“Why?” he barked, clearly suspicious.
Amaria blinked at him, but what she’d said no longer made enough sense to her to answer his demand. The hunger was making her feverish, disoriented. The dancing firelight caught a thin trail of blood snaking along his arm. Unable to resist, she moved closer and licked the salty trail, more than half expecting him to grow more furious and thrust her roughly away.
Instead, he caught a fistful of her tangled curls and forced her head back until she was bent almost double, her pelvis thrust tightly against the hard cock jutting up his belly beneath his fur-lined loincloth. His bare thighs burned through her thin dress with the warmth of his blood, pumping furiously from the heat of battle. And just as she had begun to think her neck would snap with the pressure, he leaned down and his lips fell upon hers with a ravenous hunger to rival her own. She whimpered unconsciously at the bruising assault, but she had no clue of whether it was from pain or excitement.
She felt both and then she knew nothing but the desire turning her blood to lava and sending her up in flames as he carried her down onto his pallet and stripped her meager clothing away, tearing it in his frantic haste.
She did not care! The kiss of the cool night air was so welcome when she felt as if she were on fire. And then even that could not cool her as he settled on top of her, pressing her into the ground with his hard muscled body. She didn’t question why it felt so delightful to be crushed against him, to feel the rough hair of his thighs and groin and that incessant hard ridge nudging against the soft flesh of her apex.
Amaria opened her thighs around him, sliding them back and forth and reveling with the fiery need in her belly.
Yes, she thought. Yes!
She wanted the pain.
The pleasure.
The unbearable, delightful, painful, rapturous knowing of his flesh deep inside. A pulse beat in her clit like a second heartbeat and every nerve ending felt poised on the precipice.
She had refused to consider it before, but she knew now that she had desired him from the moment she’d first seen him when he appeared like one of the savage beastmen of Shadowmere. Her body quickened at his nearness. Mayhap it was merely the workings of this dread sickness Ezantor had passed to her--the blood fever--but she did not think so. She had hungered for his touch—not his blood as she had the others in the village.
He dragged rough palms down her throat, around her collarbone, sending tingling expectation in every direction. Raw lust consumed her, fanned to life by his ravenous kiss, rough fingers, and mouth as it sawed over hers. She sucked his tongue, scraping it with her teeth almost to the point of injury. The nip made him withdraw and bite-mark her bottom lip.
Impatience fluttered through her as she felt him align his body with hers, felt the anticipation of merging her flesh with his. The slow, languorous stroke of the mushroomed head elicited a moan.
He was a large man in every way, she discovered with a mixture of delight and anticipation and uneasiness.
The liquid glide along her slit changed as he spear-headed her small vaginal hole. She felt her flesh stretch to the point of burning as he pressed his thick, engorged flesh against her femininity and then forced it inside of her. She gasped, arching her neck so that it came out almost as a scream--a thin wail.
It felt so good as he drove his thick rod deeply and forced her soft flesh to yield to his. He drove inside until his pubic bone ground against her swollen clit. Sensation burst at the rough meeting, and he withdrew only to thrust again. Each grinding against the nubbin combined with the inexorable plunge sent her pleasurable nerves soaring. She felt possessed, claimed, cherished as he rammed into her channel and began a thoroughly scouring rhythm that missed no sensitive spot in the ridges of her core.
Bliss traveled through her in heated waves. Tension wound in her lower belly, curling her toes as they hooked into his thighs. She clung to his shoulders and the back of his neck, tunneling her hands into his soft hair. The coil of pleasure tightened, quickening her blood and breathing until she swore she ran a race to the finish—as if she was about to experience something truly momentous. She thought she might faint with the effort to contain it.
And then, abruptly, it burst upon her in the same moment he reached his own culmination. Rapture, powerful and all-encompassing rolled through like a bursting dam--ecstasy akin to the joy she had only experienced before when she gave herself over to her god and bathed in the wonder of his loving essence.
Except far more powerful, a little voice in her mind disputed.
Yes. More powerful. More intense and more joyful.
And yet somehow she felt that the Sun god would approve of her mating with a man, would rejoice that she had felt his seed bathing her womb and might, even now, be nurturing a tiny seed that would grow.
He rolled off of her when he was done and lay beside her, trying to catch his breath as much as she was.
Except she felt a chill invade her the moment he withdrew, sensed something in his attitude that suggested he had not felt the things that she had in their joining.
It meant something, she realized, but nothing good.
How could he experience the same soul-shattering pleasure in her body that she had in his and not feel…almost as if he had touched the gates of heaven itself?
And yet, she knew.
“What meant you…before?” he asked in a growly voice.
It seemed to her that he was struggling to keep his voice even, neutral, and yet she sensed a simmering anger that she thought was the remnants of his fury before, knew it would take little to touch it off. Dismay filled her. What had she said? She was having trouble remembering after such a soul-shattering experience.
“You would not wish to cause harm to anyone?” he prompted.
She remembered then and it did not occur to her that he would or could find fault in what she had said or she would not have repeated it. “Especially to you?”
He seemed to grow angrier.
She struggled to find something to say to diffuse his anger. “You saved me from a horrible fate! Your reasons do not matter. You did it.”
“Mayhap not to you! But my reasons matter a very great deal to me! That…creature stole all that I had in this world that meant anything to me—Isa, our babes! I will avenge them for they cannot rest until I have done this last thing for them! I cannot rest! And I will not allow you or anyone else to prevent me from wreaking vengeance in their names! If you try to thwart me in this, you will lose and your master will lose!” he snarled.
Chapter 5
It was absurd, of course, but Arsen felt as if he had betrayed his beloved Isa—betrayed his little ones.
She was not at fault. She had nothing to do with their deaths.
In her own way, she was as much a victim of that evil bastard as they had been. He knew that. But he still felt guilty and that angered him and sickened him. Had he so little self-control that he could not resist an ill-stricken woman? Desirable, yes. Beautiful and lost and alone. Her dark eyes and skin so unlike his Isa. What woman alive could compare to the memory of a ghost?
Surging to his feet, he righted his clothing and stalked off. He wrestled with that sense of shame for a time and struggled with self-loathing.
Poor Isa had not been dead--
He halted at the thought, struggled with his memory, realized that winter was coming on. Thoroughly confused, he lifted his head and absorbed his surroundings with his senses, feeling disoriented when his senses confirmed that it was indeed late fall.
How could that be, he wondered?
They had been taken from him in winter—while he had been out trapping to provide food for their table—meat and furs to trade for goods they could not provide themselves.
He realized then that a year had passed since he had lost them. A full year.
Perhaps more than one.
Was that even possible?
He thought it might be. He would have said it was not possible that he could lose an entire year of his lif
e in grief. If he had been so…caught up in it, though, that he had not noticed days, weeks, and months, could he be certain that that was all he had lost in time? A single year?
He felt worse. They had been gone so very long, he thought, anguished at the distance time had placed between them.
Arsen shook that off--struggled to tamp the pain, the guilt, the terrible sense of loss.
It made sense to him now, he decided. He had needs and he had ignored them in the time since he had lost Isa. She had infuriated him past reason, and he could not deny that she was a handsome woman. A seduction woman. With sorrowful eyes and lush lips made for kissing.
There was no reason for him to feel guilty about succumbing to her seduction! Poor Isa could not care any longer and his cock had no conscience!
Desire stirred in his blood at the thought and he struggled with it, with the heated images of Amaria writhing in ecstasy beneath him. Her whimpering cries and soft hands, the taste of her mouth had made him lose all reason.
She had desired him, seduced him. He had not simply taken something not offered because he was a mindless beast!
Then he recalled the blood that had been thoroughly smeared on him from his fight with the vampire—her master—and realized with an odd mixture of righteous indignation, embarrassment, and resentment that it was the sickness that had compelled her to offer herself.
He scoffed, scrubbing hands over his face and through his tussled hair. If not for what the vampire had done to her, would she have allowed him to touch her at all? Let alone offered herself?
He struggled to recall the memories and ignore his reaction to her and finally decided that she had not felt like a woman that was very familiar with men.
She might well have been a virgin, he thought in sudden horror.
He had no notion, because she had fired his blood and he could not recall anything with any clarity except that it had felt like heaven to possess her, to have his cock nestled in the warm, sweet cavern of her body.
Amaria was so stunned she could only stare after him as he stalked off, thinking nothing, feeling nothing beyond a sinking sensation in her chest.
A wave of nausea washed through her as it finally sank in that she had taken advantage of his grief and offered herself to a man who was insane with hurt and incapable of making any sort of rational decision.
She had appealed to nothing but his instincts, something he could have little control over in his current state of mind.
A mixture of guilt and shame flooded her when she considered that he had lost his mate and must consider lying with her a violation of his vows of the worst kind.
Of course, that was not rational either. His poor wife, Isa, had passed beyond the veil into the next world. She would have no expectation that he would uphold vows made to a flesh and blood, living being because she had shed her fleshly shell and could no longer feel the things she once had. If she still had memories of this world at all or any way of knowing what he was doing, she would not be jealous, not condemn him.
But he would not be thinking that way. It was clear that the loss of his family was still too raw for him to move past the pain.
She just wished she had not tempted him. He would hate her for that if he did not already hate her.
She did not even know why she had. Because as tempted as she was to put it down to something beyond her control, to blame it on what Ezantor had done to her, she knew better. In her heart of hearts, she knew she could have controlled herself. She could have stopped, could have prevented herself from teasing him to start with.
She had not tried. Because she had felt the compulsion to soothe his pain and to nurture. She had known that it was a terrible thing that was driving him. She’d sensed the pain he hid so well, and she’d wanted to give him the solace of her body, to offer comfort he was not likely to ask for.
She had used her sickness as an excuse for her lack of self-control.
Struggling with the urge to cry, she felt for her amulet and clutched it tightly, praying to the Sun god even though it was night and she could not see him. She prayed for forgiveness and understanding. She prayed for strength. She prayed for an answer to the dilemma she found herself in. She prayed until she was exhausted.
And then, just as she began to drowse and drift toward sleep, He answered.
He would protect her. He would exact retribution for all of the innocents that cried out to him from the nether world—but she must be strong.
She spent the night in turmoil, drifting toward nothingness for a time and then into knowing where she wrestled with various scenarios that might be effective in fighting Ezantor. By the time she awoke, she was more exhausted than she had been when she had drifted off but she had settled on a plan of action.
A silent, brooding type, Arsen had said little to her in the time they’d traveled together, but he was less inclined as they rose from the sleeping pallet.
She was so mentally fatigued from her restless night that it took her a little while to recall why he might be angry with her. She was tempted to apologize, but she could see that he was in no mood to have the event brought up at all and she kept her tongue between her teeth.
He broke his fast with stale bread and moldy cheese. He did not actually offer her any but he broke a chunk of each off and set them next to her.
A wave of nausea washed over her as she stared down at the food, contemplating eating. But then she recalled what He had said to her. Be strong! So the Sun god commanded, so she must obey.
Picking the offering up, she nibbled at it very carefully, swallowing only tiny crumbs in the hope that she could prevent her belly from rebelling and tossing it up again. The possibility that it might increased as she got up to help him break camp and stow his belongings in his bedroll, and she went about the simple task in abject misery.
Without a word, he lifted her up onto the horse’s back, steadying her until she no longer looked to be in danger of falling off again. They set off as soon as he had mounted the beast himself and that unsettled her belly even more, but after a time it ceased to torment her.
Her focus shifted from her belly to her rump, which the bouncing horse pounded until it was completely numb and her legs with it.
The rising sun also added to her discomfort. It seemed more intense each day.
She knew it was not, that it could not be when they were nearing winter. The rays were becoming weaker each day not stronger.
But the evil vampire’s grip was growing stronger. Every day that passed she was slipping closer to becoming what he was—a creature of the night that preyed upon the living—and nothing could be more abhorrent to a sun-worshipper.
Resolve stiffened her spine. She would not allow it. Death would be preferable to an existence as the undead, unable to feel the sun on her skin without going up in flame. Her beloved god had given her the answer she needed, and she was determined that she would find the strength within her no matter the cost.
The hunter had saved her. His motives did not matter. It only mattered that he had and she owed him her life for that.
She would see to it that he avenged the deaths of his family. She would do whatever she must to ensure it—whatever it cost to see it done—which seemed likely to be everything.
Chapter 6
It was nearly dusk by the time they reached their final destination. Amaria knew it was the place he had chosen to meet the vampire in mortal combat because it was the first and only place where they had stopped that was not holy ground.
A neat and sturdy little cabin built of logs was the jewel of the clearing.
She used the term ‘clearing’ to mean it was not a part of the forest they had been traveling through, but the forest was working to reclaim it. Narrow ruts still defined the approach to the main building and the two smaller buildings that she thought must be a barn and possibly a spring house or perhaps a smoke house.
The place had clearly been abandoned for some time. It had an eerie ‘feel’ to it that
spoke of terrible things that had happened there even before they drew close enough to see the shattered panel that had been a door once upon a time. A pitiful fortress against the evil that had broken it and destroyed the nestlings inside.
Arsen’s family.
He pulled the giant horse they rode to a halt before the front door, but he did not dismount. He simply stared at the black hole where a door had once stood as if waiting for laughing children to tumble forth, happily anticipating a welcome reunion.
Amaria saw it unfold in her mind’s eye—as if the ghosts of the departed remained, reenacting the things they had done many times in life. She even imagined a smiling woman behind them, lingering near the door to allow the children to welcome their father first.
She felt a stirring of…envy, of jealousy.
It stunned her.
She turned it in her mind as the Hunter nudged the horse forward at last with his boot heels and guided him to the larger of the two outbuildings.
She studied Arsen as he dismounted and lifted his hands to help her down and felt a hard lump of emotion form in her throat.
Empathy, she told herself.
But she knew that was only a part of it.
She saw that his face almost seemed to have caved in upon itself with the pain as he had studied that cabin where he had clearly once known joy. The faint lines she had seen before as symbols of character were deeper ruts—as if he had aged many years in only moments. His eyes were dark with hurt.
She ached for him.
At the same time, she hurt for herself and felt far less charitable things—shameful things under the circumstances.
The place was clearly being reclaimed by the forest he had wrested it from, but it was not so fallen down as to have been abandoned for any great length of time. And that meant his loss was still fresh and raw. She should not feel envy of the woman now dead, hurt that he was too focused on what he had lost to look upon her as she did him.
And that wayward thought was the answer she had not really wanted.
Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More Page 149