Sweet Ruin

by Kresley Cole

  "Your pussy's nice and tight." His voice was so deep, like the thrust of a finger. "Good call not to fuck yet."

  Yet.

  He curled that finger inside her. "Here's something you'll enjoy." He stroked one . . . specific . . . spot.

  Bursts of light appeared before her eyes. "Ohmygodyesmore!" He'd done it--he'd made her see stars.

  "That's it, baby." Over and over, he rubbed that spot. "Getting so wet for me. Doesn't it feel good?"

  "Uh-huh--AHHH!"

  He leaned down to tongue her clit while rubbing inside.

  Some woman was spluttering nonsensical words and sounds. Me?

  In a lower tone, he said, "Need more, Josie?"

  When he called her Josie her toes curled. She nodded. All I am is need. She was need in the shape of Jo.

  He worked another finger inside her. "So hot and soft and hungry." When he plunged both fingers, her head thrashed, arms catching against the cuffs.

  "Hear how wet you are? Wouldn't you do anything to come on my hand? Just tell me how you met Nix." He sucked her tender clit between his lips, tugging at it.

  She gasped, shaking her head.

  Suck. "Why did she target my brethren?" Tug.

  "Brethren?"

  "What's your involvement with the Valkyries?"

  Jo nodded.

  He made a sound of frustration. "You're the strangest creature I've ever met. You should despise me. I feel how swollen your little clit is--it throbs against my tongue. Your pussy's begging for my cock. How can you not want this ache to end?"

  "Never end. Never . . ."

  "No? Then you're not hurting for it enough." He began working a third finger into her.

  The fullness made her eyes roll back in her head. She imagined his dick was penetrating her. So close . . . so close . . . She wriggled her hips on his long fingers, fucking herself with them.

  He groaned. "Damn it, Josephine, do you want to hurt this way? Do you like this?"

  She raised her head, telling him honestly, "You. I like." A tear streamed down her cheek. "I like you so much."

  Never had Rune tortured himself by torturing another.

  His shaft felt as if it'd explode. His heart hadn't stopped pounding, his lungs heaving. He now knew what all his victims had gone through.

  And never had he broken skin--unless he'd meant to. Yet the vampire's wrists were bleeding. "Gods damn it, woman!" Injuring her was not part of the plan. He slid his fingers free, then rose from the bed.

  She might want this never to end, but unlike his body, hers was suffering from more than thwarted desire. Pink tears had spilled from her eyes. Her skin was pale from thirst, her eyes black and glassy with it. Her fangs were sharp as daggers.

  He couldn't keep hurting her. Which meant she'd won. He bit out a Demonish curse and punched a hole in the stone wall. She'd defeated him.

  "Rune?" Her finely boned face looked exhausted.

  Flexing his fingers, he collected the key to her cuffs, then returned to the bed to unlock her. He knew just how she'd want to celebrate her release. Her predatory gaze had zeroed in on his neck.

  He freed her, and she rose up on her knees. She shoved him back on the mattress, and he let her. Where would she bite him first? She'd likely drain him dry. His cock surged at the idea, even as his mind rebelled.

  She won.

  He told himself he could take her to the brink again. But he had no taste for it any longer.

  Torturing her tortured me.

  She straddled him, seating herself right atop his aching rod. Her sex was drenched, tormenting him with what he couldn't have. Would she fall upon him?

  She seemed to be resisting that urge. Why wouldn't she move on his cock? She was edging herself! I don't understand her!

  She reached forward to cup his face with shaking hands. He had no idea what she was thinking. She telegraphed nothing--

  She leaned down and pressed her lips to his cheek.

  A gust of breath left him. Why would she do this?

  Then she tenderly kissed his chin. The tip of his nose. His forehead. She nuzzled the sensitive point of one ear.

  "Are you . . . thanking me?"

  She drew back. "Yes."

  "For hurting you?"

  She shook her head, the silky curls of her hair cascading over her shoulders. "For making me feel alive."

  His gaze dipped to her mouth. He had to kiss her, couldn't wait any longer. He clutched her nape. "I've wanted to take your mouth from the moment I first scented you."

  A lie. He'd wanted it all his life.

  To kiss without killing?

  She licked her carnal lips in invitation. "Take it, Rune."

  He tugged her head down, pulling her closer. Their gazes locked. When only an inch separated their lips, he swallowed. The moment was laden. "So long I've waited . . ." He pulled her in.

  Contact.

  Soft, giving lips trembled against his. He stilled, basking in this luxury, his senses drinking her in.

  In time, he slipped his tongue into the welcoming heat of her mouth. He knew she was immune to him, but habit made him tense.

  As if to reassure him, her tongue met his. When she gave a gentle lap, he felt it in every single inch of his body. His shaft pulsed so hard, it lifted her.

  She moaned with pleasure. Only pleasure.

  The most erotic sound his twitching ears had ever heard.

  His grip on her nape tightened, his hand beginning to shake as he deepened the contact. He claimed her mouth possessively, his tongue twining hers--until they shared the breaths from their lungs. Until her heartbeat drummed in his ear alongside the sound of his.

  This kiss was right. Her lips were right.

  He'd wanted this so badly. And it was so much fucking better than he'd dreamed. He groaned for more.

  She lovingly cradled his face again, and something inside his chest twisted. Her lips . . . her lips were teaching him to need. To feel again.

  This woman. This vampire. With her slow, sweet kiss.

  He wanted to teach her as well. To demonstrate why he was a man she should desire. That he had strength enough for both of them. She would listen to this kiss--just as she did to his blood.

  He licked one of her fangs. The instant his blood hit her tongue, her body stiffened.

  They both went motionless. Heartbeat . . . heartbeat . . . heartbeat . . .

  "Ummm." She cried out, lapping at him. He set back into the kiss, giving to her as she was giving to him.

  Yet she still hadn't moved over him. He gripped her hips and pulled her along the top of his shaft.

  That was all it took.

  She screamed against his mouth. Her orgasm made her suck on his tongue and rock atop him, her slickened pussy slipping from the base to the crown.

  Ecstasy.

  He shuddered, on the verge of coming instantaneously. The reasons why he couldn't pin her down and rut, spending so deep inside her, grew dim.

  She pulled back to rise up over him, undulating her hips as her eyes slid closed. Blood spilled from the corner of her lips. Mindless.

  Voice thick, he said, "You'd drink me till eternity, if I let you. Become a little glutton for it."

  "I would," she moaned, piling her hair on her head. "Pierce you day and night."

  "You'd drink me alone, forever."

  She licked her lips as her hands dipped to caress her body. "You alone."

  "Already you can't live without my kiss."

  "I can't . . . can't . . ." Blood trickled from her chin, hitting her breast. His lifeblood had never looked blacker than against her alabaster skin.

  Like paper inscribed with ink, her flesh was marked by him. Marked with his scent. She was his possession.

  Obsession.

  Yet he knew nothing about her. He reached forward, caging her delicate throat with his fingers. "Tell me anything, woman. Anything I don't know about you."

  Dazed, she murmured, "Your blood isn't tainted. I can taste heaven."

 
His breath left his lungs. His fingers went limp. His arms fell back. "Move on me, then," he ordered her. "Make me come!"

  As she snapped her hips, that urge to shove himself inside her grew overwhelming, his body fevered for release.

  Right on the edge, he stared up at this female. Hair wild, eyes onyx with need, lips black from his blood. Pierced sex, navel, nipples. Plump breasts quivering.

  He'd never forget the sight of her like this. Not even if he lived for another seven thousand years. He'd never seen anything so stunning.

  She could make me wish I got a mate.

  But she was still weakened, hadn't drunk enough. His undeniable urge to come battled an inexplicable need to care for her. He sliced his neck and pulled her down to him. "Feed." Arms coiled around her, he awaited her fangs.

  "I don't want to take too much."

  "Drink!" he commanded her. "Feed from my body till yours is sated."

  He growled as she sank her fangs in so slowly, penetrating his flesh like a leisurely lay.

  Lids heavy, he stared at the ceiling, struggling to process his actions, what he was feeling. As her bite made him come, he nearly bellowed once more. Instead he clasped her tightly to him and rocked her as she fed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  With her head upon Rune's chest, and his heart beating against her ear, Jo tried to stay awake to replay everything.

  All the pleasure he'd delivered when questioning her, and then in the hours after she'd fed.

  All the things she'd learned--about life, him, herself.

  Before they'd even gotten started he'd told her vampires had to eat to be fertile. She'd never thought she could have children of her own. Now, there was the possibility.

  She couldn't get the last fourteen years back with Thad, but maybe she could have a kid who reminded her of him as a baby. Maybe, one day, he would be an adoring uncle.

  Possibility. The future began to spread out so brightly before her. With that thought in her mind, she slipped into an exhausted sleep.

  Dreams arose. More memories of Rune's? Vague impressions filtered through her awareness. . . .

  --Queen Magh viewing him in his court dress, her pride over the "sexual weapon" she'd molded.

  --His sense of foreboding when he spied desire in her eyes, and then her fury at him for causing it.

  --His sleepless nights leading up to his first mission. He'd traveled with a Sylvan delegation to the Wiccae nation of Akelarre, masquerading as the son of a fey ambassador. His presence was to be a token of goodwill from one healing kingdom to another.

  But his target was not what he'd expected. Even to save his mother from a fate worse than death, Rune wasn't certain he could go through with this.

  Because Magh had no interest in assassinating the warlock who'd cursed her husband. She wanted the warlock alive to bear the sorrow of his beloved daughter's death.

  A girl turning sixteen years old--Rune's age.

  "You've been invited to her birthday celebrations. Seduce her, cur," Magh ordered him. "Make her love you, as you have all the others. Then strike. She'll die with a heart full of love, a mind full of dreams, and a body riddled with your poison. . . ."

  Compliments through dinner, murmured flirtations during cards. It wasn't long before the young witch was infatuated with him. She was fair of face, but young for her age.

  Had he ever been so naive?

  She whispered in his ear, "I want you for my birthday present." Then she gave him directions to a hidden alcove beside her bedchamber. "I'll raise the protection wards for you."

  He forced himself to smile. She was guarded like a treasure by magicks and warlock sentries. Nothing could possibly get to her.

  Nothing but me.

  He followed her instructions, finding the alcove. There, he paced. If he saved his mother by carrying out Magh's killings, would his dam be able to forgive him? If he confessed, "I took the life of an innocent girl to free you," would the guilt be too much for his mother?

  A door glided open. Eyes alight, the witch peeked out. She'd changed from her dress to her nightclothes and let down her hair. "It's clear." She'd foiled her own protections, unwinding those wards as she'd unwound her braids.

  She took his hand, guiding death into her bedchamber.

  Her room was a palace all its own, filled with charms and priceless jewels. At least her sixteen years of life had been plenteous.

  She crossed to her bed, patting the cover beside her.

  How could he go through with this? "Perhaps we're moving too quickly. You're young yet." If he didn't obey Magh, he couldn't return to Sylvan. Where would he live? Here? Maybe if he told the witch the truth, she would be moved to help him.

  And abandon my dam?

  "Nonsense, fey. I'm old enough. As of this night especially." In a wistful voice, she said, "Only one thing could make my birthday more magickal."

  I can't do this. My gods, I can't. "We'll meet another time, dove. I know the way to your room and will come each night."

  Her eyes watered. "I want you now."

  "I'll be here for weeks yet."

  "But no other night will be my birthday." Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  In lowered voices, the witch and Rune continued quarreling.

  Finally she said, "I'll scream for the guards if you go."

  His jaw slackened. Are all nobles so underhanded?

  "I'll do it!" She drew a deep breath.

  He leapt for her, putting his finger over her lips. He could still tup her without killing her. He had with all his other conquests. But those females had been more mature; they'd known the risks and how to avoid them. This girl didn't.

  When he heard the sentries changing shifts outside, he glanced over his shoulder. He should trace away. But then she'd know what he was. And where could he go?

  He turned back. "I need you to listen to me--"

  Her mouth was against his. She'd lunged forward, pressing her opened lips to his.

  She'd stolen his kiss.

  He flung her away and traced to a wine service, hastily pouring a goblet. Maybe the tales of his poison had been exaggerated. How did they know? He returned to her in an instant. "Drink!"

  Eyes wide with terror, she choked on the liquid. The poison was already in her system. Her limbs contorted, muscles knotting.

  The pain in her expression . . .

  He watched her body ceding its life, the sound of her panicked heartbeat fading to nothing. The young witch perished in seconds.

  The tales hadn't been exaggerated. Rune was deadlier than anyone had ever suspected.

  He turned to the side and vomited over and over until nothing remained in his stomach. He wiped his mouth, comprehension dawning: he'd stepped upon a path and could never go back. . . .

  Jo woke, opening her eyes, confused she wasn't in a magickal bedchamber filled with girlish charms and death.

  Rune was petting her hair, his breaths deep and even.

  She stifled shudders from that lifelike memory, fearing it'd only gotten worse for him. When he'd been even younger than Thad was now, Magh had forged him into a lethal lover with a kiss of death. She'd used Rune's mother against him, the mother who'd been everything to him, just as Thad was everything to Jo.

  What would Jo have done to save her brother? Anything.

  Absolutely anything.

  Did she want to relive more of these memories? Would they come each time she took Rune's blood?

  Her preferences didn't matter. Though she fought against sleep, she drifted off, lulled by the steady drumbeat of his heart.

  Another dream began to play out. She was in the Sylvan court. She could hear water fountains, could smell the rose arrangements and candle wax. Magh sat upon her throne, gazing at Rune, now a grown man.

  She'd summoned him because she'd come to a conclusion: his utility had reached its end. . . .

  "You've done your job so admirably, I have few enemies left. The remaining ones know of you, are on their guard against a silver-tongue
d fey who disappears into shadows."

  "And spying? Interrogation?"

  "The same problem. Who will you target?"

  "Then I've kept my end of our bargain," Rune told her, excitement building inside him. "You vowed to reunite me with my mother."

  "So I did, cur," she agreed.

  Too easy. He'd spent enough time in fey company to pick up some of their ever-rational ways, so he knew his hope was illogical. He should expect trickery from Magh. Ultimately, she would make him suffer.

  If Rune's mother was in a slave camp, Magh would dispatch him there, enslaving him as well, but he didn't care. He pictured his mother's affectionate blue eyes, and the smile she always had waiting for him.

  Together he and his dam would escape. They would start their lives over. All the killing, all the disgust, all the hatred over these years could finally come to an end.

  Magh snapped her fingers for a guard. "Take us to the cur's mother."

  A reunion is truly happening? At long last? Rune's heart thundered as they traced to a realm wrapped in night and buffeted by winds. He squinted against the gusts, seeing nothing but a towering mound of dirt.

  "There she is." Magh pointed to the mound.

  "Wh-what are you saying?"

  Her demon guards traced in front of Magh. "She's buried there, with hundreds of others. Has been for centuries."

  Shock engulfed him.

  "She was a favorite of my husband's, enjoying his protection, but your position was precarious." Magh's voice sounded distant. "Your mother knew I had you in my sights, would soon strike. She begged me to spare your life. I vowed that I would, but only if she agreed to quietly abandon you for a life as a pleasure slave in a faraway brothel. Anything to save you! Alas, the poor dear hadn't been frozen into her immortality yet--which she must have known." Magh sighed. "Ah, the sacrifices we mothers make. Don't worry, she wasn't long in that hellish place. After a bit of rough bedsport, she was . . . broken." Magh examined the end of one of her flaxen braids. "Her life was short, her death brutal, and now her bones are naught but dust."

  Buried.

  Brutal.

  Dust.

  His lungs constricted. His legs buckled. As he knelt in front of the mass grave, Magh's guards collared him and bound his wrists.

  "On to the next stage of your life," she said in a mirthful tone. "I have a new occupation for you, cur."

  "Gods give me the power," he bit out. The collar prevented him from tracing, the bindings from fighting. "I will destroy you and all your spawn."

  "Oh, I think your next employment will keep you far too busy for that. . . ."