by Debra Dunbar
“I wanted to thank you in person,” she said softly. “You risked so much to get my skin back, I—” She wiped at her tears with a trembling hand and gave them a watery smile. “Thank you.”
“It was our pleasure,” Brea said. “I’m so happy we could help.”
Faline nodded, still teary-eyed. Her gaze flicked to Cain. It might have been Brea’s imagination, but her attention seemed to linger on the vampire for a second longer than necessary. Was she standing a little straighter than a moment ago? Twisting her body to show off the bare curves of flesh peeking from behind her seal skin?
“Well, we won’t keep you,” Brea said, her voice tight. “I’m sure you must still be celebrating.”
Reluctantly, the selkie maid tore her attention from Cain long enough to give Brea another smile. “Yes. I am. I would love it if you would join us? We’re having a get-together on the western edge of the island, on the peninsula. It’s very private.”
Brea narrowed her eyes. Faline was looking at her, but she got the distinct impression she was talking to Cain, offering a thank-you of another sort. “We’ll think about it.”
Faline beamed and nodded, oblivious to the uncharitable direction Brea’s thoughts were taking. “Wonderful. I hope I’ll see you later, then.”
She pulled her seal skin around herself as she turned and ran toward the banister. With one leap, she alighted on the edge, propelled herself into the air, and wrapped the skin around herself. There was barely a splash to announce the seal’s landing, and then she was gone.
Brea was still parsing the unwanted emotions gnawing at her bones when she felt Cain’s heavy stare on her. She turned and crossed her arms. “What?”
He smiled, a full, unapologetic expression full of fangs. “You were jealous.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, to snap something insulting—anything to wipe that smug smirk off his face. The knot in her chest loosened, emotions spiraling out in long, slender threads. They flowed over her and she let them, let them come without fighting. She drew a breath, and it was the deepest breath she’d managed in a long time.
Slowly, she turned and swayed to the door of her cabin. She paused in the doorway, her hand on the knob. Without turning, she spoke.
“Cain, if I wanted you that way, wanted to claim you as my own and damn any woman who tried to take you from me, then I promise you I would be very, very clear.” She looked over her shoulder and held his green gaze. “I would lure you into this room and you wouldn’t leave until I was completely certain I’d ruined you for any other woman.”
Every word brought a little more red into his eyes, made them grow brighter, hotter. When she was finished, he stood there staring at her with eyes that would linger in her dreams, burn before her whenever she closed her eyes. She smiled and stepped inside her room, closing the door behind her.
She pressed her back to the door and waited until she heard footsteps receding. Then she opened the door and leaned out.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Her voice came out throatier than she’d intended, a voice that had smoked too many cigarettes, or perhaps spent too much time in bed—not sleeping. Cain spun around with comical speed, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Brea had just opened her mouth to tease him some more when suddenly he was there.
He jerked to a halt with his body a hair’s breadth from her own, his eyes wild, nostrils flaring. Her heart leapt into her throat, her nerves singing with painful awareness of how close he was. Fear and desire flared into wet heat, melting her thoughts faster than she could organize them.
“Brea,” he said hoarsely, “I won’t hurt you.”
He vibrated before her, ready to collide with her, drag her backward into her quarters. She could feel the need in him, see what his restraint cost him.
“Have you fed?” She congratulated her on the full sentence, on her pathetic attempt at caution.
He nodded slowly, then hesitated. “Brea…I don’t think I can resist biting you.”
Fear won. Brea jerked back, drew her dagger, and held it in front of her. “The hell you say.”
Cain bowed his head, the trembling in his body growing worse. “I want you, Brea. I want you in every way I can have you. I want you to be mine, completely mine. I won’t hurt you, but…the bite is just…” He growled in frustration, his hands clenching at his sides. He met her eyes then, and there was determination there. “It is part of what I am. Fighting it will only endanger you.”
“You want to bite me…for my safety.”
She poured her disbelief into her voice even as part of her cried out in pain, bemoaned losing him a second time. To Cain’s credit, he didn’t flinch, didn’t back away like an injured dog. He held her gaze, and there was a sudden calm in his eyes that made her pause.
“The first time… Seven years ago…” He growled and shook his head. “I am not a new vampire now, Brea. I will not be so stupid. I will not let my bloodlust take you from me again.”
“You aren’t making any sense,” she told him, trying to speak clearly to keep her own panic at bay. “Why do you need to bite me if you’ve already fed?”
“It is part of what I am,” he repeated. “It is part of claiming you as mine. To lie with you without tasting you…it would be like refraining from a kiss.”
“Easily done,” she pointed out.
He looked like he would argue, then stopped. “Do you have any manacles?”
She blinked. “Do I… Manacles?”
A considering look came into his eyes. “One moment.”
He vanished, moving like a shadow cast by lightning. Less than a minute later, he was back, with something clinking in his hands. Brea arched an eyebrow.
“You took chains from the hold?”
He nodded as he strode to her bed. She opened her mouth to object as he began winding the chains around the bedposts, laying them out in preparation for his wrists. Before she could say anything, he dropped his hands to his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.
His pale chest was perfect, but for the faint line of newly healed flesh that remained from where she’d put her dagger through his ribs. His muscles flexed and bunched as he stood before her, the red flecks in his gaze luring her a step closer. He dropped his hands to the fastening of his pants, held her eyes as he slowly loosened the laces.
You’ve seen him before, Brea. Get hold of yourself.
She looked away when he dropped the clothing, cursing herself and the blush scalding her cheeks. Coward.
Metal clinked together, and she curled her hands into fists, forcing herself to look at the bed. Cain lay on her mattress, naked as the day he was born. The manacles held his wrists securely a few inches over the bed, his arms raised, but not so far that he couldn’t rest his elbows on the bed. His face was serene despite his restraints, only the glitter in his eyes betraying his desire, his impatience.
Sod this. I’m no coward.
Brea jutted her chin out, ignoring the way his mouth quirked up in one corner. She raised her hands to the laces of her shirt and began untying them, slowly, in the same teasing way he’d done. The smile melted from his face as she worked to remove her clothing until she stood before him, naked from the waist up. The manacles went taut, his eyes bleeding to red and his lips parting as he dragged his gaze over her torso, taking in every detail. Her confidence soared, and she let a smile spread over her mouth as she lowered her hands to her belt.
Metal groaned in protest as Cain leaned forward, and she paused, her heart skipping a beat as she waited for the metal to snap. For a breathless second, she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for. Then Cain thrust himself back against the pillows, shoving his arms down with visible restraint. The hunger in his eyes didn’t lessen, and as Brea continued to undress, stepping out of her pants, she heard a sound low in his throat that might have been a growl.
His body was as hard as she remembered it, the muscles of his chest solid beneath her questing fing
ertips. Desire soaked her body, made her feel heavy and clumsy as she climbed onto the bed. She had no plan, hadn’t expected this, but her body seemed to suffer from no such indecision. She slid one leg over his body to straddle him, putting her hands on his shoulders so she could lean down. The hard length of him, surprisingly hot even against her heated flesh, brushed her center, and her breath hitched a hair’s breadth from his mouth.
Cain choked on his own voice and raised his head to press their mouths together. He swept his tongue into her mouth, a promise of what was to come, and she had no choice but to respond, to answer his quest with her own. Passion made her rush, made her careless, and she cut her tongue on one of his fangs. She hissed at the brief pain, but forgot it when his entire body went still for one, aching moment. A groan tore from the depths of his being, and he slowed the kiss, sweeping his tongue over hers, drinking her, tasting her.
The tiny part of Brea that was still afraid of him waited. Waited for the madness that had taken him last time, waited for the clamp of fangs on her neck, the tearing of muscle. She didn’t remember the pain from that bite. She’d been lost to pleasure, had been enjoying the initial bite long enough that by the time he lost control, she’d lost enough blood to dull her senses, to slide into shock with the ease of someone getting into a warm bath. Sometimes she wished she did remember the pain. Perhaps that would have made it easier to resist taking him back.
“I love you.”
He whispered the words against her lips, as if he couldn’t bring himself to break the kiss even for those three little words. As the last syllable left his lips, he slid his tongue into her mouth again, resuming his exploration, his claim. Brea melted against him, the last of her fear fading away. For ten seconds, they continued the kiss, a sensual exploration of one another.
Then something snapped. Desperation seized her, and suddenly she was a throbbing mass of need, so achingly empty that she thought she’d go mad. Her hips jerked, her body seeking his, trying to fit them together as they both so desperately needed to. Cain chest heaved, rising with a breath he didn’t need, a breath his body remembered. Brea’s mouth fell open on a gasp as she lifted her upper body and slid her hips up and down until she felt him, felt how ready he was.
He slid inside her, and the pressure was so delicious, so overwhelming, so perfect, that she dropped her head back, lips parting as she moaned. Cain’s body surged up, thrusting inside her so deep that she thought they’d never part again. As if they’d never been apart, as if they’d done this every night since that first time, their bodies moved together, rising and falling, thrusting and sliding. Heat built in her head, surrounding them in a fog that rivaled the heat of the island, the balm of the sea air. Pleasure crackled over her nerves, stinging and biting in a way that made her feel more alive than she’d ever been.
Completion hovered on the horizon, right there, but just out of reach. She cried out and jerked her hips in an erratic motion, trying to get the friction she needed. It wouldn’t come, and it took her nearly a minute to figure out the pathetic mewling sounds were coming from her throat. Prying her eyes open, she looked down and found Cain’s eyes locked on hers, his irises a solid scarlet. His fangs caught the candlelight and glistened past his parted lips.
Brea dug her fingers into his shoulders and folded herself on top of him without stopping the desperate thrusts of her lower half. She grabbed her hair, jerking it out of the way so she could press her neck to his mouth.
“Cain, please,” she gasped.
The sound that came from him then wasn’t human. It was relief and desire, desperation and joy. His fangs slid into her flesh in one smooth bite, a joining as erotic and satisfying as the first penetration, the first consummation. The pleasure built to a mind-searing height, and then she was falling, tumbling over the edge into a place where she had no physical body. There was only the pull of his mouth on her neck, the delicious edge of pain that made the pleasure so satisfying. There hips ground together and then they froze, muscles seized by the pleasure wringing every ounce of sensation from their bodies.
When she finally came back to herself, she was lying on top of Cain, their bodies still joined. A weight on her back distracted her, tugging at her muddled mind. It was his arms. He was holding her, embracing her. And the cold hardness pressing into her spine was…
She blinked, started to turn and look behind her, then hissed as the movement sent an aftershock of pleasure over her nerves. She squirmed, and the emotion made him move inside her. He growled, and his grip tightened around her, pushing the chains of his manacles harder into her back.
“Move like that again,” he rasped, “and you’ll not leave this bed again.”
“I’ll say when—and if—either of us leave this bed again,” she corrected him, the power of her words only slightly lessened by the fact she needed to draw breath against halfway through. She rolled her head enough to put her chin on his chest so she could look into his eyes. They were their usual color again, and she ignored the little twist inside her that missed the scarlet. “You broke your manacles. My manacles.”
She’d half expected him to look afraid, to worry that she would feel betrayed, tricked into thinking she was safe. But there was no apology in his face, just a very deep satisfaction.
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
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About the Author
Jennifer Blackstream is a USA Today bestselling author of fantasy/paranormal romance. Urban Fantasy will soon be joining her repertoire, and if she doesn’t get hold of the insidious roving gang of plot bunnies, there’s going to be steampunk sprinkled in there too…
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Jennifer has unfailing affection for the authors who have influenced her, including Laurell K. Hamilton, Jim Butcher, and the sorely missed Sir Terry Pratchett. Her books include humor, romance, and action, with enough darkness to keep things very interesting.
When Jennifer isn’t writing, she can be found binge watching iZombie, Castle, or Once Upon a Time with her sibling (or Bones if she’s alone). She also spends an inordinate amount of time arguing with herself over whether it’s too late for another cup of coffee.
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Other Books by Jennifer Blackstream
Blood Prince Series
Before Midnight
One Bite
Golden Stair
Divine Scales
Beautiful Salvation
Blood Prince World
Dead To Begin With
What Big Teeth You Have
The Pirate’s Witch
The Blood Realm Series:
All for a Rose
Blue Voodoo
The Archer
Bear With Me
Blood Realm World
The Final Straw (Once Upon a Curse Anthology)
Mad About You (Once Upon a Kiss Anthology)
Midnight Escape (Vampires of the Caribbean Anthology)
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Out for Blood
by Hailey Edwards
Chapter 1
The white sand beaches and gentle surf hadn’t done much for our corpse. It was bloated, baked and pungent. I almost lost my dinner, which would be a damn shame considering how hard it was to come by bagged blood in the Caribbean. Not that I would mind sampling the local flavor—I was half vampire after all, a dhampir if you want to get technical—but considering the case… Yeah. Nibbles would have to wait.
“Marshal Ayer. Eileen Ayer?” A tall ma
n dressed to the nines in a navy suit crossed the dunes to reach me. A grin tugged at the edge of my lips when I noticed he wore matching Converse sneakers to make trekking across the sand easier. Black hair curled around his ears, his eyes a shade lighter than his ensemble. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He stuck out his hand, and I shook. “Your service record speaks for itself.”
It sure did. Mostly it blabbed out how I had been the victim of a serial killer and survived. But that wasn’t the cause of the stigma that had landed me on a shore thousands of miles from home. No. That was thanks to my short stint as a patient in Edelweiss Mental Institution. I had recovered. For the most part. Sadly, my coworkers acted like crazy was catching, and my supervisor had banished me to paradise as a means of acknowledging my service record while also not having to deal with a still slightly broken marshal.
“And you are?” I studied him, awarding bonus points for the depth of his dimples.
“Oh.” He chuckled in a self-deprecating way that would have put me at ease had I met him six months earlier. “Sorry. Taye Jones. Marshal Jones. On loan from the Northwestern Conclave. Oregon. I’m from Oregon.”
Flustered was a good look on him, embarrassment rushing blood into his cheeks.
“Well, Marshal Jones…” I wiggled my fingers in his grip until he took the hint and released me, “…it’s nice to meet you.”
“I did my dissertation on you while I was in the academy,” he blurted.
The pleasant warmth in my middle, a tingle not unlike the slow burn of blood hunger, evaporated. The academy? He was that fresh? That made him a baby. Ugh. Damn him and his dimples for distracting me from the shininess of the badge he wore like a shield on his lean hip. “Marshal Jones, what can you tell me about the victim?”