in her head for days.

Rhoslyn paled. “Yesterday evening a palace guard found you lying on the steps outside. He carried you here, to your bedchamber. You’ll be happy to note it is in the same condition you left it.”

Falling asleep at home, waking up … here. Princess Odette, returned from the grave, she thought again. Alice in her Wonderland.

“I hope you do not mind, but I bathed and changed you,” Rhoslyn added.

White-hot heat in her cheeks. Plenty of strangers had bathed and changed her over the past eleven months, and she was relieved Rhoslyn had done so, rather than some sweating, panting guy. Still. Mortifying. “Where’s my shirt?”

“It’s being washed. I must admit, I have never seen its like. There was strange writing on it.”

She closed the book and clutched it to her chest. “I want it back.” Just then, it was her only link to home.

“Of course. After I escort you to your mother, I—oh, I’m sorry. I did not mean to mention her again. I will take you to … the study below and fetch the garment for you.” Before Jane could comment, Rhoslyn added through gnashed teeth, “I am so happy—as are all your people—that you have come back to us. We missed you greatly.”

A lie, no question. “Wh-where was I?”

“Your sister, Princess Laila, witnessed your fall from the cliffs what seems an eternity ago. After you were stabbed and drained by your new slave. Though your body was never found, it was assumed you were dead, as no one has ever survived such a drop before. We should have known that you, the darling of Delfina, would find a way.” She flashed a stiff smile that lasted a single second, no more.

Princess Laila. That name, too, reverberated in Jane’s head, followed on the heels of “cruel, twisted desires.”

“Nicolai,” she said. Was he here? Real?

The servant chewed on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous. “You wish me to bring the slave, Nicolai, to you?”

Jane’s blood quickened and warmed, her skin tingling just as before. The girl knew who he was. That meant he was here, that he was as real as she was.

Her mind fizzed and crackled like her favorite candy. The book. The characters. The story, coming to life before her eyes … Jane now a part of it, deeply integrated, though she was someone other than herself. Finally. A puzzle piece slid into place.

The book could have been the catalyst. Maybe, when she’d read aloud, she’d somehow opened a doorway from her world into this one. Maybe Nicolai had somehow sent the book to her, and she was his only hope for freedom.

“Nicolai,” she repeated. “I want you to take me to him.” She had to see him, and was too impatient to wait. Would he know her? Was she right about the events that had unfolded?

Rhoslyn gulped. “But he’s the one who stabbed you, and your moth—I mean, er, the queen does not like to be kept waiting. She visited you once already, but you were sound asleep and could not be roused. Her impatience grows, and as you know, her temper …” Her cheeks flushed as she realized what she was saying. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect to the queen.”

Nicolai had stabbed Odette, the woman Jane was supposed to be? Talk about a plot twist Jane hadn’t seen coming. Damn. What if he tried to do the same to Jane?

He won’t, some deep, secret part of her said. He needs you. He said so.

“A few minutes more won’t hurt the queen.” Whoever the queen was, whatever she was supposed to mean to her, Jane didn’t care. Although, the fact that the woman was in charge, her word law and she apparently had a temper, unsettled her.

“Your sister—”

“Doesn’t matter.” She, too, was dead. Although, according to the book, Odette might just have a sister. That other princess. But again, Jane didn’t care. “Take me to Nicolai. Now.” Time to find another puzzle piece.

A breath shuddered through the girl, the seconds ticking by in tension-filled silence. Then, “Whatever you wish, princess. This way.”

Chapter 3

They called him Nicolai. He didn’t know if that was his real name. He didn’t know anything about himself, really. Whenever he attempted to remember, his head throbbed with unbearable pain and his mind shut down. All he knew was that he was a vampire, and the females here were witches. That, and he despised this kingdom and its people—and he would destroy them. One day. Soon. Just as he’d destroyed one of their precious princesses.

Anticipation rushed through him. His captors thought him weak, ineffective. They kept him on the razor edge of hunger, giving him a drop of blood in the morning and a drop of blood at night. That was all. He was teased and tormented constantly. Especially by the Princess Laila. So highborn, but look at you now. At my feet, mine to do with as I wish.

Highborn? He would find out.

They assumed, just because he was chained and starved, he could not harm them. They had no idea of the power that swirled inside him. Power that was caged, like him, but still there, ready to burst free at any moment.

Soon, he thought again, grinning darkly.

They’d had their healer bind his powers, as well as wipe his memory, and they made no secret of those facts. Why they’d done the latter, however, they’d never said. What did they not want him to remember? Again, he would find out.

What they didn’t know was that the witch had lacked Nicolai’s inner strength, and already a few of his abilities had seeped through that mental cage, allowing him to summon a woman who could set him free.

A woman who had at last arrived. Urgency and relief rushed through him, driving him to pace, back and forth, back and forth, his bare feet pounding into the cold concrete, his chains rattling. Even his guards were shocked by the miracle of Princess Odette’s appearance. Or rather, the girl they assumed was Princess Odette.

The real Odette was dead. He’d made sure of it. He had drained her, stabbed her, then shoved her over the cliffs outside this palace. Excessively violent, perhaps, but an enemy was an enemy, and his temper had been roused. And, as he’d known, not even the most powerful of witches could recover from that. Hurry, female. I need you.

Nicolai had spent countless days, weeks, years—he wasn’t sure—with Odette before he’d killed her. She was the one who had purchased him at the Sex Market, after all. She’d been a cruel girl, with a taste for delivering pain, unable to reach her climax until her unwilling partner screamed.

She had never climaxed with Nicolai.

Remaining silent had been a source of pride for him. No matter the instruments used on him, no matter how many males and females the bitch had allowed to touch and use him, he had only ever smiled.

When Odette took him outside the palace, threatening to throw him over the cliffs if he continued to defy her, he was finally given an opportunity to strike. She’d made the mistake of leaving his muzzle behind. She’d also made the mistake of stepping within his reach, chained though he’d been. He’d fallen on her, pinned her and sunk his fangs into her neck. Starved as he’d been, he’d drained her in minutes. And after that last, life-ending gulp, he’d stabbed her with her own dagger, just to be sure, and shoved her over the precipice.

Too late had the guard realized what had happened, and Nicolai had turned on him, ready for another snack. They’d fought like animals. More beastlike than most, Nicolai had won. The guard had never stood a chance, really. When provoked or hungry, vampires became frenzied and ravenous—unpredictable, uncontrollable predators who scented prey.

As he’d drained his second victim, Princess Laila had swooped in. Having coveted her older sister’s right to the throne, as well as her possessions, including Nicolai himself, she had watched Odette, waiting for the perfect time to act.

Nicolai had inadvertently given it to her. She and her guards had moved faster than his gaze could track, unfettered magic giving them strength and speed, and though his first meal in weeks had rallied him, the chains had slowed him down. He’d been overpowered with embarrassing ease.

Footsteps suddenly sounded, followed by the waft of something sweet in the air, both catching his attention. Nicolai stiffened and stilled, his ears twitching, his mouth watering. Absolute hunger bathed him, his stomach twisting. Must … taste … female …

The desire did not spring from his mind, but from deep inside him. An instinct, a need.

Usually those footsteps heralded the arrival of Laila’s servants, sent to drag him up the stairs and into her bedroom. This time, a plump redhead rounded the corner. He inhaled deeply, growled. Not her. She was not the source of that sweetness.

Nicolai stopped breathing, hoping his head would clear, if only for a moment. He was so damn hungry for the one responsible … had to see her. He rooted his feet in the center of his cage, his pallet behind him, thick bars in front of him, waiting. Who would next enter the dungeon?

And then, he saw her. The summoned female. His “Odette.”

He sucked in another breath. Her. She was responsible. A second growl rose, this one straight from his soul. Must taste female.

She did not smell like the real Odette. To everyone else, she would. She would smell of too-strong floral perfume mixed with the raw ooze of a putrid wound—evidence of her rotting heart. But to him … oh, to him … He inhaled again, unable to stop himself. Mistake. The sweetness, thicker now, almost tangible, fogged his mind. Must. Taste. His fangs and gums actually ached with the need to sample her. Must taste.

He studied her, his blood practically on fire. Anyone who looked at her would see the mask his shifted glammor had created. The mystical illusion of being someone else. Hair as dark as the Abyss, eyes of vivid emerald, skin as pale as cream. But that was where the gift of her father’s famed beauty ended, and the cruelty of her mother’s ugliness revealed itself. Odette was tall yet thickly built, her cheeks puffed from excess, her jaw squared with jowls. Her dark brows were substantial, and nearly connected in the center. Her nose was long with a definite hook.

What Nicolai saw, however, was the woman his summoning had chosen. The one from his dreams. Dreams in which she stood off to the side, watching him, never speaking. Dreams he had not understood. Until now. All along, his magic had known what he needed.

She was just as tall as Odette, but reed slender, with hair the color of a honeycomb. Her eyes were seductively uptilted, a shade darker than her hair, and filled with haunting secrets. Her skin was slightly bronzed and radiant, as if the sun was hidden underneath. Her cheeks were perfectly sculpted, her chin stubborn and yet delicate.

Delicate, yes. That’s what she was. Amorously delicate, utterly fragile and delightfully feminine. Almost … breakable. Would he kill her when he drank from her? And he would drink from her. He would not be able to resist that scent for long.

The protector in him rose up—a part of him he had not known existed, not for some stranger—demanding that he sweep her away from this and save her from the horror to come. Horror he would be responsible for. Not only from his dark embrace, but also from the evil of those around her. The people of Delfina wouldn’t savor her blood if they learned the truth of her identity. They would spill it and kill her. Painfully.

Do you want your freedom or the girl out of harm’s way? You can’t have both.

He hardened his heart. He wanted his freedom.

Their gazes locked a second later, a shock of awareness blasting him. Perhaps she felt it, too, for she gasped, stumbled. She righted herself and stopped at the bars, her amber eyes wide, her lush, pink mouth open, revealing straight white teeth. She held a book.

Taste her.

He wished he could see her tongue. Wished he could capture that tongue with his own. His desire surprised him. How long since he’d experienced true, willing arousal?

“You’re real,” she whispered, gripping the metal with her free hand. She squeezed so tightly her knuckles bleached of color. “You’re really here. And you look exactly as I dreamed.”

He nodded stiffly—and that wasn’t the only stiff thing about him. His cock filled, lengthening, thickening. “I am real, yes.” She’d dreamed of him, as he’d dreamed of her? He liked the idea.

He motioned to the servant with a tilt of his chin. Get rid of her.

Her attention whipped to the girl, and she uttered another gasp, as though startled to find they weren’t alone. “You may go, Rhoslyn. And thank you for bringing me here.”

“Anything for you, princess.” Expression softening with her relief, Rhoslyn curtsied. She raced around the corner and pounded up the stairs.

“You are confused,” Nicolai said. How harsh his voice was, pushing through his teeth and slicing up his tone.

A shiver slid down her slight frame as she faced him. “Yes. One minute I was at home, reading a book—about you! The next I was here. How am I here? Where is here? At first, I thought I was hallucinating or that this was a joke, but that isn’t right. I know that isn’t right. I’m calm. I see, I feel.”

“No hallucination, and no joke.” His frown deepened, his fangs cutting into his bottom lip. Just a taste, one little taste. “You were reading a book about me? Is that it?”

Her gaze fell to his teeth, and she gulped. “Yes. Written by you, I think.” Her voice was as soft and delicate as her features. “Or at least, part of it was. But no, this isn’t it. This one is blank. Or maybe this is it, but the writing just hasn’t happened yet.”

To his knowledge, he had not written a book, and had not sent a book to anyone. That did not mean anything, however. The memory of doing so could be buried with all the rest of his past.

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the scent of her—and felt the ache in his gums intensify. He was walking toward her, determined to grab her, bite her.

When he realized what he was doing, he forced himself to stop. He would scare her, and she would scream. Guards would rush inside to save her.

He could cover her mouth with one hand, of course, and tilt her back with the other, giving himself a wide playing field. He could lick … finally, blessedly taste …

Concentrate. “Do you know who I am?” Again, his tone was harsh, demanding. “Have you met me before? Besides in your dreams?” “No.”

Disappointing. “I will explain everything. Later,” he lied. The less she knew, now and in the future, the better it would be for her. “Right now, we must hurry.” Ever since he’d woken up in the slave market—weeks, months, years ago?—he’d been driven by more than a need to feed and escape. He’d been driven by an urge to reach the kingdom of Elden.

He must get there. And soon. More than that, he must slay the new king. He didn’t know why, he just knew that even thinking of the man filled him with rage. And every day that this man lived, a piece of Nicolai died. The knowledge was separate from his memories, springing from the same place as his need to taste this woman.

Taste. How many times would he think the word?

Countless. Until he got what he wanted, he was sure.

“Give me your arm.” He licked his lips at the thought of touching her, of knowing the texture of her skin. “I will mark you.” A little nip of her wrist, and he would stop. He would make himself stop. For now.

She shook her head, honeycomb hair dancing over her shoulders. “No. Explain now. Afterward, we’ll talk about the marking thing, whatever that is.”

Surely the female was not as stubborn as she seemed. “We might be separated.” Before she freed him. “I want to know where you are at all times.”

“Uh, I’m not sure how I feel about someone knowing where I am at all times. But again, we’ll discuss it.

After.”

All right, she was more stubborn than she seemed.

“As you can see, I have been enslaved. Tortured.” Uttering the words enraged him further. He should never have allowed himself to be placed in this situation. He should have been stronger. He was stronger. But he had no idea how he’d ended up in the Sex Market. “I don’t even—”

“Know if your name is really Nicolai. Blah, blah, blah. I know. I told you, I read a few passages of the book. I just don’t understand this.” She motioned to the prison, to him, to her gown. “‘Jane, I need you,’ you said. How did you know to write to me when we’ve never met?” Desperation wafted from her. “Unless I came here before, but returned home to a time before we’d met, and my dreams were echoes of what was to be. That would mean history is now looping, but of course, that creates a paradox, and—”

“Enough.” Jane. Her name was Jane. Somehow familiar, causing his arousal to ramp up … up. Maybe because the syllable was as soft and lyrical as her strange—though slight—accent. Focus. If she had asked anyone else these questions … “What have you mentioned to the others?”

“Nothing.” She laughed without humor. “I don’t know them.”

“Good. That’s good.” But she knew him, even though they had only seen each other in their dreams? As he had claimed to know her in that book? Something more was going on here. “Where are you from, Jane?” “Oklahoma.”

Oklahoma was not part of this magical realm. “You are human, then? Not a witch?”

A sweep of dark lashes, momentarily hiding undiluted shock. And pride. “I was right. I crossed over, didn’t I?”

“Jane. I asked you a question.” And he was used to getting answers immediately. He felt it in his bones.

“Yes, I’m human, and no, I’m not a witch. But you, you’re a vampire.”

He nodded. He knew this realm coexisted alongside the mortal world—a world mostly ignorant of what surrounded them.

Crossing over, as she had mentioned, happened more often than it should. How and why, though, no one knew. One moment you would be talking to a shifter or fighting an ogre, and the next moment a human would be in his place. And if not a human, a useless, bendable object.

Disappointment nearly felled Nicolai. Why had his magic chosen this woman? What good was a human here? Even so luscious a human? If Jane were asked to perform a ritual, as Odette had often been asked, she would be unable. She would fail. Everyone would know she was not who she claimed to be, before he could get what he wanted.

He had to act faster than planned.

“Listen. I summoned you here, and I am the one who protects you.” A small truth meant to pacify her. “Trust no one else. Only me.” A lie meant to save him. For once she set him free, he truly planned to leave. This palace—and her. As unstable as his abilities were, he could not remove the mask that made her Odette while they were together without the possibility of sending her home. Plus, he needed her able to travel freely through this palace as only a princess could. What a princess couldn’t do was travel unfettered outside these walls.

The moment she let him go, Jane would have nothing but her wits to shield her.

Guilt filled him. Before the emotion had time to settle, develop roots and grow, he ground it into powder and scattered every speck. He could not soften. No matter how desperately he craved this woman’s blood.

“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.”

Little beads of perspiration formed on his brow as he met her, moving with her. “You look nothing like her. Yes, keep doing that.”

“Then how does your magic work?” The tip of his erection brushed her most sensitive spot, and she moaned. “Why does everyone assume I’m her?”

“When I summoned you, I also shifted my ability to cast illusions to you, projecting Odette’s image.” His chains rattled as he attempted to lower his arms. When he realized he couldn’t, he scowled. “To everyone around you, with the exception of me, you look and sound like her. But gods, you smell divine.”

“So do you.” He’d spoken of intrinsic power. So very, very good … uh, interesting. Getting answers had never been this wonderfully agonizing in class. “Can you remove the illusion?”

The leather of his loincloth was soft between her legs, a startling contrast to his erection, creating a dizzying friction. Her heart hammered against her ribs with so much force, she feared the bones would crack.

She needed to slow down, or she would explode before the conversation ended.

“No, I cannot. Not while we’re together. My power … they did something to me. Bound my abilities in some way, as surely as they bound my body.” He licked his lips, revealing and hiding his fangs. So sharp, so deadly. “Do you like this, Jane? Do I please you?”

So much it scared her. “Yes.”

“Lean down. Kiss me.” Another urge to obey … She stilled instead. Yes. She wanted to kiss him. Yet she knew that if she leaned down, if she kissed the breath out of his lungs as she wanted him to do to her, they would have sex. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. Look how close she was to begging for it already!

She couldn’t have sex with him. They were strangers. Worse, he was a vampire, a drinker of blood, and she’d studied his kind for research. Oh, God. Talk about a mood killer. If he ever found out, the mood wasn’t the only thing that would be killed.

He wouldn’t find out, she assured herself before she could panic. Wasn’t like she’d tell him, and who else knew? No one. Although he might wonder why she knew more about his physiology than she should. Like the fact that he was alive, and not dead, with the same basic organ alignment as a human.

Besides, she would return home at some point. She hoped. More than that, they were in danger and under a time crunch. She needed answers from him, not pleasure. Not kisses.

Reluctantly she crawled off him and stood beside the bed. Her knees almost buckled. Amazing that she was able to maintain her balance, since her muscles had the consistency of Jell-O.

“Jane?”

She couldn’t look at him. She would cave. He was just so damn beautiful, those eyes so hungry. For her. Plain Jane, as the kids at school had once called her. Already she was tempted to fling herself back on top of him, rubbing her way to ecstasy. The scent of him clung to her. Sandalwood. Delicious. Every time she inhaled, she smelled him, weakening her resolve.

“Can someone else remove the illusion?” she asked, keeping her profile to him. “While we’re together?”

“Why did you leave me?”

“I wasn’t concentrating. I was only …”

“Thinking of me. And sex.”

Her cheeks heated as she nodded.

He uttered a low growl. “If you will not take pleasure from me, at least sit beside me. I would rather have part of you than none of you.”

Said the spider to the fly. A born seducer, this one. Nicolai knew just how to lure, how to tempt. Against her better judgment, she sat. Her fingers brushed his ribs, and the heat of him had her shivering all over again.

“The answer to your question is yes,” he said, gruffer still. “If someone’s power is greater than mine, my illusion can be broken. But do not go around asking for such a thing. You do not want the witches here knowing what was done to you.”

She waited, tense and silent, for him to go on. He didn’t. Finally she gasped out, “You can’t leave it at that. What happens if they discover the truth?”

Another round of silence.

Her heartbeat increased in speed. “What if your magic fails while I’m here?” Again, she waited. He didn’t rush to assure her all would be well. Still no need to panic. Not yet.

“Feed me,” he said, his fangs extending over his bottom lip, “and I’ll strengthen. No one will be stronger than me.” There, at the end, his words were slurred.

One half of her trembled in pleasure, the other half shuddered in fear. The vampires in the lab had fed from bags of plasma. She’d never been bitten. Had never wanted to be bitten. Until now. If anyone could make her enjoy something like that, it was this man.

“I’ll think about it. Now let’s backtrack a little. If you can make anyone look like the princess, why did you summon me specifically?” Why place her in such danger? Not that he’d truly wanted her, and her alone. She recalled his disdain when he’d learned she was merely a human, recalled his surprise. “I asked before, but you never answered.”

He leaned toward her, forcing her fingers to press into his skin. A silent command—and an unrelinquishing demand—for contact. “I did not summon you specifically.”

She’d realized that as she’d spoken, but hearing him confirm it depressed her. She had to remain on equal footing with him, and even though he was chained, he kept leaping to the next level without her.

“Who did you mean to summon, then?” she asked, tracing an X next to his navel. She blinked. His navel? Damn it! Her willpower sucked. She’d told herself not to touch him so, of course, the first thing she did was claim his belly button as her personal property.

“Jane?”

His deep voice startled her, and she jerked her spine ramrod straight. An instant later, her gaze met Nicolai’s. A mistake. Liquid silver eyes, smoldering with passion. Languid expression masking a sea of desires.

“Yes?” Danger, Jane Parker, danger.

“I lost you, even though I’m having this conversation only because you wished it. We could be doing—”

“Sorry,” she said before he could finish. No reason to discover if what he thought they could be doing meshed with her own desires, and every reason not to.

She stuffed her hands under her butt, her weight pinning them in place. Hopefully. “I’ll pay attention from now on.”

He flicked his tongue over one of his fangs, and she couldn’t help but imagine that tongue flicking between her legs. “I summoned whoever would save me.”

Oh, dear God. Her bones melted. Climbing on top of him a second time might actually be a good idea, she mused. She’d be able to hear him better. Yeah, yeah, because she was having trouble hearing him and … Damn it, she thought again. You knew better than to look at him!

She cleared her throat. “So I release you, and then what happens?” Good. Back on track. “I am … not sure.”

The truth or a lie? That hesitation. “Will I go home?”

“I told you. I do not know. Do you have a man waiting for you?” he asked, the words grated, as if pushed through a grinder.

“No. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have straddled you. Fidelity is important.” She had nothing and no one except the routine she’d developed. Wake up at six-thirty in the morning and jog five miles. Take a shower, dress, fix breakfast. Read for a few hours, usually something on macroparticles, sometimes a romance, fix lunch. Read for a few hours more, shop online for anything she needed, walk the treadmill to release the knots in her muscles. Bathe, fix dinner. Watch TV, sleep. Exciting.

She didn’t need to work because one, she’d made so much money through her research, she could never spend it all; and two, she’d made so much money in the car accident settlement, she could never spend it all. Only problem was, she wanted something money couldn’t buy. Her family. A second chance.

“But I’m not in danger there,” she added softly. “So tell me. What will you do when you’re free?”

Absolute determination cloaked her features. “Kill my tormentors.” Flat, cold. A vow. “After that, I will journey to Elden.”

The “kill my tormentors” part shouldn’t have cranked her engine, but it did. A lot. All that ferocity … He would protect what was his, and fight for what he wanted. Always. Anyone who tormented him or those he loved would suffer. And with him, a woman would never have to worry about anything. Well, except her panties. Those might be ripped a few times.

“If I summon the healer and she does her thing, and then I let you go, but I don’t instantly go home, will you take me with you?”

She was not staying here; she knew that much. Nicolai might plan to kill everyone, but he was only one man. Or vampire, whatever. There would be survivors. Survivors looking to punish the person who had unleashed the big bad vamp.

And the longer she resided in this palace, the more danger she would be in, he’d said. Yet, she couldn’t strike out on her own. She knew nothing about this land. This magical land, where spells could be cast, memories erased and powerful vampires enslaved.

He opened his mouth, closed it. Then he relaxed, his body sagging against the mattress. His expression softened, heated. “What would you do to stay with me?” he asked, his voice once more like smoke, curling around her, trying to lure her back in.

Her hand itched to reach out, the urge to touch him springing to new life. She wanted to learn the texture of his skin—she hadn’t paid enough attention before. She wanted to rediscover the warmth of his body. Was already reaching toward him.

She jumped back to her feet and backed away from him. Sitting next to him had been a mistake. She couldn’t concentrate, and she couldn’t keep her dumb hands to herself.

“Jane,” he said, exasperated.

“What?”

His eyes narrowed, the gold flecks brightening, bursting through the silver. “Forget it. Have I answered your questions?”

“Yes. Wait, no, I—”

“Too late. You said yes. There’s no changing your mind. Now summon the healer.” He lifted the arm closest to her as best he could, the cuff rubbing against the iron poster. “And remove the chains.”

Damn him. He’d never promised to take her with him. “All right. Chains first. Healer second. But you’ll owe me. Big time. And don’t feed from me. I didn’t beg you.”

“Noted.”

“I’m trusting you. If you go back on your word, I never will again. Once out of my trust circle, always out of my trust circle.” She turned and bent over the nightstand, pulling out the top drawer. Sure enough, a long, thin key rested atop a bed of crimson velvet. “Lookie there. So simple.”

“Odette!” Hinges squeaked a second before her bedroom door slammed against the wall.

Gasping, Jane spun. A short, obese woman with ruddy cheeks huffed and puffed in the now open entryway. She wore a navy blue and gold robe, the material far too tight for her rotund frame. She had jet-black hair peppered with silver, the strands slicked back and greased.

The city without time had managed to take its toll. “You dare defy me, girl?”

The queen, she thought with dread and just a little panic. Her “mother.” The gal with the whip. Don’t forget you’re supposed to be Odette.

Fear pumped through Jane’s veins at an alarming rate, joining the dread and panic. Danger, danger, danger, her mind shouted, and it was not the succulent kind Nicolai offered. If this world was anything like her own had once been, this woman, this queen, had absolute power over every one and thing in her kingdom. Including Jane.

“I—I’m sorry.” Jane’s gaze fell to Nicolai. His expression was now blank, his features smoothed out. Yet, he couldn’t hide the coiled tension in his biceps and stomach. He practically vibrated. As stealthily as possible, she tossed the key at him. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you, M-Mother. Queen.”

“And yet you did. You, my successor, the one my people look to as an example, have made me appear the fool.” At least she hadn’t noticed the key. “Rather than seek out your doting mother, you sought out a slave.” As the queen spoke, two guards filed in beside her.

Jane didn’t recognize them; they were taller and meaner looking than the others.

“Now, you’ll be punished.”

The men continued to advance.

“But … I … You can’t do this! Stop. Don’t you dare touch me. Let go!”

A snarl left Nicolai. One that promised pain. Lots and lots of pain. No one but Jane seemed to notice. The guards snagged her by the arms and began dragging her out of the bedroom.

“Mine,” Nicolai snapped. “No touching.”

Again, he was ignored.

“Stop! Let go!” She struggled, kicking and screaming, but they never loosened their hold.

Behind her, she heard Nicolai jerking against his chains. “Mine!”

“I can do anything I wish,” the queen said, so superior Jane wanted to slap her. “Perhaps your little bump on the head made you forget. But no worries, my pet. I will remind you—and ensure you never forget again.”

Chapter 5

She never cried, never even gasped as the whip flayed her delicate skin.

Nicolai was chained to Odette’s bed. He hadn’t marked Jane as he’d wanted, but he was somehow attuned to her in a way he doubted he had ever been attuned to another. He should not have been able to focus on her, especially since he’d been fighting sizzling desire for her—her body, her blood—and all other thoughts had become fogged and insignificant in comparison.

Now, he felt fury. So much fury, and every bit of it was leveled on the guards.

They had dragged Jane along the opulent corridor filled with portraits of the queen and her daughters, down the winding stairs with dark velvet carpeting, and to the extravagant banqueting hall. Though she was no longer in the bedroom, Nicolai saw her still.

As if their minds were somehow connected. She struggled the entire way. Only when they bent her over the dining table, her face pressed into the polished wood, only when they stripped away the back of her gown, had she settled.

Panting, she twisted her head to gaze over at the queen. The Queen of Hearts, a woman known to dine on the still beating organ during the spells and incantations used in her never ending quest for youth.

“Don’t do this,” Jane pleaded. “I meant no offense.”

The queen raised one of her many chins, the ones beneath it jiggling. “And yet it was offense that you gave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You will be more so.”

“Please,” Jane said, her skin both pallid with fear and bright with exertion. “Give me another chance.”

Perhaps the queen replied. Nicolai would never know. He was too focused on Jane’s back. Already she bore scars. More than he could possibly count. They twined from her spine to her rib cage, red and angry, badges of pain. They stretched past the robe’s gaping material, perhaps even riding the length of her legs.

What the hell had been done to her?

His guilt sprang back to instant, shattering life, and he was unable to destroy it this time. He had placed her in this situation. This delicate, haunted woman with the tantalizing scent, who had offered him the only glimpse of sunlight in a darkened void. She had come to save him, had trusted him enough to straddle him while talking to him. To rub against him, ratcheting his desire to unequaled heights, even without climax. And her resistance … gods, he’d wanted to quash it. Still did. Wanted her to know his bite, his kiss. His possession.

Perhaps she was merely a challenge he had to triumph above. He didn’t care. Quite simply, she was his. That was not in question. Mine, his cells continued to scream. All mine.

He could not allow her to be whipped. Nicolai looked at the key resting at his side. Jane had tossed it at him, and it had landed on the mattress. A brave gesture on her part, but useless. He could not bend enough to reach it with his mouth. He could not angle his hands to grab it. He could not do anything with it. Yet the fact that she’d tried, that she’d thought of him in the face of her own peril … affected him.

He would escape. However necessary. He would save her.

Never before had he been left on his own outside of his cell, with no guards within sight or hearing distance. He jerked at his cuffs. The metal links scraped his already cut skin, digging deeper, deeper. He’d pulled at them while straining toward Jane, but at the time he hadn’t cared, hadn’t felt any sting but that of passion. Now, he felt the pain. That didn’t stop him, however.

Just as before, the latches held, both to him and to the bed. He gritted his teeth. His hate for Laila, her mother and even Delfina grew exponentially. Destroy …

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the power still swirling inside him. There it was, dark, so dark, churning, an untapped storm just waiting, desperate to be unleashed; and all he had to do was break through the glass cage that had been erected within him.

A glass cage with thin, riverlike cracks running through the center.

Exploit. He banged against the mental glass, over and over again. Nothing. He clawed at it. Still nothing. Damn it!

“Now,” he heard the queen say, pulling Nicolai back to the present. To Jane and their connection. Somehow, enough of his magic had escaped to allow him to continue watching her despite the distance between them.

Leather whistled through air. The first blow landed. Jane squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together. She grimaced, but not a sound did she make.

They had done it. They had whipped her.

Just like that, something inside of Nicolai broke. Not the glass cage, but something far more dangerous, roaring like a wild animal pushed beyond its limits.

From the first moment Nicolai had spotted Jane, his body had reacted to her. He had experienced lust, guilt and possessiveness in varying degrees. Now, the possessiveness simply took over.

Mine, he thought again.

This time, the word sprung from deep inside him, as unstoppable as an avalanche. He did not understand the fierceness accompanying the thought, and refused to ponder it now. Later. He would ponder later. Right now, more than before, he knew only that she was his—his savior, his woman—and nothing else mattered.

The guards had touched her, hurt her. They would die. Painfully. By the time he finished with them they would probably thank him for killing them.

All he had to do was free himself. And he would. Nothing would stop him. Not now, not anymore.

“Soon” had at last arrived.

Being a magical vampire, as Jane had called him, was not going to aid him; he admitted that now. Still his determination intensified, blending with the hate, the burn of that possessiveness. He would reach her by grit alone; he would save her. No matter what he had to do. His gaze strayed to the wrist cuffs and narrowed. Without his thumbs, his hands would slide right through.

He didn’t have to think about it. Goodbye, thumbs.

Biting his tongue against the pain he knew was to come, he slammed his hands, thumbs out, into the headboard. Crunch. The bones broke with that very first punch. He sucked in a breath, but, like Jane, he did not utter a sound. Punch, punch, punch. Each new blow caused even more damage, ripping tendon, tearing muscle, flattening bone.

By the time he finished, he was sweating, bleeding, his hands limp. But his top half was free. With a growl, he jolted upright. Heard the whistle of leather through air, a soft inhalation of breath. Another lash against Jane’s delicate skin.

Skin he wanted to caress.

His hands were too mutilated to grab the key. In fact, his efforts sent the little piece of metal sliding to the floor with a clink. He would need it later, to remove the neck cuff, and so he would pick it up with his mouth—after he’d freed himself.

Through narrowed eyes, he peered down at his feet. At a different angle, those feet would glide straight through the metal rings. And all he had to do to achieve that different angle was break every bone that ran from his ankle to his toes.

Nicolai started kicking the footboard.

Jane closed her eyes to hide the tears trying so determinedly to form and spill. It wasn’t like she’d never experienced pain before. For God’s sake, her spine had been broken, her legs unusable for months. Then there’d been the surgeries. Surgery after surgery to pin her bones in their proper places. Then, of course, the rehabilitation.

So, this whipping? Not even a blip on her agony radar. And yet, the humiliation of being bent over a table, her clothing ripped away, her scars revealed to those who sought to harm her, her body bound with ties she couldn’t see—magic?—nearly undid her. And for what? For failing to speak with a fat, ugly woman when summoned?

Poor Odette. Was this how she’d lived? Always fearing the next punishment? And poor Nicolai. Jane could not blame him for doing everything within his power to save himself. She would have done the same.

In fact, she could blame only herself for this. Had she listened to Nicolai, had she freed him when he’d wanted, they would have been far, far away from this dreadful place. Well, he would have been. He would have left her behind. And he still might, she thought. During their talk, she had not garnered a promise from him. Not to keep her with him, not to protect her. And now, it was too late. There was no way she’d leave him bound after this. Not for any reason. She would free him the moment she was physically able, then take off on her own.

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