Playing Easy to Get

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  "Were you dreaming about last night?"

  "No," she answered honestly. She'd been thinking about licking every inch of the hard male beneath her.

  "How do feel about what we did?"

  "We? What you did."

  "I only commanded you to take your pleasure. Of your own volition you took me into your mouth." He raised an eyebrow. "Greedily."

  She turned away sharply. "Then I feel shame."

  "And?" When she frowned at him, he said in his deep voice, "There's rarely an instance where emotions do not conflict. What else do you feel when you think of last night?"

  She recalled being mindless with lust as she had never been before, hungry for his huge shaft. She had wanted to straddle him and slowly work him within her. Shivering at the delicious image, she struggled to keep from admitting her desire. "A-aroused," she bit out.

  "Are you aroused now?"

  She felt herself blushing deeply. Myst never blushed. "Yes."

  "Do you need to come?"

  Oh, God, no, how could he ask her this just when she was reliving last night? "Y-yes." She turned from him, curling her knees to her chest. "But I won't ask you."

  "Even when I can give you what you need?"

  "The only thing I'll ask you for is to give me my chain back."

  "You'll get it back when I am convinced you will stay with me," he said. "Explain to me what it is." When she didn't reply, he grated, "Answer me."

  "It's called the Brisingamen."

  "Why do you wear it?"

  "Punishment and to protect it."

  "Punishment for what?"

  She placed a hand out to her side and turned back to him, her green eyes taunting. "When I was only seventeen, I was caught in a compromising position with a demigod of no importance or standing other than his mind-shattering talent at kissing. My family was unamused."

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. Demigod? Wroth was a battle-scarred vampire who would never walk in the sun with her.

  She studied his expression. "Jealous, vampire? Or do you realize I'm out of your league?"

  He ignored her words. "So your family punished you with a vulnerability that gave men control of your body? How many have had it, commanding you to fuck them for your very life?" When she glared at him, he calmly said, "Answer. Fully."

  "There was no vulnerability. It has never been broken. I've been tossed by it, caught by it, even held above a pit of boiling tar by it. I'd tried to have it smelted from me in the olden days and then lasered recently. Nothing could touch the integrity of the chain before..."

  "Before I pulled it free like a thread? So I'm the first." This pleased him and he exhaled in relief, only to immediately frown. "You don't think it's more than coincidental that you were given to me over all other females in any time and place to be my Bride, just as I've freed you from something that no man has been able to before?"

  She clenched her jaw.

  "How do you find those facts? Answer honestly. Now."

  "I find them.... They might be.... It might be fated," she bit out.

  "We might be fated." He'd already known this without doubt. He couldn't believe his heart would beat for a woman that could never love him back. Of course, she'd said there'd been others she'd blooded--then killed.

  "Yes, but just because we've been set up by a fate with a sick sense of humor doesn't mean my feelings about you will change. Are you going to keep me prisoner for eternity?"

  "Before I let you go philander with your demigods? Yes."

  Her slim shoulders stiffened and she stood.

  He lay back, proudly ogling his Bride's ass as she sauntered around the room, studying her new surroundings. Myst couldn't merely walk, he'd discovered--her every movement was the stuff of fantasy, her every touch as well. He hadn't even gotten the chance to claim her last night because he'd been so enthralled with her wet kiss, but he was hard yet again and would remedy that soon.

  "So what miraculous feat of engineering brought modern plumbing to this schwag place?"

  Schwag? He frowned at her question, watching as she ran her hand along an old papered wall. She opened a rusted shutter and gazed out the window into the night, seeing, he knew, tangled gardens blighted with neglect. He had a sudden urge to make an excuse as to why his home was in this condition.

  "You're actually going to keep me here? Your torture is fiendish and boundless, Wroth."

  He clenched his jaw, then said, "As I told you, here is called Blachmount and it used to be awing and will be so again, but the estate's been abandoned for many years. While I searched for you, I lived in New Orleans, and in Oblak before that. I only come here on occasion." When he missed his family.

  She sighed, meandering to her pile of clothes, ripped and dirty on the floor. She stared at them then blinked up at him, clearly wondering what his next move would be. It hit him full force that no matter how he felt about her, it was his responsibility to take care of her. His stunning wife, with her wild red hair and her soft, pale skin, who was so utterly out of place here, would be living with him under his roof--he'd best get this ancient shell of a keep back to its former glory and give her a home as befitted her.

  He knew there would be things she would require that he couldn't anticipate, because he was beyond unknowing when it came to female needs. Did he dare take her to get her things?

  As soon as he'd realized where she lived, he'd left Oblak behind and had had Murdoch purchase a property far from the crowds of New Orleans where they could live during the search. Wroth could've traced back and forth, but the time change meant each night he'd face dawn back in Oblak. Plus he'd been weak, and tracing the shorter distance to the renovated mill on the outskirts of town had been less demanding.

  Now he needed to return to the mill for the large supply of blood he'd left there. He was thirstier than usual, and claiming her in this condition would not be wise. He assured himself it was only because his appetite had been reawakened and not because throughout the day, he'd dreamed of drinking from her white thighs.

  He could check in with Murdoch, send word to Kristoff that he'd found his Bride, and drink in preparation of finally claiming her. While in New Orleans, he might as well visit a Valkyrie den.

  "We go for your belongings tonight."

  Chapter Seven

  H ow are we going to do that?" she asked. "You can only trace to places you've been to at least once."

  "But I can drive anywhere," Wroth replied casually, every inch a modern warlord.

  So she was to return to her home in ripped clothing, with her skin still flushed from last night, her body still singing for a vampire's touch.

  Lovely.

  She would never live this down. And for an immortal, never was a particularly woeful proposition.

  Yes, going back to Val Hall would mean a possibility for escape, but he could kill one of her sisters if they tried to free her. When he rose and strode to his closet, she studied his body, noting yet again how incredibly strong he was.

  He turned and tossed her a button-down, catching her gaze just as it drifted south to his hard shaft. She almost missed the shirt and he smirked, making her jerk her face away. "Come here," he ordered and she dragged her feet over. His hands reached out to pile her hair up, just so he could lean down and breathe along her neck, then murmur in her ear, "Bride, this is embarrassing. I think I've caught you staring at my cock," making her quiver. She'd teased him the same way when his eyes had been riveted to her neck so many years ago. He added in a sensual rumble, "You like it, don't you?"

  When the question sunk in, her eyes went wide with disbelief, the spell broken. How could he ask her that? When she would be forced to answer? His lips hovering over her shoulder, he said, "Answer me honestly."

  I want to curl up between your legs, rest my head at your hip, and draw you over into my mouth to taste you for hours, she almost said, then negotiated her mind into another honest answer: "It's too big."

  He dropped her hair, smirking again. "So it terri
fies you more than tantalizes?" he asked using the words she remembered well.

  Knowing he was getting his revenge little by little, she gritted her teeth against her answer but lost. "Both."

  He clucked her under the chin. "I'll be sure to break you in slowly, ride you easy the first few times."

  Myst of the witty banter and dripping sexual innuendo was speechless. Break her in? Arrogant! When he turned for the shower, she tried not to stare at his back and how it tapered to his narrow hips and his muscled ass with the hard hollows on the sides. She'd been right, it did beg to be clutched.

  Damn her claws for curling--

  "I believe you like everything about me," he rumbled from inside the bathroom.

  She gazed at the ceiling, embarrassed as she couldn't remember ever being before. Of course he'd known she was staring, probably by the holes she was burning into his skin. As she dressed, she thought that he was right--she was tantalized, and she did like everything about him physically. The way he'd made her feel last night left no doubt in her mind that he could not only get her to ask for him inside her, but beg.

  She needed to escape before then, before he "claimed" her. He hadn't drunk from her and they hadn't had sex. As long as those two things stayed sacred she could get past this patch in her life.

  When he returned to the room, dressed like a male dream, she felt like shuffling her feet for her ridiculous getup, draped in his shirt that fell to her knees. She had never felt insecure before. But she didn't have long to ponder it, because he put his hands on her waist. "Are you ready?" he asked, staring down at her. Ready? To kiss him, hug him, go to her knees? What?

  He pulled her to his body, wrapping his arms around her. "Close your eyes," he commanded. She did. "Open them."

  Suddenly, they were in a garage. This was the first time she'd traced and been able to think about the process. She'd dropped an intoxispell or two in her day and found tracing on par with that. She was unsteady at first, but the air smelled like bayou at high tide, which she liked, and was heavy with humidity. New Orleans, but where? "What is this place?" she asked, breaking away from him to look around.

  "An old restored mill north of the city," Wroth answered. "Where I stayed while scouring the streets for you for as long as I could manage every night. Before collapsing in agony and weakness."

  She looked away quickly, fighting a flare of guilt--and spotted his cars. She tried to be cool, but of course, Wroth caught her eyeing them--especially the Maserati Spyder--and she knew he'd seen her flicker of appreciation. The Valkyrie prized fine things. They were acquisitive to a fault--it simply couldn't be helped. Her own mother had told her that Myst's first word was, roughly translated, gimme.

  He opened her door to the Spyder, and once she was inside, she curled up on the soft leather, loving it. Joining her, he cast her an inscrutable expression. "We are fortunate, Myst. You'll want for nothing as my wife."

  She'd already been fortunate. She already wanted for nothing. The coven divvied their collective earnings from investments, and the take was always incredibly generous. She had enough money to buy any clothing that struck her fancy, to purchase two thousand dollar hand-painted lingerie sets to placate her obsession. In a deadened tone, she mumbled, "Oh joy. I'm rich."

  He commanded her to direct him to her home, not in itself an unforgivable crime. They didn't hide their address like the Bat Cave, yet they didn't often have trespassers at Val Hall. When his breath hissed in at the sight of the manor, she was reminded why.

  "This is where you live?" he bit out, forearms resting on the steering wheel, his tone incredulous.

  She tried to see it from his eyes. Fog shrouded the property, and bolts of light illuminated it in a staccato rhythm. There were lightning rods everywhere, but sometimes they didn't catch all the lightning, as evidenced by the massive oaks in the yard still lazily giving up smoke. And the wood nymphs--those little hookers--were way behind on repairing the trees. If Myst heard them whine, "But Mysty baby, there was this orgy," as an excuse one more time--

  "Hellish," Wroth said.

  She tilted her head. In the olden days they used to stick a sword into the ground to mark a grave, and she'd always fancied that the rods made this place look like one of those mass burial sites. Even at this distance, shrieks could be heard coming from within. The Valkyrie often screamed. If Annika got angry enough, car alarms in three parishes would blare.

  Okay, it might be a bit hellish.

  "It's time you had someone take you from here," he bit out as he continued closer.

  She frowned at him. "You forget. This is where I belong. I'm as much monster as what lies within."

  "You're a lot of things, Bride. But you're not a monster."

  "You're right. I'm what monsters like you fear beneath their beds."

  "But now you're in my bed where you belong."

  "So in this life of ours that your crazed mind envisions, I'm not going to fight?"

  He shook his head as he parked down the gravel drive. "No. I'm well aware that you're deceptively strong. I know that other beings would rather die than risk your wrath. But I won't ever allow you to put yourself in danger again."

  She batted her eyelashes at him and in a syrupy voice said, "Because I'm just so darn precious to you?"

  "Yes," he answered simply, making her roll her eyes. He got out of the car, and she followed, but he quickly traced to open it for her, looking at her as if she was crazy not to wait for him to assist her.

  Perfect. A gentleman warrior. Which she was discovering she might have a weakness for.

  As they walked the drive, he said, "Hold my hand."

  "Big vampire scared the wittle Valkyrie will get away?"

  He turned to her with his brows drawn. "I just want to hold your hand."

  What was that flutter in her stomach? And why didn't she mind that her hand was slipping into his big, rough one to be completely enveloped and secured? They walked like this to the side of the cavernous thirty-room mansion.

  He was tense here, ready to trace them away in a split second, and she almost felt sorry for him when she realized he'd never seen anything like her home before. He was of the Lore, and yet in so many ways he was as human as he'd once been.

  When he made her point out the window to her room, showing him a destination, he was able to trace them again. Inside, he scanned the lace and silk filled space with those discerning eyes, studying everything within. She was the girlie-girl of the coven with her candles and silk sheets, her room and lifestyle the most human-like of any of them.

  Her room was next to Cara's, which housed only a spartan sleeping mat, her ancient winged helmets, and a string of vampire fangs she'd taken as trophies. Across the gallery was the room of petite, timid Emmaline. Though she was part Valkyrie, she was a vampire through and through and made her little nest on the floor under her unused bed.

  It could be argued that Emma proved that not all vampires were evil and that the coven could coexist with one. Yet Emma had been the daughter of a beloved Valkyrie, and that half was believed to "temper" the other. An exception had been made for her, but Myst often wondered if she was the only one who noticed Emma flinch and tremble, her big blue eyes glinting with apprehension whenever the coven shrieked and railed about killing leeches. "Present company excepted" really was a weak statement when one thought about it.

  "So what do you want me to pack?" Myst asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. "You should be used to this. Choose clothes as if you were going away with your lover."

  Her hands clenched as she crossed to her drawers that housed her Agent Provocateur, Strumpet & Pink, and Jillian Sherry collections, and those were mass purchases from just last week. "Depends on which lover." She plucked out a red leather quarter-cup bra and a baby-doll teddy that was completely translucent, then held them up for him.

  "Both," he rasped, his expression pained. She saw he was getting hard again. He noticed her noticing and his eyes darkened.

  Assumin
g a brisk manner, she crossed to the closet to gather a weekender bag, but he picked her up bodily by the waist and set her out of the way to gather a four-foot-long moving case. He dropped it at her feet. "Fill it, because you're never coming back to this place."

  At his words, she nodded, making it somehow sarcastic, and he knew she was thinking to herself how wrong he was. He exhaled wearily. If he had to battle against her for the rest of their lives, he would.

  He moved to assist her, but every drawer in her room was full of thongs, hose, lace and little silk nightgowns that made his blood pound. She had a drawer for nothing but garters. It would take him months to bite all of these off her body.

  He frowned. Women wore clothes like this for a lover. How many did she currently have? When he imagined them relishing her beauty, the gold chain slapping against her body as she writhed on them, he crumpled the iron post end of her bed.

  Now she smirked at him, reading him so clearly. "Nikolai, if you can't control your jealousy, we're heading straight for divorce." She tapped her finger on her chin and added, "Make a note now that I'll expect the house, the kids and the hellhound. Actually, you can keep the schwag house."

  He scowled before turning away, examining her belongings for more insight. Her film collection was copious. He was unfamiliar with them, as he was with most things that had to do with leisure time. "Which of these do you prefer?"

  She clearly hated having to answer his questions and struggled against it each time. "I like romance and horror."

  "A bit disparate."

  She eyed him. "Funny, I used to think so."

  He ignored that and tossed a few DVDs in the bag.

  She put the inside of her forearm behind dozens of bottles of fingernail polish, pushing them over her dresser into the bag. The look she gave him dared him to say something. Nail polish was out of his realm of understanding, and he merely shrugged at her.

  He crossed to her bathroom, searching the cabinets and drawers. "There are no medicines. No things...females need."

  "I don't get ill and I don't have those types of functions. Just like you, vampire."

  "None at all?" He wondered if she could get pregnant. Perhaps he didn't have to be as careful with that as he'd planned.