Relief blasted through her. Despite Riven’s assurances that he hadn’t killed Tarak, Waverly had feared the worst. She wouldn’t trust Riven’s word if he claimed the ocean was wet.
But even as she was rejoicing in the knowledge that Tarak was seemingly unharmed from the magic of the Tryshu, he was lifting himself off the floor with one smooth motion.
“No, don’t move.” She reached out to grab his arm, but she was too late. With surprising speed considering he’d been out cold just seconds before, he was circling the cramped area.
There wasn’t much to see. The space was nothing more than an empty gray room with rough walls and a stone floor. She’d never known if her father had created the prisons, or if they’d been used by mer-folk since the beginning of time.
At last he turned back to face her, his expression unreadable. “What happened?”
She straightened, trying to determine his mood. She’d expected him to be furious when he woke to discover himself returned to his prison.
Instead he seemed…
Distracted.
“Riven used the power of the Tryshu on you,” she told him.
His lips twisted in a rueful smile as he lifted his hand to rub his nape. As if he was rubbing away a lingering pain.
Did vampires have headaches?
“You warned me it packed a hell of a punch,” he said, his tone wry. “In fact, you warned me about a lot of things. I was just too stupid to listen.”
Guilt twisted her heart. She couldn’t bear the thought of this male once again being trapped. Hadn’t he endured enough? And why? Because his king had been a spineless addict who was willing to trade his clansman to keep his secret. And her king, who was obsessed with maintaining his hold on the throne.
“I’m sorry.”
In a blur of speed, he was standing in front of her, his hands framing her face.
“This isn’t your fault.” He flicked a disgusted glance around the bleak prison. “None of this is your fault.”
Waverly wanted to agree. It made her sick to think she’d been a culprit in Tarak’s misery. But when she truly forced herself consider her actions—no, wait… her lack of action, she amended, she had to accept that her cowardice had allowed Tarak to remain trapped in this prison.
“I should have gone to the vampires as soon as I discovered there was a new Anasso,” she said, her voice thick with regret. “He might have been able to do something to help you.”
He placed a finger over her lips. “You were protecting your sister as well as the mer-children,” he said. “My own motives were far more selfish.”
She sighed, unable to confess that her motives weren’t as noble as he thought. Yes, she wanted to protect her sister and the children. It was her top priority. But there’d also been a small, terrible part of her that hadn’t wanted him to escape. As long as she knew she would be given the opportunity to see him, even if it was for all too brief periods of time, she could bear her own despair.
It was a horrible thing to admit to herself, let alone Tarak.
“No one could blame you,” she said, lifting her hands to lay them against his chest. “There’s no demon who wouldn’t be obsessed with revenge after what you’ve been through.”
His dark gaze swept over her face, his thumbs brushing the line of her jaw.
“I was so busy focusing on what my Anasso and Riven had taken away from me that I didn’t bother to appreciate what I gained,” he told her in soft tones.
She paused, wondering if she’d misheard him. “What you gained?”
He stepped closer, his icy power wrapping around her. When she’d first started to visit this prison, the sensation of chilled prickles crawling over her skin had made her tremble with unease. Now it made her pulse race and her mouth dry with excitement.
“I spent five hundred years telling myself that my eagerness for your arrival in my prison was simply because I wanted to keep up my strength,” he murmured.
She flinched, her emotions too raw to easily accept that he genuinely cared. Not after centuries of telling herself that it was never, ever going to happen.
“You would be hungry for anyone who was there to feed you,” she said, instinctively bracing for his rejection.
Instead, his fingers threaded through her hair, his gaze moving to linger on her mouth. “My need wasn’t for your blood. Or even your body.”
Her hands smoothed over his chest, savoring the rigid muscles beneath her palms. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think clearly.
“It wasn’t?”
“No, it was you,” Tarak assured her. “The sound of your voice when you would read to me. And your scent that would linger in this prison long after you were gone.”
The protective layers she built around her heart began to shatter. One after the other.
“I was your only contact with reality,” she couldn’t resist reminding him.
His fingers combed through her hair before they were tenderly tracing the line of her throat. “Yes, you were my touchstone, but so much more.”
She furrowed her brow. “Tarak.”
His gaze remained locked on her lips. As if he was aching to taste them. “Mmm?”
“I think the Tryshu has messed with your mind,” she warned.
“It made me see the light,” he rasped, his hands skimming over her shoulders and down her arms. “In more ways than one.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
And she didn’t. He should be ranting and raving at being forced back into his prison. Perhaps even blaming her for her failure to protect him while he was unconscious.
He shouldn’t be…
What was he? Not precisely giddy, but fiercely satisfied. Yes, that was it.
“I’ve never experienced such pain,” he told her. “I truly thought that was going to be the end.”
A sharp shudder raced through her. She was one hundred percent certain that the sight of Tarak collapsing was going to feature in her nightmares for a very long time to come. “Don’t remind me. It was awful.”
“In that moment everything became perfectly clear,” he told her, stroking his hands down the sides of her body to grip her hips.
“It did?” she demanded, glad that it was clear to someone.
“I didn’t regret that I wouldn’t have my revenge, or even the years I spent trapped in this place.”
She allowed her gaze to roam over his pale, savage features. The wide brow. The bold nose. And the sensual lips that were parted enough to give a peek at his snowy white fangs.
“What did you regret?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Denying my feelings for you,” he said without hesitation. “All those years I could have been exploring our mutual fascination. What a waste.”
Chapter 13
“Tarak.” Her hands slipped up to grasp his shoulders as a crazy sensation zinged through her body. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
He gazed down at her with the intensity of a predator eyeing his prey.
“I just told you I’m thinking clearly for the first time in five centuries.”
“But…” She struggled to keep hold of the threads of her concentration. “We’re trapped here,” she finally managed to remind him.
A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Together.”
She shook her head. Maybe she’d been right. Maybe his brains had been scrambled by the Tryshu.
“But you don’t understand—” Her words were interrupted when he suddenly swooped his head down to press lips against her open mouth.
Pleasure blasted through her, but before she could wrap her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, Tarak was straightening.
“Right now, I don’t care,” he assured her, his eyes smoldering with satisfaction at the blush she could feel staining her cheeks.
She made another attempt to think clearly. Tarak needed to understand the full truth of their predicament.
“But the key was destroyed when the witch released you,” she reminded him. “That means we have no way of getting out of here.”
His hands slid slowly up and down her back, his chilled touch setting off sparks of fire. “Is there somewhere you want to go?”
An unexpected fury exploded through her. “I want to return to the castle and kill Riven.”
He offered her an approving nod of his head. “Later,” he promised. “But first I intend to enjoy our time alone.” His head began to lower. “Together.”
She tilted back her head, trying to avoid his lips. If he kissed her again she would be lost.
“Didn’t you hear me? The key is destroyed.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure Riven will be encouraged to create a new one.”
Her anger continued to pulse through her. “My people have been blinded by Riven,” she said in bitter tones. “They have no idea he has imprisoned us.”
“No, but the vampires do,” he reminded her.
Waverly recalled the second before she’d been forced into the prison. She’d been certain that there had been vampires in the caves. It was possible they were already searching for Tarak.
“I suppose that’s true.”
Unable to reach her lips, Tarak contented himself with nuzzling his lips down the curve of her neck.
“I was too maddened by the thirst for revenge to allow myself to be distracted by the familiar scent when I first escaped,” he whispered against her skin.
Her body arched toward him as warmth cascaded through her. What were they talking about? Oh yeah. A smell when he escaped this prison.
“The witch?” she demanded.
“Chiron,” he told her, his voice preoccupied. Was he having as difficult a time as she was trying to keep track of the conversation? “He was there. Which means he knows I was being held by your king. No doubt he was even responsible for my release. And when he can’t track me down, he’ll start demanding answers from Riven.”
Waverly grimaced. She understood his hope that his clansman would confront Riven and rescue them. She even applauded the thought of the King of Mer-folk being torn to tiny, bloody shreds by the vampires.
But she couldn’t help but worry about her people. They were innocent victims.
“It could mean a war,” she breathed.
“Chiron isn’t a fool. He’ll attempt diplomacy first,” he assured her, allowing the sharp tips of his fangs to press against her skin. “But we both know Riven has to be stopped.”
She released a shaky sigh. She hated the thought that the mer-folk might be put in danger, but she couldn’t argue with Tarak. Riven had gone mad with power. To the point that he thought he could enslave other species.
Narcissistic jerk.
“Yes,” she slowly agreed, trembling as his fangs scraped over the pulse pounding at the base of her throat.
“Until then, I intend to concentrate on you,” he growled.
Anticipation rippled down her spine, tightening the tips of her nipples and making her toes curl.
She’d been held in Tarak’s arms before. And even felt the thrilling sensation of his fangs sliding deep into her flesh. But suddenly she felt a deluge of pleasure washing over her.
“This is…” The words dried on her lips. She simply didn’t have the means to express what was swelling inside her.
“Glorious?”
“Yes, but more.”
He lifted his head to regard her with a faint smile. Was he amused by her lack of eloquence? Probably. She sounded like a water nymph drunk on fermented seaweed.
“More what?” he demanded
She tilted back her head, becoming lost in the inky darkness of his gaze.
“Intense,” she breathed.
His expression softened, his body brushing against her in a soft promise.
“It is,” he agreed, his voice thick with an emotion that made her breath catch in her throat. “It must have something to do with the witch’s spell being broken. There’s no magic to dull our senses.” He pressed a lingering kiss on a tender spot just below her ear. “But be warned, there is a danger.”
She stiffened. Was he joking? It didn’t really seem the time or place. “What kind of danger?”
“The eternal sort.”
“You’re being very cryptic,” she complained.
“It should be obvious.” He gazed down at her, his lips parted to reveal his fangs fully extended. “Unless mermaids are incapable of mating?”
She blinked, barely daring to believe he’d spoken the magical word.
“Mate?” she whispered. “Are you certain?”
He chuckled at her shock. “Do you need me to prove it?” Lowering his head, he kissed her with all the fierce, forceful hunger she’d longed to experience. “Does that help?”
For five hundred years she’d fantasized about this male. His scent, his touch, the feel of his fangs sliding deep into her flesh. Now she didn’t want a soft, tentative seduction. She wanted exactly what he was giving to her. A ruthless demand that sizzled through her.
“It’s a start,” she assured him.
“Oh, I have more,” he assured her.
He claimed her lips in another searing kiss. Waverly moaned as bliss flooded through her, so intense it made her head swim and her knees weak.
Easily sensing she was turning into a melty mess of need, Tarak wrapped his arms around her and jerked her tight against his body. Her lips parted, silently inviting his tongue to plunge into her mouth. Waverly made a sound deep in her throat, her hands lifting to clutch at his arms.
If she’d been in her right mind, she’d be demanding an explanation about his claim. You couldn’t just throw around the word ‘mate’ and not follow up with a long, deeply spiritual conversation.
But she wasn’t in her right mind. And any urge to discuss the future, or even the past, was lost in the blaze of heat that seared through her.
Her eyes slid shut as his lips eased and he pressed a line of kisses down her jaw.
“I’ve discovered I’m addicted to passion fruit,” he whispered.
“Passion fruit?”
“And salt.” He nibbled a path down the curve of her neck.
She hissed as his tongue touched the pulse hammering at the base of her throat. “All mer-folk have salt on their skin.”
“I like it,” he interrupted in a soft voice, maneuvering her backward until she was pressed against the wall. “You make all other females taste bland in comparison.”
His words stirred a vivid memory of his fangs plunged into her neck, drinking deeply of her blood. Her heart fluttered. Really and truly fluttered. Like a butterfly madly zigzagging in the center of her chest.
Unable to resist temptation, she reached to grasp his t-shirt, jerking it over his head in one smooth motion. The fluttering went into hyper-drive as she caught sight of the smooth, hairless skin of his chest. It was the first time she’d seen his bare torso, which meant she hadn’t been expecting the tattoo of a golden dragon with crimson wings that spread over his chest. It was disturbingly realistic as it shimmered with an oddly metallic glitter.
“What is it?” she demanded.
His dark eyes glowed with a barely restrained hunger, but his touch was gentle as he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the dragon.
“It’s the mark of CuChulainn.”
She furrowed her brow. “The mark of what?”
“The mark of a clan chief,” he told. “It’s given to those vampires who manage to survive the battles of Durotriges.”
“I’ve never heard of Durotriges.”
“Because only a vampire can seek out the ancient demon who presides over the tests,” he admitted. �
��Once he accepts you, he uses his magic to take you to another dimension for the actual battles.”
She felt an odd stab of anger. She didn’t like the realization that he’d risked his life in some ridiculous contest to become a clan chief. He could have died, and she would never have known him.
An unbearable thought. “I suppose your precious Anasso invented the battles?”
He surprised her by giving a shake of his head. “Actually they’ve been around since the beginning of time. Even in the dark ages we desired a means of choosing our leaders. Not that they prevented open warfare, or ambitious chiefs from forcibly taking over rival clans.”
“If I’d been around back then, I would never have allowed you to enter,” she scolded.
His lips twitched as his hands stroked up the side of her body. “You sound like a princess,” he teased.
A quivering sigh was wrenched from her throat as his hands cupped her breasts.
“I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt,” she rasped.
His dark eyes flared with satisfaction. Obviously he was pleased that she was worried about him. Then, before she could speak, he was impatiently pulling the gown over her head.
“We’re safe for now,” he assured her, his fingers drifting along the slope of her shoulders. His touch was cool, but the light caress sent fire cascading through her. “And alone.”
She reached to scrape her nails over the glittering dragon on his chest.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Alone.”
He released a growl, lowering his head to capture a nipple between his teeth, stroking it mercilessly with his tongue.
Waverly gasped at the wave of sensations that crashed over her. No matter how vivid her fantasies, they were nothing compared to reality of his touch.
Continuing to tease her breast, Tarak allowed his hands to skim lower. She shivered as he explored the curve of her hips and then the tender skin of her inner thighs.
He gave her nipple a last nuzzle before his head lifted and he buried his face in her neck.
“Have you considered the risk?” he demanded in a husky voice as his fangs scraped down the vein in her neck. “Once I’m mated to you it’s for an eternity.”
Beware the Darkness Page 14