by Julie Kenner
He swallowed his objections, knowing the situation would not be the same because the women were so unalike. With Eve, his dedication sprang from his heart and from his admiration for this woman who wielded great magic and power over him. And she always would.
“I understand completely, my sweet,” he answered.
Her breasts rose with her huge inhalation, and a glorious smile. “Good. Undress.”
He moved to wave his hand over his body, but she let go of the bottle and grabbed his wrist. A sizzle shot through him. If he regained solid human form, would he miss the burning electric current that sparked between this world and the next?
Not as long as he had Eve he wouldn’t. They would generate an energy all their own.
“No,” she said, her grip tight, insistent. “Use no magic. Take your clothes off as a man of this world would.”
She released him and stepped back, still cradling the perfume bottle between her breasts, inspiring a jealousy he never thought he’d feel toward his prison of glass and silver. When the back of her thighs collided with the edge of the mattress, she sat, her eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions ranging from desperate anxiety to keen expectation.
Viktor shrugged out of his vest. He stretched his fingers, then, looking down, yanked the ties on his shirt. He grabbed the ends to tear the material apart, but she stopped him.
“Slower,” she said, her voice husky and deep. She placed the bottle on the center of her pillow, then leaned back casually on her elbows, striking a pose he knew he’d practiced on many occasions just like this one—only he’d been the one on the bed. “This may be the last time I see you in such luminous form. I want to remember.”
“May I speak?” he said, tugging his shirt from his pants.
“Of course. Freely…unless I say otherwise.”
Her amber eyes twinkled impishly. She was enjoying his servitude. Surprisingly, so was he. He removed his shirt with the patience of a man he didn’t know, enjoying how her gaze swept over him, how she tugged her lower lip between her teeth, how her breath seemed to quicken with each inch of flesh he revealed.
He released the button on his pants. “Has a man undressed for you before?”
“Not for free,” she noted wryly.
He stopped. “You’ve had to pay a—”
“No! But I’ve been to bachelorette parties. Do you know what that is?”
He nodded, kicking his heel against the floor to loosen his boot. “A wild, frivolous party where women celebrate the impending marriage of a friend by getting drunk and sometimes naked with hired dancers.”
Eve’s laughter brought tears to her eyes. “You do pay attention, don’t you?”
“I was once owned by an American woman in Amsterdam. She brought the tradition with her. Besides, women fascinate me. Always have. That perhaps was the best part of my entrapment, being exposed to so many beautiful and interesting women all over Europe and the United States.”
The mirth in her expression was tempered by a pouty frown. “So many women in life, so many even in death. You won’t stay, will you?”
He paused, knowing her question was a test—one he knew he could pass, once he had the time to show her. But for now, he put off answering her query until he’d obeyed her command. There was no sensuous way to remove his boots while standing. He gestured toward the bed. “May I?”
She nodded.
He sat and tugged both boots off before he answered. “Must I settle down to be released?”
With a shrug and a shake of her head, she silently answered his question. Was disappointment holding her tongue? Or relief?
“I’m a different man now, Eve. A different man living in a different era. The Romani ways of today are not that of my ancestors. The wandering, the borrowing rather than owning, already had lost its luster for them during my lifetime. Too much of the world is owned. A gypsy who cannot wander free is just as trapped as a ghost in a bottle.”
She inched closer to him. “There are clans still in existence, Viktor, who move and wander. If you wish to find them, I can help you.”
He turned, fighting with all his might not to grab her hand or shoulder. The need to touch her threatened to overcome him, but he hadn’t forgotten the curse or the magic still zinging through the room.
“Will you go with me?” he asked.
“What?”
He shrugged and removed his other boot. “A slave can go nowhere without his mistress.”
She scooted an inch or so away. Her gaze darted to the perfume bottle, her expression brimming with regret.
“After tonight, you won’t be my slave anymore.”
How seductively naive. Her claim was true, but only in the most basic sense. The moment he’d revealed himself to her, he’d known the course of his existence had changed. With no more willpower left, he reached out a tentative hand and caressed her cheek. Her skin was so warm, so pliant, so soft. The pad of his thumb felt rough in comparison. He wanted nothing more than to pleasure her, please her, show her the depths of the passion they shared. He wanted to seduce her, but knew he could not. Not unless she commanded him.
“I’ll always be your slave, Eve. How could a man be anything less with you?”
She pulled back. “You’d be surprised.”
He shot to his feet, stepped two paces away and then dropped his pants to the floor. He kicked them aside and stood, arms akimbo, naked as the day he’d been born and just as vital with the true spark of life imminent within him.
“As will you be, by my obedience.” He bowed low, pleased to see how long and hard his cock was, all for her. Never in his life or long punishment of death did he think he could ever want a woman so badly as to want to give her everything he could offer. But with Eve, he’d give her that and more. “You need not command me for you to have my heart. I freely would give you whatever you wish, whatever you truly desire.”
Eve pressed her lips together, unsure, still suspecting that Viktor was simply playing a role to win his freedom. He was after all, a gypsy. Better, a gypsy king. Playing to the crowd was second nature—only he hadn’t had an audience to entertain for a very long time. Could he be sincere? Did he really wish to stay with her? Forever?
The look in his sapphire eyes surpassed sincerity, with a dash of uncertainty that tugged at her heart. The power to release him from his curse was inextricably bound to her need to know if he spoke the truth. To put him to the test, she’d have to drop her own inhibitions.
“I don’t believe you. You’ll need to prove to me that you truly wish to stay.”
“I will.”
She stood and dropped her gown to the floor. She stepped out of the satin and stalked around him, smoothing a palm across his pecs. Once behind him, she spread her hands over his buttocks. Hard and warm, his skin tingled in her grasp.
“Move toward the bed,” she ordered.
He complied with two steps forward.
“Bend over.”
He did as she asked, his hands braced on the mattress, the muscles in his arms taut and glistening. She licked her lips, then touched every inch of him, exploring his expanse of bared flesh. She kissed his hip, the small of his back. She dipped her tongue in the sweet crease of his buttocks, tickling, teasing and taunting his sensitive flesh with light fingers.
When he groaned, she stepped away.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To touch you.”
“No,” she said. “Stand up. Step back.”
She spun around him and resumed her position on the bed. She spread her legs slightly. Cool air swirled around her and the pulse of wanting him hard between her thighs intensified.
Soon, she told herself. Very soon.
“First, you must touch yourself.”
His eyes widened. She caught his quick glance toward the perfume bottle. Perhaps even Viktor had his limits.
She dropped her hands to her knees, then drew a single finger up her inner thigh, to the soft curls there. “You watched me pleasure myself. Do
n’t I deserve the same?”
He complied, widening his stance to compensate for the loss in balance. He cradled his cock in his palm and began a slow, stroking motion that enthralled her. She watched his chest heave, his eyes drift closed.
She nearly bit her tongue with the need to taste him. “Come closer,” she ordered.
He closed the distance, leaving just enough room so he could continue to massage his sex until she knew he couldn’t get any longer or harder. A sparkle of moisture on his tip caught her eye and she couldn’t help but swipe the bead with her tongue. She ordered him to stop, then took him in her mouth and suckled him until he begged for mercy.
“Please, Eve,” he moaned.
With a grin, Eve ended the sweet torture. He dropped to his knees in apparent exhaustion, but when she spread her thighs wide, he didn’t hesitate. He tasted her just as intimately, his breath ragged against her mons when he requested free rein with his hands.
She granted his wish. In seconds, he had one hand on her breast, tantalizing her nipple, the other dipping deep within her as his tongue worked magic over her clit. But she’d orgasmed twice without him inside her. She wouldn’t do so again.
“Stop, Viktor.”
He complied, his lips moist and glossy as he pulled back.
She cleared her throat, certain she could speak with no authority while her senses reeled with intimate delight.
“Lie down, on your back.”
When he did, she climbed atop him. The combination of hard and wet brought them together instantly and completely, so that Eve cried out in ecstasy at the perfect contact. Vibrations beyond the physical world strummed through her and she had to breathe hard to contain her release.
She braced her hands on his chest, moving to the music only her body could hear. He toyed with her breasts and whispered a litany of words that ranged in language from English to Romani to nonsense born of pure sexual want and desire. Before she could stop herself, foreign words spilled from her own mouth, increasing the motion and rhythm of their lovemaking. The volume and echo of the chant deafened her, but she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not until—
With one definitive thrust, Viktor broke the boundary between the physical and spiritual worlds. As orgasms racked their bodies, the air around them swirled. Photographs flew from the walls. The bed linens flailed as if they lay in the eye of a tornado. Viktor’s eyes widened, and he grabbed Eve and tugged her down tight against his chest, wrapping his arms like bands around her. She gasped when, through his transparent skin, she could plainly see blue and red veins, the orange of cartilage and the pink of muscle. He screamed in what she knew to be agony and all she could do was close her eyes, hold him tight and pray the powers of fate wouldn’t fail them now.
EPILOGUE
STILL HALF-UNCONSCIOUS, the sudden sensation of a blanket warmed Eve’s bone-cold skin. She stirred and snuggled beneath the heat, a heart beating beneath the supple skin cradling her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and she pushed up, her muscles sore and protesting. Viktor lay beneath her, solid and breathing and beautiful. The curse had been broken!
But he was still asleep. Who had put the blanket over her?
Eve grasped the crocheted wool to her naked breasts. Jeta stood brazenly at the edge of the bed, laughter in her aged blue eyes. In the doorway, Alexis, a raven-haired beauty, glanced aside shyly. Nicholai, handsome and slender, watched the scene with brazen interest.
And all three were as solid as the former gypsy king.
“Jeta? What happened?” Eve gasped.
At the sound of her question, Viktor woke. With a grunt, he pulled up onto his elbows and surveyed the suddenly crowded room. Eve palmed his cheek, turning his face to hers, loving the heat of his solid flesh against hers, steady and strong. “Viktor? Are you all right?”
His grin could have rivaled the sun and all the stars put together. He thrust his hands into her hair and yanked her into a long, lingering kiss. He didn’t seem to care that they had visitors and after allowing him to plunder her mouth, she didn’t much either.
Nicholai, however, cleared his throat. Twice.
Viktor pulled back, but his eyes captured hers with their life and vigor. “I’m alive, Eve. Thanks to you, I’m alive!”
He pulled her close and for an instant, Eve wondered if he’d ever let her go. She didn’t care if he never did. The magic had released him. Now she had a real chance to tame this magnificent gypsy king.
Although tame wasn’t quite the right word, was it? She wouldn’t want him tamed in any way, shape or form. She had a feeling she was going to fall hard for him just the way he was.
Her laughter spilled onto his and broke the kiss. Even Alexis grinned from ear to ear, although she had trouble keeping her eyes in their direction. She appeared nearly ready to faint when Viktor flung the blanket aside to retrieve his pants. He bowed deferentially to Jeta, then continued to dress. Once finished, he turned to the old gypsy, who stood as solid as he did in the middle of her bedroom.
“What magic did you conjure, woman?”
Jeta shook her head calmly, the beads on her scarf tinkling. “No magic from me,” she said whimsically. “The expression of your passion and need for life, true life, expanded beyond this room. It opened a doorway between the plane of the restless dead and the living. When the time was right, we simply walked through.”
With a nod, Viktor accepted Jeta’s explanation. Eve, however, didn’t quite understand.
“What are you talking about?”
Jeta cleared her throat, but Eve heard the distinct sound of a giggle beneath the cough. “The magic you stirred with your lovemaking reversed the curse, opening the gateway between worlds. After speaking with Viktor, I suspected this might occur, so Alexis, Nicholai and I were ready. We live and breathe now, Eve. Thanks to you.”
Jeta shuffled to the bed, took Eve’s hand and gave it a gentle kiss. Then she waved her arms toward her grandson and his cousin, shooing them out. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m in the mood to cook. Nicholai, build a fire in the yard. Alexis, see what Eve has in her kitchen that can be turned into a decent meal.”
And with that, they were alone, separated from Eve’s new houseguests by a closed bedroom door. Viktor immediately dived back into the bed. When his weight hit the mattress, the perfume bottle Eve had left on the pillow bounced into the air. Eve screamed, but with deft hands, Viktor caught the phial before it hit the ground.
He held it up for her to see, then snuggled back into the bed. He was staying. She could feel it in her bones. For now, at least, he was staying.
“So, what do you suggest we do with this?” he asked of the glass container.
She shrugged her shoulders. He turned the bottle over and around, examining it as if he’d never seen it before. She supposed he hadn’t—not from the outside, anyway.
“You can destroy it, if you wish,” she suggested.
He tugged at the stopper, which didn’t seem to want to come loose. Eve grinned, but remained quiet. He was locked out, hopefully forever. No more curses! She had no idea if the bottle still possessed magical powers to enhance psychic phenomena, and at the moment, she simply didn’t care.
“No,” he answered, stretching across the bed to put the bottle well out of reach on the bedside table. He turned and enveloped Eve in his arms, settling onto the bed with her against him as if he was content to remain there for the rest of his life. “The bottle is magic. It brought us together.”
“And you still want to stay?” she asked, hating herself for being so uncertain.
“Didn’t I say I wanted to stay with you, Eve?”
She quirked her brow. “Pardon me for doubting, but you are a gypsy. Not exactly known for telling us gaujo the truth, remember?”
A sudden seriousness knocked the contented smile off his face. He turned toward Eve and brushed his hand gently across her cheek, then ran his thumb softly across her lips. “I am a gypsy, Eve. I will always have Romani blood surging throug
h my veins. But I’m also a man. A man who’s never met anyone as fascinating and beautiful and kind as you are. I surrender my heart to you, Evonne Baptiste, for as long as you want it.”
Eve’s heart swelled with so many emotions, she couldn’t name a single one. Except, maybe, desire. The minute Viktor leaned forward and captured her mouth in a kiss, an undeniable need broke from the swirl of sentiment. She kissed him back with all her passion, all her love and suddenly understood why the magic they’d conjured had expanded beyond the two of them.
Viktor hadn’t been the only one to surrender. Eve had, too, and even the combined connection between reality and the Otherworld hadn’t been able to contain the power of their love.
And, perhaps, it never would.
Kiss of the Wolf
Susan Krinard
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
Chapter 1
What a way to come home.
Dana St. Cyr stood at the sloping shoulder of a narrow road edged by cattails and a stand of bald cypress trees, tapping the toe of her shoe on the gravel as smoke poured out from under the hood of her rented Lexus. In every direction, as far as the eye could see, lay mile upon mile of swamp, with not a gas station in sight.
The sun beat down on Dana’s head and shoulders, plastering jacket and blouse to damp skin. How could it still be so hot in mid-September? Why in the world had she decided to leave her cell phone in California? If she had to walk all the rest of the way to Grand Marais…