by Alyssa Day
“A spanking, naked,” he repeated. He rubbed her lovely, lovely ass with one hand.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, turning to glare at him over her shoulder.
“Ask me not to,” he challenged.
She tightened her mouth, refusing to speak the words. But a delicious gleam in her eyes told him she might not be as reluctant as she pretended.
“You only have to say one tiny word, my princess. Just say no.”
She stuck her tongue out at him but said nothing.
He grinned, and drawing his hand back just a little, lightly smacked her gloriously round ass. Fiona made a noise but it definitely wasn’t a no.
“A lady doesn’t enjoy having her bum smacked,” she said primly.
His heart sank to his feet. Now she would hate him. “Mi amara, I’m so sorry. I was just playing—”
“Lucky for you, I’m not a lady; I’m a ninja,” she said, cutting him off, that deliciously seductive smile back on her face. “Stop with the water. I want you inside me. Now.”
He did as she commanded and in seconds she was flat on her back on the sofa and he drove his cock so far inside her they both cried out. “You belong to me, forever and ever,” he said, barely able to speak through the knot in his throat.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Always.”
“And I to you,” he added, plunging into her warm wet heat, over and over, until her body arched up into his and she screamed his name. Then, and only then, he gave in to his own release and collapsed on the sofa next to her. “Forever.”
Some time later, they managed to sit up and he pulled her on his lap and grinned. “So you like spankings?”
She glanced demurely up at him through her lashes. “How about I try it on you this time?” His cock jumped a little against her hip and she laughed. “You naughty, naughty man.”
“Oh, you have no idea the naughty ideas I have for you, Lady Fiona.”
“A true warrior would demonstrate,” she said primly.
And so he did.
It was nearly two hours later before he called the portal.
“I’ll return as soon as I can,” he told her.
“I know.”
He hugged her again, put the Siren in his pocket, and stepped through the portal, knowing that nothing would keep him from her.
“It’s still open, Lady Fiona,” Hopkins observed. “Seems like a sign to me.”
“When will you call me Fiona?”
“When you gather your nerve and go after him,” he said, handing her paint box and a parcel to her. “I’ll handle everything here. Please give this to the Atlantean, if you will.”
“You always do handle everything. I love you, you know. I’ll bring you to visit as soon as I can.” She hugged him tight, and then, gathering her courage in one hand and her paints in the other, she stepped through to Atlantis and landed right on top of the love of her life, knocking him to the grass.
One of the guards, choking suspiciously, held out a hand, and pulled her up when she took it. Christophe just lay there, sprawled in the grass, staring up at her with his mouth hanging open. Through their bond, she could feel his exquisite joy that she’d chosen to follow him.
“Thank you, Marcus,” she said.
“I really think I’m going to like you.”
“You know,” she said, puzzled, “when I’m around Atlanteans, I get that a lot.”
On the ground, Christophe started laughing. “Does this make me Lord Christophe?”
“In your dreams,” Marcus advised.
“Oh, no,” Christophe said, grinning that seductive, wicked smile. “My dreams are far more exciting than that.”
“Here,” she said, holding the package out to him. “This is for you. From Hopkins.”
Christophe opened it, still sitting on the ground, and then stared up at Fiona in astonishment. “Why on earth would Hopkins give me pajamas with barnyard animals on them?”
As they explored the gardens together later that day, Christophe suddenly lifted Fiona in the air and swung her around.
“Wait till our sons take up their first training swords,” he said, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “They will make us so proud. With magic plus might, they’ll be the toughest warriors ever to set foot—”
“Oh, no. My sons are not going to go around sword fighting. They’re going to be doctors. Or teachers. Or—”
“Daughters,” he said, wrapping a long strand of her hair around his fingers. “Beautiful, charming daughters, just like their mother. And the boys will be after them—wait. Damn boys. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill any boy who so much as—”
“Ouch! That hair is attached,” Fiona said, extracting it from his fingers. “Maybe before you get your pants in a twist over our future children, you could tell me more about just how we’re going to go about getting all of these sons or daughters?”
He bent down and lifted her into the air, then shouted out his joy and swung her around. “Maybe I could show you,” he said, bending to kiss her as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, right there on the path to the palace, in front of anybody who might care to pass by.
When they could finally breathe again, he pulled her a little ways off the path, into the palace gardens, and dropped to one knee. “I know this is the way they do things in your world,” he said, every ounce of the love he felt for her naked on his face. Exposed and vulnerable, just like his heart.
“Lady Fiona Campbell, will you spend the rest of your life with me?”
Her answer shone like the bright Atlantean sun on her face and in her heart. “Oh, yes. Most definitely yes.”
Turn the page for a special preview of Daniel’s Story in the Warriors of Poseidon Series
VAMPIRES IN ATLANTIS
By Alyssa Day
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
Chapter 1
Daniel looked out at the sea of red eyes glaring back at him in the vast chamber of the Primus and wondered, not for the first time, why the hell he’d ever wanted to be the ruler of the North American vampires. Also, he wondered how long it would be until the vampire goddess Anubisa discovered his ongoing betrayal and slowly tortured him to death.
The goddess of Chaos and Night was really, really good at torture. It was her specialty, in fact.
“So, shall we call you Daniel, then?” the vampire from South Carolina called out from behind the false safety of the rich mahogany wooden semicircular desk. His voice was a bizarre hissing drawl; Deep South meets bloodsucker. “Or Drakos? Maybe Devon? You have so many identities; we wouldn’t want to use the wrong one.”
“You may call me Primator, Ruler of the Primus, the third house of the United States Congress. Or Sir. Or even Master, if you adhere to the old ways,” Daniel said, smiling. It wasn’t a nice smile. He made sure to show some fang.
“Or you can call me the one who delivers you to the true and final death, if you continue to be an obstacle to these negotiations,” he continued, still polite. No longer smiling. “If we cannot work amicably and peacefully with the humans, we will find ourselves back to the days of angry mobs and wooden stakes and flaming torches. Except this time, the mobs have missiles instead of pitchforks.”
The South Carolinian sat down abruptly and clamped his mouth shut, with not even a hint of fang showing. Daniel’s sense of victory was as fleeting as it was futile. They’d never agree. Humans were sheep to them, especially to the oldest ones. Predators couldn’t become politicians, and he had no wish to continue in the role of trying to lead them. It was, as his Atlantean friend Ven would say, like herding seahorses: a task that would always fail and usually leave the herder with a severe case of insanity. Daniel’s sanity was precarious enough already.
A flash of memory tugged at him: Quinn’s face when he’d forced the blood bond on her to save her life.
Another: Deirdre’s face as she lay dying in his arms.
It was the only thing he was really good at—failing to protect the women he cared
about. He’d started that tradition more than eleven thousand years ago, after all.
Serai.
Daniel’s assistant shuffled some papers on his desk and glanced up at him. “Shall we adjourn then, Primator?”
Daniel snapped out of his dark thoughts and looked out at the members of the Primus. Still glaring at him, for the most part. Undoubtedly planning a coup or some other evil manipulation. After all, they were vampires.
He recognized the irony.
“Adjourned.” He struck the gavel once on its sound block, but they were already up and streaming out the vaulted double doors. Not a single one stopped to speak to him or even looked back. Plotting, always plotting.
After eleven thousand years, he was tired of all of it. Tired of the loneliness, the constant despair. The futility of hope. He’d had enough. He’d done enough. It was time for one last glimpse of the sun, before it incinerated him.
He stood in one fluid motion and tossed the gavel on his assistant’s desk. “Adjourned and done. I’m resigning the title and job of Primator and getting out of Washington, DC. Good luck with my successor.”
Before the poor man could form a single word, Daniel leapt into the air and flew through the room and out the doors—right into the waiting ambush. Four ready to hurt him. None ready to help.
The pundits were right. DC was a dangerous town.
“Are you ready to die, Master?”
It was South Carolina again. Daniel didn’t recognize the trio of flunkies with him. Hired muscle, maybe, or members of South Carolina’s blood pride. Didn’t matter.
They wouldn’t be around long.
“Actually, I am ready to die,” Daniel said, enjoying the look of shock that widened the other vampire’s eyes. “But not at your hand.”
He hit the first two flunkies with a flying kick so powerful it crushed the first one’s head and left the other one unconscious on the ground. The third he dispatched with a blow from his dagger that removed the vamp’s head from its body, both of which began to disintegrate into the characteristic acidic slime of a decomposing vampire.
Then Daniel turned to South Carolina, who was backing away from him and trembling.
“I’m sorry. They made me do it,” he cried out, trembling and whimpering like the coward he was.
“Then die with them,” Daniel replied, realizing he didn’t care enough to even ask who “they” was. He caught South Carolina’s head between his hands and, with one powerful twist of his arms, wrenched it off the vampire’s neck. The body fell to the ground, already decaying, before Daniel realized he still held the head. He flung it away from himself in disgust and scrubbed his hands against his pants.
The voice from behind him was uncharacteristically serious. “You didn’t get anything on your hands.”
Daniel whirled around. “Ven? What are you doing here? Or, more to the point, why didn’t you help?”
The tall Atlantean prince rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Seriously? Against only four of them? Are you a girl, now?”
“Better not let Quinn hear you say that,” Daniel said, before the pain of her name caught up to him. She’d been his friend, he’d thought. Until the forced blood bond. Now she was—if not an enemy—no longer a friend. Wary. Not afraid, not Quinn, but she’d never trust him again. He knew, because he could still sometimes feel her inside him. Whispers of her resonance touched his mind at times. The blood bond.
He’d saved her life and killed her trust. He’d thought it a fair trade, at the time.
“Quinn’s not a girl. She’s a rebel leader. Now are we going for a beer or what?” Ven gestured toward Daniel’s hands. “Also, quit going all Lady Macbeth. You don’t need to ‘out, damned spot,’ when you didn’t get slime on them.”
“Quoting Shakespeare? I expected something from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Daniel tried to grin but couldn’t sustain the effort. “Lady Macbeth. Interesting you say that. I feel like I’ve gotten slime on my hands every day since I took this job.” Daniel forced himself to quit rubbing his hands on his pants and took a deep breath. “I’m not a politician.”
Ven threw back his head and laughed. “Nobody sane is. You’re a warrior, my friend, like me. Now let’s go get that beer and talk about how we’re going to keep you bloodsuckers from taking over the world. No offense.”
“Not tonight. I’m not a politician anymore, anyway. I just resigned.” Daniel looked up at the stone front of the Primus, built only a few years ago to look like it had existed for millennia. The vampire aristocracy was big on pretense. Like the idea that they were aristocracy. Daniel’s own mother had been a peasant who owned a single mule.
Ven whistled long and low. “Conlan is not going to be happy to hear that.”
“With all due respect to your brother, whether or not the high prince of Atlantis is happy with my career choices is not high on my list of concerns. Good-bye.”
Ven’s hand grasped Daniel’s arm with almost vampire-like speed. Damn Atlanteans.
“Remove your hand, or I’ll do it for you,” Daniel snarled. “You presume too much.”
“I’ve been told that before,” Ven said, but he released Daniel’s arm. “You saved my life. I’m not going to stand idly by while you sacrifice your own.”
“How did you—”
“You said good-bye,” Ven said roughly. “You never say good-bye. Ever. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that a vampire who has lived for thousands of years might get tired of putting up with life every once in a while. Especially when every day brings a new battle.”
Daniel stared steadily into his friend’s eyes and lied. “I’m not there yet.”
Ven stared back at him, hard, but finally nodded. “Fine. Take a rain check on that beer?”
“Another night,” Daniel said in agreement. He watched as the prince of Atlantis, one of the few men Daniel had ever called friend, leapt into the air and dissolved into a sparkling cloud of iridescent mist. The Atlantean powers over water were both beautiful and deadly. Daniel had seen both.
He waited until the last droplet of mist had long since vanished from his sight before he spoke, repeating the words that had given away his intent. “Good-bye, my friend.”
And then he went to face the dawn.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Teaser chapter