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Authors: Delilah Devlin

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BOOK: Darkness Burning
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Sarah opened automatically, closing her lips around him to suck the crown, mouthing him gently, then sucking hard to draw him inside.

Alex threaded his fingers through her auburn hair and tugged her head closer, forcing more of his length into the warm, moist cavern of her mouth.

Her head jerked backward, but she didn’t release him, didn’t try to deny his silent command. She swirled around the head, licking under the ridge surrounding his glans, dipping the tip of her tongue into the slit at the center. She enclosed him again, sucking hard, drawing him inside. He flexed, shoving along her tongue, stroking toward the back of her throat.

Her jaws widened and she swallowed, the back of her throat clasping him as it opened and closed, caressing him, opening again until she took him deeper still and bobbed her head on him, following the tug of the fingers tightening in her hair.

She murmured and groaned as though she couldn’t get her fill, couldn’t take him deep enough. She planted her hands on
his thighs and slid one up to cup his balls, rolling them in her palm, wrapping her fingers around them to squeeze and pull with just enough force that he no longer needed to hold his cock.

Blood pooled again between his legs, strengthening his erection, filling it, stretching it until her mouth couldn’t hold all of him without her teeth raking his shaft. He didn’t care, couldn’t stop spearing into her, bucking against her as she caressed his balls and sucked him hard.

Her groans swelled around his cock, vibrating against the crown, trembling down the shaft, and he had to pull away, had to bury himself inside her again.

Fighting the hands reaching for his cock, pushing her face away, he turned her body and plunged into her hot cunt, bucking hard, ramming deep, glorying in her ragged howls as he pumped his cock into her tight pussy, faster, harder—harder, sharper, following her when her knees gave out and her body flattened on the floor.

He shoved apart her thighs to root as deep as he could reach, her buttocks cushioning his belly and his balls raking painfully against the floor.

Alex squeezed her buttocks, pushing them apart, trying to get deeper, needing to tunnel until he tapped her womb, and then he exploded, cum gushing until he wallowed in her dripping cunt, stroking, thrusting still.

“Stop,” she sobbed. “No more.”

Alex’s balls contracted at the misery in her voice. He halted his motions, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. He lay over her, crushing her to the hard floor, burying his face at the back of her sweaty neck as his body spasmed and his cock twitched inside her.

He’d never been so out of control. Never wanted to punish, to mark a woman with his scent and fluids. Like a goddamn dog. He’d been a rutting, mindless animal.

Where was the guilt? Why didn’t he feel remorse as she shook beneath him? Instead, all he felt was satisfaction—
bone
-deep,
primal
satisfaction. As though he’d claimed her for his own. Never would another man touch her without sensing he trespassed.

Which was nuts. He wouldn’t keep her. Couldn’t let her be a part of his life. Even if she wanted to, begged him to let her stay—which wasn’t likely now.

He licked the back of her neck, drank in the scent of her—peaches and sex—and felt his fangs slide from the roof of his mouth. He could taste her and she’d never know, never remember.

He could do that. A special talent only he possessed. He could wipe the whole evening from her mind. He could give her peace.

Only then she wouldn’t learn the lesson. Wouldn’t remember him. He was selfish enough to want to be part of her dreams for a long, long time. So he concentrated only on robbing the memory of this last, furtive bite and raked the razor edge of his teeth along her neck, seeking the pulse hammering against the shallow vein.

He bit harshly, sinking quickly, loving the way her body tightened beneath him, her cunt clamping on his dick as he began to draw, sucking her essence down like it was nectar.

Hot, salty-sweet and metallic—the flavors coated his tongue while her blood slid down his throat to warm his belly, slowly seeping outward to fill his body with a powerful, lustful surge of pure energy.

Her thin cries filled the air around him as another, last orgasm swept through her body. Then suddenly she slackened beneath him.

He withdrew his fangs, licked closed the wounds, and slowly climbed off her unconscious body, surveying what he’d done. She lay spread-eagled on the hard floor. Her fingers curled into the wood.

He found his shirt and used the tails to wipe cum and streaks of pink from between her thighs, then he dressed himself and gathered her clothes. He approached her cautiously, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

“Sarah,” he said quietly.

She moaned and rolled her head, pressing her forehead to the floor. “No more,” she repeated.

“Help me get you dressed.”

Her arms slid closer to her body and she raised herself up on her elbows, turning her head to look over her shoulder, her gaze not meeting his eyes. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice hoarse and ragged.

“Get dressed. I’ll find you a ride.”

He left her alone in the gazebo, his steps heavy while she stayed behind, shrugging into her crumpled clothing like an old woman. At the front of the house, he sought one of half a dozen black limos lined up in a row along the pebbled, circular driveway; he arranged her transportation, then headed back into the garden. He found her sitting on the bench once again, her jacket zipped to her neck, her body hunched over.

He knelt beside her feet and cupped her cheek. “Time to go, love.”

Her gaze seemed hollow, listless. Her mouth was swollen from kisses and the damage her own teeth had done as she’d
bitten down to still her cries. Her face was mottled, as though she’d been crying.

He’d done that. Nicolas hadn’t touched her deeply. He’d used her body, fed from her, but he hadn’t broken her spirit. Alex had done it for her own good—to keep her out of reach of the demon, to keep her out of reach of those who would tempt her curiosity, then drain her of will and spirit.

She wouldn’t forget the lesson. He hoped like hell she’d never seek entrance into the dark realm again.

N
icolas Montfaucon drummed his fingers on the polished ebony table, trying to ignore the stares from the rest of the council ringing the round table. While he hadn’t expected a warm and friendly welcome, he’d thought the
sabat
had at least received a little forewarning that he’d joined their ranks.

For whatever reason, Inanna hadn’t bothered to tell anyone she’d unilaterally decided he would take Chessa’s reserved seat.

Not that Nicolas worried too much about his reception, or that the females around him would reject his new status. Not while the grounds were surrounded by his men. The unleashed rogues he’d recruited to force his way onto the council were crawling over the estate, working side by side with the turned vampires who’d never broken their masters’ tethers.

His men had made sure they didn’t blend well. They didn’t wear the black SWAT uniforms of the Security Force, choosing instead to emphasize their individuality. A mixed bag of army camouflage, blue jeans, and Kevlar had to be jarring to the women who liked everything and everyone to be in their place and tidy.

Controlled, bridled…subservient to the rule of the women who’d created them.

Nicolas had shielded his plans from the coven’s matriarch, Inanna, who had shared his siring with his wife, not realizing that the blood-bond would be diluted and his love and loyalty would be his own to give where
he
chose. For long centuries he’d bided his time, learning everything he could about the dark world he’d entered, trying to find his place. Trying to discover the purpose God had given him when he’d offered him the gift of eternity while destroying the family he’d cherished.

One vow had remained unbroken, almost from the beginning of his Undead existence: his promise to avenge his brother’s and wife’s loss by ensuring that their murderer, an ancient beast called The Devourer, never roamed free. Nicolas had watched over his sarcophagus since the day the monster had ravaged his wife and stolen his brother’s body—until The Storm had interceded and swept the beast to freedom.

Now more than ever, Inanna needed his help to recapture the beast. With his ability to skip bodies upon the death of his host, Nicolas could only wait for the bastard to grow cocky and make a mistake. One thing they all knew: The Devourer hadn’t left the area and was likely to infiltrate
Ardeal
. He had a score to settle with his ancient foe, Inanna.

Nicolas observed Inanna sitting among her council—not
quite her peers, because she was their matriarch and related to most of them. They’d called her
Grandmère
when they’d greeted her with kisses that hadn’t quite touched her cheeks. Once the niceties had been dispensed with, they’d stood on one side of the room waiting for the signal that the meeting would begin, while Inanna had stood with him, her hand tucked inside his elbow. The women had eyed him suspiciously, probably wondering whether she’d elevated a paramour to wait on her during the session.

At last, Inanna had made the announcement that they should begin, and that Nicolas should take Chessa’s seat. Silence had greeted her suggestion.

Until one woman, her lips pressing into a thin line, had remarked, “We have matters to discuss that should remain cloaked.”

“If they are matters that concern the
sabat
, then it is entirely appropriate that Nico attend.”

The woman’s eyebrows had risen. “You say that as though he will preside with us.”

“Have I not made my intention clear by allowing him among us?”

The affect had been like a small incendiary explosive going off. Shocked silence, followed in moments by a chorus of shrill voices.

Inanna had simply smiled her catlike smile and taken her chair, waving him to his new seat while the others had fussed. Finally, they’d quietly taken their seats, realizing Inanna had had no intention of explaining or defending her decision. It had been made. Nothing they could do about it now.

However, the stares aimed his way did not abate.

Some were openly lustful, wondering just what he might
have done to earn his unprecedented seat. Some were resentful. Some were so cold that he knew himself a marked man.

In fact, he was the only man sitting at the table, and the only one allowed admittance to a meeting of the
sabat
. Ever.

The council disliked change of any kind. Yet another change had been made before his inclusion had even been announced to the body—
she
had arrived just after they had seated themselves.

A member of the Wolfen Nation, from the South-Central clan, now sat beside him. Her scent wafted softly over him, feminine, light, a little minty for his tastes—not a hint of dog.

Still, Nicolas tightened, finding his gaze drawn to her time and again. Scenting a natural adversary. Her dark brown hair glinted red in the candlelight shining from the chandelier above the table. Her deep navy gown clung to every curve of her tall, statuesque figure, the crystals studding the gown reflecting prisms of light against the damask tablecloth. Beautiful and powerful, her regal status was stamped on her handsome features.

Inanna bristled in her seat, eying the
were
as though she expected her to bare her canines and lunge across the table at any time—not that her expression reflected any fear. Pure unadulterated revulsion and fury shone in her trembling body and narrowed eyes.

Her momentary triumph had been trumped by the other member’s audacious move.

Nicolas had to hand it to the wolf. She sat cool as a cucumber, appearing oblivious to Inanna’s rage. But then she hadn’t been invited by their host, the matriarch and oldest living vampire on the continent.

“What is she doing here?” Inanna demanded, her normally singsong voice sounding tight and bitten.

“Her presence is required,
Grandmère
,” murmured the woman beside Inanna, her tension evident in the way her hand played with the pendant dangling between her small breasts. Brunette with flawless skin and tilted, almond-shaped eyes, Cecily was closest to Inanna’s age, having been born into the Dacian era, when vampires had moved freely through that ancient kingdom’s court.

“Required?” Inanna kept her tone even and her gaze glued to the nightmare sitting across the table from her. “Then why was I not included in the conversation? As your hostess, I would have liked to prepare for our guest.”

“As council members, why were we not included in the conversation that granted Nicolas a seat among us?” Apparently Cecily had been chosen the spokesperson, because none of the remaining eleven members so much as twitched.

“What I do as your leader should not be questioned. Nico has earned his seat. We have need of his skills.”

“The way I heard it, he usurped his place at this table through insurrection.”

“An impressive show of force,” Inanna said, a small, tight smile curving her lips. Her gaze locked with his. “Nico can be trusted. He is bonded to me. As to that little insurrection, he acted in our best interests, no harm or foul intended. Sometimes, we are too intransigent, too married to our customs to see that times change. The
Revenants
demanded a voice for their gift of loyalty. Nico will be their voice.”

“We should have been consulted,” Cecily said, red seeping into her cheeks.

“Cecily,” Inanna said, the lilt more prominent now. “Are you upset because he’s
Revenant
, or because he’s male?”

A chirping laugh followed Inanna’s cutting remark. It came from Madrigal, who’d also arrived from Miami with Cecily. Their long-standing affair was no secret, but bringing attention to Cecily’s preference for the company of women had scored a direct hit.

The vain and vapid Madrigal didn’t understand the set down.

Cecily gave Madrigal a quelling glare. “Nico’s insurrection and your solution to his defiance cause us concern, but it is not the only reason we’re here.”

“To say I was surprised at your summons would be an understatement of my concern,” Inanna said softly.

Nicolas settled back into his chair, already bored with the proceedings. The women talked in circles, chose their words as a warrior might his weapons. He wished the bloody hell they’d get to the point.

“There is concern your control over this vital region is slipping. Nico’s revolt is only one incident. Rogues continue to thumb their noses at our authority here, roaming openly, choosing when to sire a mate, choosing to sire companions—without thought to consequences, because there are none. They continue to hunt our breeders and kill them to force our extinction.” She took a deep breath and locked gazes with Inanna. “Then there is the matter of the
Grizashiat.

Inanna reached for the wineglass in front of her and curled her fingers around its base. “You would hold me responsible for the act of nature that released him from his sarcophagus?”

“Of course not, but you have proven ineffective in recapturing him.”

“We cannot find him until he makes a move against us. He
will try to infiltrate
Ardeal
. We have plans in place to trap him.”

Cecily drew a deep breath, her gaze narrowing. “And what about the daywalker?”

“A daywalker?” Inanna sounded bored. “There is no proof. Perhaps it is an urban myth.”

“How can you know for sure? Do you even know what your vampires breed? Born females residing outside your purview, coming into season uncontrolled, their mates unknown to us. It was bad enough when a mage intermarried with one of your own.”

Nicolas stiffened at this last charge. She spoke of Chessa; her father had been a natural mage, and both her parents had been sentenced to death for crossing that boundary.

Cecily’s eyes glittered with malice. “Can you tell us a male Born does not exist?”

Inanna’s chin rose. Her glance swept each member inside the chamber, resting at last on Nicolas. “If a male exists, we shall find him.”

“Not without help,” Cecily bit out.

“Yours?” Inanna scoffed. “I assure you we do not need to augment our force.”

Cecily’s smile held a hint of triumph. “Who better than a wolf to track down an abomination?”

 

Alex slipped back into the salon, giving one quick, wary glance to the wine-colored sofa where Erika had cavorted earlier with her studs. When he didn’t find her, he heaved a sigh of relief. The salon was much quieter, the murmurings less heated. Most had sated their appetites and now simply cuddled in various stages of undress.

Alex hovered near the entrance to the foyer, keeping an eye on the guarded door at the center of the twin staircases. When the
sabat
adjourned, he’d grab Nicolas. The sooner he gathered the information he needed, the sooner he could get out of here. Each moment he lingered, he increased his risk of detection.

He couldn’t wait to get home. To slide back into surroundings that didn’t hide a thousand intrigues. Home was the unpretentious one-room apartment his mother had first rented from Simon when she’d arrived in New Orleans. When she’d slipped through the portal into ancient Scotland, the apartment had waited for him. He’d claimed it the day after she’d left; that seven hundred years had passed was only a relative thing for the Broussards.

From the corner of his eye, he noted the door opening. A woman wearing a dark blue dress exited. The door shut behind her and he relaxed, until she drew nearer the salon doorway. Something in the way she moved, her head held high, her tall, stately body carried with a warrior’s confidence, struck a familiar chord….

Gabriella!
Too late to escape, he knew the exact moment she caught his scent—her head jerked to the left, then the right, as her nostrils flared.

Alex stepped into the foyer, directly into her path, and slid his arm around her waist, turning her toward the salon.

Gabriella’s back stiffened, and she struggled against his hold. “Just one shout,” she whispered furiously, “and they’ll fall on you like ravening beasts.”

“So why aren’t you screaming?” he murmured close to her ear. “Are you too proud to be found caught off guard? Or are you curious why I’m here in plain sight?”

Her gaze narrowed. “You were always an arrogant bastard. It’s why I had you killed.” She leaned close and sniffed along his neck and face—as if unable to control her
were
-instinct to fill her senses with her prey’s scent. “Why aren’t you dead, by the way?”

“That assassin you sicced on me with the lousy aim?” He
tsk
ed and nuzzled her neck in return. “Gabi, couldn’t you have done better? Once I pulled the arrow from my chest, I bit him.
You know how good my bite is
—he simply forgot I walked away.”

Changeable as the Louisiana weather, Gabriella leaned back, her lips pouting. “But you never returned. How did you know I was responsible?”

Alex lifted one brow. “You aren’t the only one with a keen nose, Gabi. You made love to him before you set him on me.”

“A silly, selfish mistake, but how could I resist? I was already missing you in my bed.” She paused, then threw back her head to laugh. “How galling it will be when they discover you’re here right beneath their noses! The bitches.”

“Your amusement is doomed to a short life. You won’t reveal me.”

“But you’re the very reason I’m here. Of course, I didn’t know it would be you, exactly, but I did feel rather nostalgic when I was offered the opportunity to hunt again. It’s been so long since I’ve tasted Born flesh.”

“Sorry to disappoint, my dear. You will not reveal me, Gabi. I won’t let you.”

She glanced around the room. “You and who else? I assure you there isn’t a vamp in sight who won’t give chase.”

“They’ll never get the chance.” He reached into his pocket for his key chain and the crystal dangling from the fob. He
warmed it in his hand inside his pocket, then pulled Gabriella close, pressing his lips to hers.

Light flared around them, and then blinked out.

Alex opened his eyes to stare into Gabriella’s face. He was waiting for her to stop blinking against the momentary blindness.

BOOK: Darkness Burning
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