Deep Kiss of Winter (9 page)

Who was worse? Myst, who'd dabbled with a vampire, or Danii, who'd dabbled and had desperately wanted more?

•   •   •

Murdoch dreamed.

Sometimes he dreamed of the sun, sometimes of old battles. Now he dreamed of his father, of walking in on him wet-eyed, clutching a portrait of Murdoch's mother on the fifth anniversary of her death.

Murdoch had loved his mother, though she'd
been zealously religious, and he'd grieved her loss, but his father had been left a broken shell of a man.

At first, Murdoch had pitied him. Then he'd scorned the father who had scant time for his family, who'd all but orphaned his four young daughters with his neglect.

By this time, Murdoch had been enjoying women for years, knew that they were always about when he needed one. His father could have enjoyed the same—as a wealthy aristocrat, he could easily have found a woman to replace his departed wife.

“Get another one,” Murdoch had finally demanded, unable to comprehend what kind of hold the woman had over him. His father had refused to move on, obsessed with her.

A woman's death had
broken
a strong man . . . .

The dream began to change. Murdoch found himself with Daniela in a strange room made of ice walls. But he felt no chill from it, no discomfort.

He placed his palms on either side of her ethereal face—without giving her pain. When his thumbs brushed her delicate cheekbones, she smiled up at him, but her countenance was different. Everything about her had changed.

Wisping ice crystals had formed in half-moon shapes at her temples. More crystals spiked her lashes and tangled in her wild, shimmery hair. Her skin was even paler, her lips tinged with blue. Delicate cobalt-colored designs laced around her wrists and descended over her hands. In his dream, he knew they ran across her lower back as well.

Her eyes seemed to be filled with an ancient knowing, and they glowed as if banked with a blue fire.

She looked otherworldly. Like a completely alien being.
She
is
otherworldly. . . .

“Do you want me?” she whispered on a frosty breath, leading him to a bed in the center of the room.

He'd never wanted anyone more. “I have to have you.”

“Then take me, Murdoch.”

He was about to give her his standard warning, that this was only for a night. He wouldn't be interested in more. But she pressed her chill lips to his, stunning him with the cold—and with the pleasure. Perfection. Delicious.

He lost track of what he'd been about to say.

As they kissed, he slipped her skimpy dress from her, then pressed her back on the bed. He tugged her panties down, left her heels on.

Sweeping his hands up her thighs, he spread her legs. Now that he could, he made a feast of her body for hours, licking her in secret places. Instead of her own fingers delving into her sex, his now thrust inside her.

He tormented her, first keeping her from coming, then forcing her to, over and over.

In his dream, he knew she'd never been with another man. He painstakingly prepared her body for his, determined to spare her pain as he claimed her virginity.

When he'd been human, he'd never been interested
in virgins. Back then, much was taboo in his conservative country. Deflowering a maid one never intended to marry was virtually blasphemous.

So why was he continuing with Daniela, positioning his hips between her pale thighs? Why was he kissing her soft breasts, rubbing his face against them, sucking on those stiff nipples? Did he want to be bound to her?
One woman.
For more than even a mortal lifetime. Possibly
forever
.

These thoughts left him when the head of his cock found her wetness.

She softly cried,
“Murdoch . . .”
Lightning fractured the night, the thunder booming all around them.

With a groan, he slowly rolled his hips up, pressing the crown inside her untried body . . .
the tightness, the connection
.

When she gasped in his ear and made little whimpers of pleasure, he ran his mouth against her neck, licking her sweet skin, knowing he'd take her blood this night.

He rode her harder, faster, shocked when she met his frantic thrusts with a hidden strength. She dug her heels in to lift her hips, seating him even deeper inside her.

She told him she was about to come, and he was desperate to feel it.

Her sheath began squeezing his throbbing cock, and the power of her orgasm sent his seed climbing. The pressure would soon make him mindless. His cock ached; his fangs ached. No amount of will could prevent him from bucking his hips
to lose his semen . . . or from piercing her neck.

With a yell, he sank his fangs into her tender flesh. And it was like coming home.

“Murdoch!”

He
felt
her crying out as her blood filled his mouth, coursing through every cell in his body.

Connection.

As the overwhelming urge to come inside her grew, he slammed his body between her legs. Growling against her neck, he began to ejaculate, spending so hard he knew she felt it inside her. Still sucking her blood, he flooded her womb.

Once he was spent at last, he collapsed atop her, releasing his bite. Afterward, as their hearts pounded, he couldn't seem to stop kissing her neck and murmuring praise in her ear. This new bond between them was like nothing he'd ever known.

Yet she began fading, disappearing from him.

“Murdoch, what's happening?” The fear in her eyes was like the night before—stark, filling him with dread.

“No! Daniela, don't go. . . .”

A strange voice in his mind whispered,
“How badly do you want her? What would you sacrifice?”

He woke to his own yelling, tracing to his feet. With her number still in his hand, he snatched up the phone, staring at one, then the other as he caught his breath.

He shook his head hard. What the hell was this? Like a spell on him, making him behave in ways he normally wouldn't.

Calm yourself. Think this through. You have bloodlust for her.

He couldn't control it. He acknowledged that. Yet he kept remembering his brother's contentment. Murdoch's mind seized on the rightness of being with Daniela in his dream.

Think, just think . . . .
As he debated, he stalled, tracing to the kitchen to drink blood, though he had no appetite, then showering. He took time selecting which clothes he'd wear for the night—in case he decided to meet her again.

In the end, Murdoch found it impossible not to call her.
To hell with it.

He was strangely nervous as he picked up the phone. After all, he'd never contacted a woman for an assignation. They'd always come to him.

He'd have to smooth-talk Daniela, since he'd left it so badly today. That wouldn't be a problem. He'd been called silver-tongued by more than one lover in the past.

Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nine—

“Kristoff wishes to see you,” a male said from behind him.

He hastily disconnected the call, then cast a scowl over his shoulder. Lukyan, a Russian Forbearer, leaned negligently against the doorframe.

Murdoch didn't trust the former Cossack. Not bothering to hide his irritation, he said, “Can't it wait?”

“It's about your brother. You're to go to Blachmount.”

“
What
about him?”

Lukyan's expression was studiously blank. “He's probably about to be executed.”

Danii had gotten into Val Hall undetected.
Now I just have to get my things and get out.

Although a couple dozen Valkyrie lived here at any time, the manor was quiet this morning. Most were nocturnal, as was Danii usually—it was cooler that way.

Nïx, the one half sister she wanted to see, was nowhere to be found.

Upstairs, Danii passed the most shaded chamber in Val Hall, belonging to Emmaline, her beloved niece. But she knew Emma would be asleep as well. It was day, and Emma was vampire. Or half one. No one knew who her vampire father was, and that information wasn't likely forthcoming, since her Valkyrie mother had died of sorrow decades ago.

Gentle Emma was the single vampire the Valkyrie accepted. Though a blood drinker, she was so timid that she made it easy to overlook the vampirism.

Emma was the exception; Murdoch was the rule.
Just accept it. He almost bit you . . . .

Danii reached her room, which was basically a
giant freezer, and pushed open the heavy insulated door. A blast of arctic air and the comforting drone of refrigeration met her.

She lived at Val Hall year-round. But in the summer, even the meat locker—as her sisters called her room—was barely adequate for her needs.

There simply was no call for hundred-degree days.

Closing the door behind her, she gazed around the spacious area. She'd decorated it with frost, glazing the walls with it. Icicles dripped from the blades of the ceiling fan. Valances of ice capped her windows.

She couldn't say she loved it here, but she'd adapted to life with her coven. Others could tolerate hours in the snow, but would seek a hearth at the end of the day. Danii was the same way with heat, except she sought the comfort of her meat locker.

Her slushy waterbed was filled with saltwater, which lowered the freezing point to below thirty-two degrees. Above her bathtub was an ice maker, and beside it hung an Epsom salt dispenser. On occasion, she had to add salt to the water so that
she
didn't freeze it.

Her ice-proofed computer was a military-spec laptop with a magnesium chassis and a sealed keyboard.

Yes, she'd adapted. And she'd felt some security living in such a warm climate.
I thought I was safe from Sigmund here.
It should've been the last place the Icere would look.

The attack was another reason Danii was avoiding her sisters. If she told them about last night, they would insist on her staying—and them fighting. But the Icere were an enemy the Valkyrie didn't need.

And one they could never find to defeat.

When Danii had been a girl of seven, her mother Svana had journeyed to Icergard, the Icere castle, to reclaim her crown from the vicious Sigmund. Danii's memories of this time were indistinct after the passage of so many years, but she remembered her mother saying, “If I don't return to you here, you must promise me, love, never to follow me. Never, never go to Icergard.” She'd made Danii vow it.

Svana had never returned. Before she'd even made it to the castle, Sigmund had assassinated her—the mother who'd refused to linger endlessly in peace with her young daughter in the godplane of Valhalla.

Once Danii had grown old enough to leave Valhalla herself, he'd dispatched killers after her to prevent her from ever challenging his reign. As if she ever would.

Over the centuries, she'd considered breaking her vow to her mother, but only to gather her sisters and strike back at Sigmund, freeing herself from his threat. Yet even if the Valkyrie could find Icergard—rumored to be hidden within the Arctic Circle beneath a dome of ice—they could never attack the castle without getting slaughtered.

Sigmund was perfectly protected from the Valkyrie, inadvertently utilizing their greatest weakness as his defense.

Diamonds
. Svana had told her they dotted the walls and perimeter fences. Though Danii was immune, most Valkyrie could be mesmerized by them.

With a sigh, she rose. She needed to pack, and then she needed to find Nïx to ask the half mad soothsayer about three things:

Myst.

Exactly
what
was supposed to have been fixed the night before.

And where Danii should flee before the next wave of Icere arrived.

There were eleven other Valkyrie covens around the world that Danii could choose from.

The latitude of the Seattle coven had always intrigued her. And then there was the one in New Zealand. Fall approached down there.

Yet as ever, Danii hated to leave her own coven. Valkyrie visited others, but they always returned to their primary coven, like preferring an immediate family over an extended one.

Plus, the New Orleans Valkyrie had plagued the others with practical jokes, which might make it awkward for Danii to pop in.

She could just see herself telling the Seattle Valkyrie, “I had nothing to do with signing you up for the emu farming franchise. And I am sorry twenty of them were released in your pool house, startling your harem of cabana demons. See Nïx.”

Tonight, the wily soothsayer would likely be downtown in the Vieux Carré. So Danii would be
trolling Bourbon Street yet again. Her only consolation was that she wouldn't run into Murdoch.

He and his brother had only been in New Orleans to find Myst. Good riddance.

Damn it, why did never seeing him again matter to her?

Because he saved your life and surprised you repeatedly.
And she'd
enjoyed
him, had liked what they'd done together. It was the first time she'd had an orgasm with someone else in the room. She grew aroused just recalling how he'd worked the seed free from his shaft. He'd been naked in bed with her, his mighty chest heaving, yelling out as he came.

And now he was free to use those sensual lips to kiss another woman, could use that magnificent body to pleasure others. She glanced at her claws. They'd straightened with aggression.

Stop thinking about him,
she told herself firmly as she crossed to one of the windows, brushing away a layer of frost. As her gaze flickered over the lightning-scorched trees in the yard, a sense of melancholy fell over her.
I don't want to leave.

In the window glass, Danii spied her reflection. She was exhausted, which meant there was a reddish tinge to her lips and under her eyes, instead of the blue that should be there. Her face was pinched.