“Yes!” she screamed.
Air hissed from his teeth. “Move on me.”
“Yes, yes.” At first, she moved slowly, torturing them both, driving them to insanity. As he began to thrust up, meeting her downward glide, his fingers digging into her waist, bruising, spurring her on, she increased her speed, taking more, giving more, demanding more. Soon they were both writhing, both reaching, hands everywhere.
“Kiss.” He cupped the base of her neck and jerked her down, tongue stabbing into her mouth.
She came instantly, inner walls clenching around him. That was when he flipped her to her back, thrusting harder and harder, deeper and deeper, one of her knees caught under his arm, allowing even deeper penetration, his cock like a jackhammer against her clit, and then he was shouting her name, spending himself inside her, and she was shouting his, clamping around him yet again.
When he collapsed on top of her and rolled them to their sides, she was still twitching from that second—third?—consuming orgasm. He didn’t release her, but held her tight. Thank God. She couldn’t have existed on her own, she didn’t think. She was panting, sweating, floating. Lost.
Her eyes were heavy, and she wanted to sleep. Was even drifting off, content for the first time in years, when his voice roused her.
“Did I take you from someone you loved, the night I bonded us?” he asked gruffly.
Was that what had been bothering him? She forced her lids to remain open. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I thought I loved him at the time, and I thought he loved me, but he ran pretty quickly when I could no longer put out.”
“Poor, stupid bastard. The running, though, is what has saved his life.”
She chuckled. “Did I take you from anyone?”
“No one special.” His fingers stroked her back.
“Good. Because I brought my gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“As I have seen.” His fingers lowered to her ass and spread, squeezing. “I must admit, I like my woman jealous.”
She liked when he called her his woman. She liked this. Being snuggled against his side, listening to his heart pound, rubbing her knee up his legs, feeling his shaft harden again.
“Stay,” he said, suddenly serious. “With me.”
Hearing the words—he wanted her the way she wanted him!—caused relief to bloom. “For one week, I’m all yours.”
His grip tightened. “Stay longer.”
God, she liked the sound of that purring, commanding voice. The needy ache sprang back to life, joining her relief, and she rubbed against him like a cat. “We don’t even know if we’re compatible.”
He rolled her to her back, his weight nearly crushing her. “We’re compatible.”
“Here.” Would she ever get enough of him? She arched against him, breasts pressing against his chest. “But what about out there?”
His nostrils flared. “In the palace?”
“In . . . life.” Her legs wrapped around him, ankles locking on his lower back.
He considered her for a moment, pushing all of his weight between her thighs and holding her steady. “We will take this week, then, and see how we get along. But you aren’t leaving. And you can’t tell anyone what you are.”
“Why can’t I tell anyone? And will you please get inside me? Unless you need that recovery time?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked if I need recovery time. How you wound me. You, I always want.” His cock twitched against her, slid inside her, and his pupils expanded. “Just don’t tell anyone what you are. Please.”
Yes! “Thank you.” There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t have time to reason it out. He was inside her, but he wasn’t moving. “I won’t tell. Now thrust!”
“Lusty wench. But let’s see if I can finally sate you.”
He spent the rest of the night trying.
Chapter Nine
Vasili held a sleeping Rose tight against his body, breathing her in, savoring her warmth, her softness. He hadn’t pleasured a female in two years, but he’d never slept near one. He’d never trusted his lovers enough to be near him during his vulnerable sleeping hours, and besides that, he hadn’t wanted to promote a familiarity he hadn’t—and would never—feel.
Attachments weren’t something he formed.
Until now.
He’d had Rose in his bedroom, and rather than strip her as he’d planned, he’d found himself scared. For her. She’d met with other Walkers. That was what he’d always wanted. That was why he’d bonded them. For information. But the thought of her with other Walkers, so far away from him, him unable to protect her . . . He’d wanted to roar. And then, when she’d mentioned she had left her bag outside where his army roamed, searching for the dead, true panic had set in. If they found the bag, they would know a Walker was nearby. And they’d seen her, so of course they would know she was that Walker. They wouldn’t simply think she’d been living in the woods, seen the fight, and decided to help, as he had planned to encourage them.
He’d found her bag in Grigori’s possession. His favored guard had been livid with him, though the Monstrea had admitted he’d known what she was the moment he’d seen her at the ball.
You have to kill her, Grigori had said. Otherwise your people will revolt.
Vasili had been terrified of just that, which was why he’d rushed back to Rose, to guard her. One look, though, and he’d had to bind her to him sexually. He’d had to have her, to reaffirm that she was here, she was his, and to prove to her that they belonged together. Forever.
He loved her.
His world might be dark, but she was his light. She amused him, challenged him, fought for him, delighted him. Pleased him. Oh, did she please him. He had never enjoyed a woman the way he enjoyed her. Her taste was addictive, her long, slender body the perfect fit to his bigger, harder one. She wasn’t shy or coy, but gave herself fully.
She’d ruined him for anyone else, and it had nothing to do with their blood bond and everything to do with her smile, her stubbornness, her wit, her playfulness, her lustiness. Perfect. Fit.
Now he had one week to convince her to stay with him. Because he couldn’t live without her. Wouldn’t live without her. The risk from the other Walkers, the risk from his own people, he would figure out, deal with. Somehow, some way. But he would have to do so without alerting Rose. If she discovered how much his people hated her kind, she would be hurt and afraid, and would possibly leave.
That, he couldn’t allow.
***
Only two days into her stay, Rose realized she could live with Vasili forever. Sex anytime she craved it—and she craved it often. Vasili ensured she was fed, and the food was divine. He dressed her in lavish gowns, like the ones she’d seen at the party. He made her laugh, touched her often, even when he didn’t realize he was doing it. If she neared, he wound his arm around her waist. If she placed her head on his shoulder, he petted her hair and urged her into his lap.
They rarely left his rooms, but when they did, he had rules for her. No speaking in English, and no mentioning the word Walker. The only dark spot on her happiness was that Vasili refused to explain why. Yeah, he’d told her the Walkers were dangerous. But why were they dangerous—besides what Nick and others might be planning? What had been done in the past?
Anytime she asked, Vasili changed the subject.
But now he’d been called away by his brother. Why, she didn’t know. But he’d left her sleeping in bed. Or so he’d thought. Rose hopped up, quickly bathed, and dressed in a violet gown to match his eyes.
She left the chamber and strode along the halls, down the winding stairs, and into the dining room. The few times they’d roused from bed, this was where he’d taken her, and she’d memorized the path. Someone was always in here, she’d noted. Maybe because there was a long wooden table always piled high with food. Lik
e an all-day buffet.
The walls here were the same as those in the ballroom: swirling gold circles surrounding windows that looked into the dark, rainy ever-night. The royal colors must be burgundy and gold, because those colors were everywhere: tapestries, carpets, furniture.
Today, there was only one occupant. One of the Monstrea, as Vasili had told her they were called. Grigori was his name. She wasn’t afraid of him. He might look like a demon, but his love for Vasili was proved every time he spoke with his king.
“Has Jasha picked a bride?” she asked as she filled her plate. She was careful to pronounce her words slowly, just right.
“Greer died in battle the other night.” His tone was gruff. “The rush for the alliance has ended.”
“Poor princesses.” To have lost their father to violence. “But Jasha still intends to wed one?”
“Yes.”
That was good. “Who?”
“The redhead.” Eye twitch.
Interesting. “Want her for yourself, do you?”
Silence.
She’d take that as a yes.
“Enough talk of unimportant issues. What are your intentions toward the king, female?”
“Dishonorable,” she said with a grin, and claimed the seat across from him.
His claws scraped at the table. “You mean to kill him?”
Don’t provoke the beast, idiot. “Hardly. I lo—like him.” She loved the man—she had to, since she was willing to give up everything for him—but Vasili hadn’t said the words to her, so she wouldn’t say the words to him or anyone else. Another game, she thought with a secret smile. The first one to crack would be teasingly tortured forever.
“I know what you are, you know. I remembered the talk about you from that night, so long ago. I wasn’t there, but I heard. You were thought to be a spy.”
“So?” She popped a grape into her mouth, the sweet juice running down her throat. She’d learned that they had greenhouses and other places that were able to grow the fruits from her world.
Those fiery eyes widened. “So?” he whispered darkly. “You are no spy. Twice I have seen you dressed in pants, and your language is rough. You appear out of nowhere, and no one has ever heard of you. You are a Walker, and you’re going to get him killed.”
Her brow scrunched. “What are you talking about?”
“Your kind is hated here. Slaughtered.”
Answers. He offered answers. All she had to do was ask and finally, she’d have them, but just then she wasn’t sure she wanted them. Still, the first question rushed from her mouth: “Why is my kind hated?”
“You once destroyed our royal family. Vasili’s family. His parents, his siblings. He watched, bound, helplessly waiting his turn. They even held a gun to his father’s head and made the man choose which of the girls, Vasili’s sisters, would die first. And die they did. Every one of them.”
“Not me,” she said brokenly, tears springing to her eyes. Poor Vasili, losing practically everyone he loved in a single night. But now she understood why he had refused to answer her questions while she’d held a gun on him. He must have been reminded of that night.
God, the fact that he hadn’t killed her astonished her.
“Not you, no. You are too young. But those like you. My people couldn’t help all those years ago because you went after us first. Explosions everywhere. So many fires. Innocents, children. All gone in a single night.”
“I’m sorry.” So sorry. She wanted to stop this now, run away, but persisted anyway. “How . . . how did Vasili escape?”
“So many of us were running around, screaming, confused, but he managed to get free while the Walkers were distracted, find Jasha, and haul him into the forest, where they hid for days before the remaining army found them. That’s when it was decided—by all of us—that Walkers would be killed the moment they entered our world.”
Poor Vasili, she thought again, the tears running freely now. She wanted to hold him, to chase away his pain.
“He bonded with you, did he not?”
She nodded, unable to speak. There was a lump in her throat she couldn’t manage to swallow.
“Foolish man, thinking with his cock. Some of our people did the same with other Walkers all those years ago, but those Walkers were put to death after that night. The wives fought us. Their Walkers were peaceful, they claimed. But still we killed those bound to your world. How would it look if they discovered Vasili, the king, had kept you alive?”
Bad.
“If the people ever find out, they will rebel against him. They haven’t forgotten what was done to their loved ones. And if his own people rebel while he battles other kingdoms . . .”
Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She swallowed the lump. “I’ll . . . I’ll leave.” She would have to. To save him. Oh, God.
“But you’ll return.” An accusation.
“Because I can’t stop myself,” she growled, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“He knows what you are, but pretends you are one of us. How long do you think that lie will last, since you’ll appear right in front of him every time you arrive?”
She closed her eyes, heartsick.
“The bond must be broken.”
Her lids popped open. “I’m not going to kill him, and I’m not going to kill myself.”
“And because you are his, he will never forgive the one who does kill you.”
Does kill, as if it were already a fact. No wonder Vasili had taught her to fight. He’d known what would happen if she were ever discovered. He’d wanted her to have a chance. But why had he wanted her to have a chance? He should have hated her. Yet he’d bonded her, saved her.
Would the hate return in time? Would he grow to resent her?
“When is your next birthday?” Grigori asked.
“In . . . three days.”
“So you came early. To see him.” A statement, not a question.
She answered anyway. “Yes.”
“You love him?”
“Yes.” No denying it now, as she thought about losing him forever. The game was over.
“Do not tell him what we discussed. There is much I need to think on.”
She nodded, even though she suspected he meant to think about ways to kill her without Vasili finding out who had done the deed. She had to find a way to stop traveling here. Not just her, but all the Walkers.
She could travel at will, so it stood to reason that she could prevent herself from traveling through that same will. Right? But the others couldn’t travel at will. So they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves.
Damn it!
That would save her—and save Vasili. Except for the bond . . . They couldn’t be with other people. But she couldn’t deny that she was glad he couldn’t be with other people. Even if that meant suffering herself. Because she couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else. Not after experiencing that tongue, those fingers . . . him, only him.
She needed distance, time to deal. To think. Surely she could find a solution if she tried.
“Tell Vasili I said— No.” Any parting words would only deepen the connection between them. She needed anger. His, hers. For with anger would come distance. “Just tell him I left.”
Grigori nodded.
“Thank you for the . . . conversation.” Translation: I hate you, but I can’t hold it against you because you did it for him.
Another abrupt nod.
She closed her eyes, pictured her house, and let her body do the rest. Seconds, that was all it took, but she knew it had worked, because for a moment she felt weightless. Dizzy. Then perfectly fine. Physically, at least.
She opened her eyes, and four white walls surrounded her. There was her couch, the fabric torn. There was her coffee table, the wood scratched.
Walkers had killed
Vasili’s family. Walkers were even now trying to think up ways to hurt Vasili. She had to talk to them. Give them the facts, bare her soul. No matter what they thought of her or tried to do to her. She had to make things right.
Chapter Ten
“Vasili.”
He must be imagining things, Vasili thought. There was Rose’s sweet voice. But he was drunk, as he had been for the past three days, sitting in his room, alone, all lights extinguished, rain pattering outside. After a panicked, frantic search for Rose, Grigori had admitted what had transpired.
If he heard “for the best” one more time, he was going to stab someone. Namely Grigori. The bastard was lucky to be alive. To have sent Rose away like that . . . He would kill him, Vasili decided.
“Vasili, darling.”
There was her voice again. He closed his eyes, savoring. She wasn’t due to arrive until later tonight, just four hours away. He was going to punish her for leaving him—the chase-and-retreat game no longer amused him. He wanted her always. Then he was going to make love to her, beg her to stay, tell his people to fuck themselves, and if she still refused to stay with him, he would try to cross into her world. To do so, he’d have to hold on to Rose until they both left his world. If he died, so what? He couldn’t live without her. Not anymore.
“Are you listening to me? No? Let me help you.” An open palm slapped his cheek, leaving a heated sting.
He blinked. A hallucination wouldn’t have been able to hit him, would it? “Rose?”
A sigh. “Who else?”
He hopped to his feet, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. There she was, right in front of him. His arms banded around her—solid, warm, real—and he jerked her into his chest, all thoughts of punishment fleeing. “I thought I’d lost you. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
She hugged him back. “I want to be with you,” she said, shocking him. “Forever.”
“Thank you. Thank you. You won’t regret—”
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