Blood Destiny (26 page)

Joelle shivered as she complied, slowly taking down the straps of her nightgown to reveal soft, trembling shoulders.

She continued to lower the lacy material until her breasts were completely bared and exposed to his hungry gaze.

The growl that escaped his throat was guttural and harsh.

He licked his bottom lip. "More."

His eyes moved lower, focused like a laser over the juncture between her legs. When he finally looked back up, his smile was positively sinful.

Joelle shivered, becoming increasingly unsure of herself.

Did Marquis expect her to kneel before him fully naked while he just stood there...watching...like a hungry wolf ready to devour his prey?

"I don't expect you to kneel before me naked, Joelle," he said, easily reading her thoughts. "I expect you to lie before me naked."

Joelle swallowed her fear and cautiously complied, her eyes never leaving his starving gaze. By the time her thin panties fell to the side, her sense of vulnerability had reached an all-time high. Uneasiness began to overwhelm her, and she reached for the comforter in an effort to cover her exposed body.

Marquis moved like a silent predatory animal then, gliding to the side of the bed. He swiftly caught at her wrist before she could cover herself. "Lie back."

It was a stern command.

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Joelle averted her eyes, betraying her nervousness. She knew she had tried to seduce him on his front porch: she had portrayed herself as far more experienced than she really was, but the truth remained...she was still a virgin...all this time saving herself for him.

Joelle was inexperienced.

And completely unprepared for the demands Marquis was making of her.

She couldn't hope to comply with such erotic requests—not without the patient tutelage she had expected him to provide.

"Marquis," she whispered. Her voice sounded tentative.

"I said lie back." He pushed her down against the bed.

Joelle lay there, uncertain, staring up at the male she had worshipped and loved for as long as she could remember.

Despite the undeniable feeling of satisfaction—Marquis Silivasi was standing over her bed, and he wanted to make love to her—she was afraid.

She wanted to submit.

She wanted so much to please him...to be all she had pretended to be...to be everything he could ever want or need. But the sight of his thick arousal straining at the front of his pants gave her pause.

He was enormous.

And she was...inexperienced.

Her eyes narrowed, drawn to his groin like a moth to a flame, as he slowly unzipped his jeans and pushed them down over his hips...as he carelessly allowed the thick, heavy erection to come free from his pants.

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Joelle tried to hide her shock—and her rising fear—but she knew that she had failed. Marquis leaned over her delicate body, his broad, well-defined shoulders and flat, muscular stomach creating a wall of power that boxed her in. He pinned her against the mattress, helpless, as his enormous body descended to blanket hers.

"Are you afraid of me, Joelle?" he asked, his deep, melodic voice harsh with a raspy growl. He reached down to flick at a nipple. Groaning, he lowered his head and took her into the hot cavern of his mouth, where he tasted, suckled...and nipped...until she felt like she might die from the sensuous torture.

"I'm...I'm—" She tried to tell him, but the words were reduced to a whimper as his hand found its way between her thighs.

His touch was strong and aggressive, his fingers sinking deep with one probing thrust.

Reflexively, she clamped her legs shut and clutched at his wrist. "Marquis...wait."

She didn't know exactly what she wanted—she knew that she wanted him, desperately—it was just that...it was all moving way too fast.

Marquis freed his wrist from her grasp in an easy twist, catching a cluster of her thick blond hair in his fist. He planted his free hand on the inside of her thigh, and thrust her legs back open with a hard tug. "Relax, baby," he purred.

"Marquis," she cried, sounding increasingly desperate, "can we...slow down?"

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Marquis frowned and pulled away. His dark eyes met hers in a scrutinizing gaze. "Do you or do you not want me, Joelle?"

Instantly, the rising passion and heady warmth she had been feeling left her, and her heart became heavy. Tears stung her soft brown eyes as she registered the unmistakable tone of disapproval in his voice. She was failing him.

Disappointing the man of her dreams. She was blowing the only chance she might ever have to be with him...to make him love her. Marquis had always made her feel so safe and protected in his presence, but now, she simply felt...inadequate.

"Yes," she whispered in a barely audible voice, "I want you, Marquis."

He claimed her mouth with an unforgiving kiss, his perfect lips coaxing hers to open for his possession. His tongue swept roughly as he traced the contours of her mouth, nipped at her bottom lip, and moaned when their tongues tangled together.

And then he knelt in front of her, staring down with insatiable, hungry eyes...clearly more animal than man. He leaned over, clutched her by her thin waist, and lifted her from the mattress as if she weighed nothing, placing her further back on the bed. He caught her legs by the ankles as he did so, pulling them effortlessly apart...opening her to his view...restraining her for his invasion.

Joelle gasped at the vulnerability of the position. She looked up at the powerful man looming over her as he held her open and knelt between her legs. She watched—holding her breath—as he reached down to adjust the enormous staff 247

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of masculine flesh in his hand. His gaze held something far beyond passion in it. Possession perhaps? Conquest?

Extreme satisfaction.

He lined up the thick, rounded head at her entrance, and pushed it firmly against her, a groan of pleasure escaping his throat as their bodies met.

Much to her distress, Joelle felt her body clench and tighten, becoming rigid instead of wet, in anticipation of his invasion. Her hands seized the comforter, balling it up into two tight fists as she braced herself...knowing she wasn't ready.

And worse, she was afraid.

Her body was doing the exact opposite of what she needed it to do: There was no way she could accommodate such a massive arousal in such a frigid state. Her anxiety rose to alarm; her alarm escalated to panic. Instinctively, she reached out, placed both palms against his powerful chest, and shoved at him hard...in an age-old gesture of stop.

"Marquis, I'm sorry..." Her voice weakened with sobs as she twisted, trying to crawl out from underneath him.

But Marquis only tightened his hold.

He firmly caught at her knees and held them back apart.

"Marquis!" she shrieked, her voice now a shrill cry of fear, her heart caught in her throat.

When his eyes finally locked with hers, she knew...when he'd said he wouldn't be able to stop...that was precisely what he meant.

The man above her—the vampire—was utterly carnal, his once blue-black eyes turning deep amber. The tips of his 248

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fangs were extended and his breath came in heavy gasps.

Joelle saw the determined set of his jaw, felt his heavy breathing as it racked his chest, and observed the heavy-lidded lust that framed his eyes. And she knew....

"What baby?" he asked, his voice sounding foreign.

"I'm a virgin," she whimpered. It was a mere squeak of a sound, a timid confession: a plea for understanding.

Marquis groaned...low...feral...even more aroused. It was almost as if her heartfelt admission had thrown him over the edge of control, taken his excitement to a whole new level. All at once, he thrust his hips forward, his enormous shaft driving into her like a heavy steel blade.

Joelle cried out—it felt like he was slicing her right down the middle.

The searing pain shot through her core catching her completely off-guard, and she struggled to catch her breath as the sensation radiated throughout her body. She twisted.

She turned. She kicked. She tried desperately to get him out.

Now.

But it was like being held in a vise: the power of his muscular thighs keeping hers apart, the weight of his heavy frame pinning her to the bed, the rhythm of his violent possession...thrusting over and over...piercing deep into her core.

Beneath the wild vampire, Joelle struggled to remain calm—to withstand the horrible tearing sensations. She couldn't cry out or ask him to stop. It was all she could do to maintain awareness as he stretched her impossibly, plunging deeper and deeper until she thought her body might literally 249

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come apart...until she was certain she had been nearly torn in half.

Joelle held her breath. She grimaced. She bit her lower lip and whimpered. She clutched at the covers with her fists and choked back her tears. She tried so hard...for him. Her beloved Marquis. While he gave himself up to the sheer gratification of her body, taking his own pleasure with wild abandon...and brute force. Seemingly unconcerned—if not completely unaware—of her pain and her struggles.

And just when she thought it might never end...that she might actually pass out from the brutal possession...she felt an even greater agony: the piercing bite of his fangs.

Like two steel daggers, they sliced into her artery, sinking deep, as he pulled...and drank...like a starving beast. And then she heard a primal shout of release as he exploded deep inside of her, still taking from her vein as wave after wave of his seed poured into her...and he finally collapsed in exhaustion.

At last.

Blessedly.

It was over.

Joelle lay perfectly still beneath her beloved—torn, bleeding, and full with his seed. She was frightened and confused as she struggled to catch her breath...pushing at his heavy weight.

He slowly removed his fangs from her throat, released two small drops of venom to seal the wounds, and exhaled deeply. Then, he lay his head against her chest for an extended moment before leisurely rolling onto his back.

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Joelle fought to hold back her tears. She was relieved that it was finally over...yet deeply confused by the reality of the act as opposed to the fantasy she had always imagined. And God help her—she still didn't want to lose him.

Lying there so quietly beside him, she listened to the steady beat of his heart and tried desperately to remember all of the things she had loved about him. She tried to take solace in the fact that he was her lover now...that he had taken her blood for sustenance.

Joelle desperately wanted Marquis to wrap his strong arms around her and comfort her. To give her some excuse—any excuse—as to why he had lost control. She wanted him to tell her he was sorry, and he would never hurt her again.

She wanted Marquis to make everything right.

And she craved the simplicity of his friendship—a reminder of his tenderness—more than she had ever craved anything in her life.

She knew she should never have presented herself as someone experienced: not to a male such as Marquis. Not to a vampire...a wild being. But it was far too late to change that now. Joelle knew her body would heal; it was her heart that needed reassurance.

When Marquis sat up and began to search the floor for his clothing, she almost cried out with despair. "Where are you going?"

She could hardly hold back her tears when he rose languidly from the bed and began to dress. "I have to get back to my brothers, my love." His tone left no room for argument.

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Like a sailor tossed from a ship into a turbulent sea, Joelle clutched at the only life jacket she had. She seized those two little words and held on for dear life: my love. Marquis had called her my love. And she would hold onto that knowledge...because she had to hold onto it.

For if ever someone was drowning, it was Joelle Parker in that barren, heartbroken moment.

* * * *

Valentine Nistor flew across the sky like an ancient bird of prey, gloating in the power of his black magic, reveling in the invigorating feeling of conquest. Very few vampires had the knowledge or the skill to cloak their own presence for an extended period of time—let alone to take on the voice, mannerisms, and physical appearance of another.

But he had done just that.

And he had brutally taken Joelle Parker's innocence while pretending to be Marquis Silivasi. Not only did he best the cocky Ancient Warrior, but he insured himself two more offspring in the process: sons who would never have to be sacrificed. That debt had already been paid...by Dalia.

Valentine could hardly believe his good fortune: his decision to follow Marquis home the night they had sparred in the sacrificial chamber. He had hoped to catch the ancient one off-guard, but what he'd stumbled upon was so much more valuable. Marquis had sensed his presence then, but the young, love-sick female had distracted him.

The pathetic female had been such easy prey...so willing...so gullible. So enjoyable.

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He dipped low and sailed through a cloud, invigorated by the fresh human blood flowing through his veins. It had been so hard to stop. To keep from draining the last ounce of life out of the human. To keep from watching as her hot, supple body went limp beneath his...lifeless at his hands.

Such awesome power over another being. Such decadent pleasure.

Valentine thought about the fate of their species—the house of Jadon and the house of Jaegar—how such a simple, but profound, circumstance as birth could so dramatically alter one's fate. The light vampires were so arrogant and proud: walking in the sun, keeping their souls, being loved and cherished by women like Joelle. It was disgusting.