Bonds of Fire: The Bellum Sisters 2 (paranormal erotic romance) (4 page)

He’d stopped in the city before coming here. The bars were always filled with beautiful women desperately searching for their true loves. It was easy to woo one of them quickly enough to get what he needed. Then with a little “charm” thanks to his demonic side, they would never remember more than the wooing, a kiss, and a goodbye. His stomach rolled. He hated it, but not as much as he hated the thought of taking from her.

He took a step back, shaking his head. Shit, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He turned to walk away when the door quietly opened behind him.

“Draven?” Her voice was as soft as she was. From temperament to dress, Lucinda was lovely and beautiful. Now she was his
frimar
.

He turned to her and tried to smile. It came out more as a grimace. “Hello, Lucinda. How are you this eve?” God, her presence even made him talk differently.

She smiled at him and dipped into a curtsy. It was as if she’d been living her whole sheltered at this castle. Didn’t she have any idea that women no longer had to dress that way? Her dress was elegant but old-fashioned. A dark royal purple fell to her feet, cinched at her waist, and cupped her breasts lovingly. Draven tore his gaze away. The woman had entirely too much in that area.

“It seems the night is improving now. Please, come in,” she said, holding the door open. Unease filled Draven. He knew that if he crossed into that territory, he’d be going into the lion’s den, and he might not leave whole.

Yet he entered anyways. His chest felt tight as he looked around. Her room was lavish. The walls were adorned with old paintings of her, her family, and some of landscapes with great green fields and valleys. His eyes fell to her bed, and something else tightened inside him. The bed too was richly adorned. A four-post canopy bed with white sheer sheets draped the corners and sides. The sheets looked like satin or silk, the comforter thick and luxurious.

How easily he could picture her there sleeping. Even more easily he could see himself thrusting between her thighs there, her soft hands curling into his back as she panted.

“Warrior?”

Draven’s eyes snapped to hers. He barely controlled his face from blushing. “Pardon, what did you say?”

“I asked if something was amiss.” The concern in her eyes was so sincere he had to look away.

“Everything’s fine.” He started to say why he came, but she smiled gently at him. When she took his hand, he let her lead him to a chair by the roaring fireplace. He sat in it, feeling like a fool.

He’d taken from thousands of women. It meant nothing to him. God, why did it have to be her? She looked happy with this arrangement while he couldn’t get his stomach to go along with the idea.

She sat in the seat across from him, perched at the tip of it with her back straight, hands plaited neatly in her lap. Her long dark hair shined in the firelight. Perfect elegance. His hands curled tightly.

“I wish to thank you again for your generous offer, warrior Draven. I am honored to act as your
frimar
for your needs.” Her voice wasn’t quite as soft as the rest of her but rich, almost sultry. And when she said that word need, his body actually tingled.

Somehow he spoke. “Yes, of course. It is I who am honored, Lucinda.” He started to say more but clamped his teeth together. What the fuck was he supposed to say to her? How the hell did one go about this? He was beginning to talk like a dandy.

She smiled that gentle, understanding smile then rose and came to him. She was like a dream when she moved. Soft and graceful like a dancer. Draven tensed in his seat, both hands coiling as she came to her knees beside him.

“I understand this must be difficult, warrior. Please let me make this simpler for you. I know you are an honorable man.” Draven almost laughed, would have if this were any other woman. Hell, if this were any other woman, he’d be at her neck and pumping inside her already. Not Lucinda. She was different. She was a memory of the past he’d long thought he’d forgotten.

Draven nodded at her to continue because he couldn’t form words past the tightness in his throat. God, he wished she hadn’t sat down like that. Now he had a full view of her pale, slender neck. The curve of her shoulders showcasing her soft skin, and the fullness of her breasts pressed together in a way that nearly had him salivating. Fuck, was she trying to make him hard? Because it was working.

“Please, take my wrist,” she said softly. “Or my neck, if you prefer.” Her cheeks bloomed red, and it took everything in him not to pull her into his lap and kiss her. Yeah right, as if he could be satisfied with only a kiss.

He’d barely managed to avoid her before this situation. She always found him in the hallways and would talk with him. Fuck, she almost seemed to enjoy his company. He had no idea why. He couldn’t get comfortable around her no matter what he tried. She would leave him alone with a soft goodbye, and he’d be left thinking about her for hours...days.

He couldn’t avoid her now. He’d set their fate in motion when he asked her to accept him as her
host
. What a damned idiot he was. He eyed the soft skin at her neck, and his fangs throbbed. Yes, he wanted that, wanted to lick the skin of her there and learn what she tasted like. He blinked and shook his head. Fuck no. He couldn’t think thoughts like that.

“Wrist is fine,” he said hoarsely. There was no judgment, no questions in her eyes as she gently lifted her wrist and rested it upon his knee. That simple touch made his breath catch. She extended her palm up, fingers open to him.

He watched the line of her blue vein at her wrist. Even her wrist was small and slender, delicately bony. Her hands were soft, not like his which regularly wielded weapons, killed.

His fingertips tingled with the need to touch her. He didn’t know how long they stayed that way but it seemed like forever before he finally reached for her. Her wrist was light in his hand, the skin soft as satin. He didn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t, as he lifted her to his lips.

Heart thudding with a heavy rhythm, Draven lingered for a moment over the warmth of her skin. She warmed his cold lips. Anticipation had butterflies dancing in his stomach, his tongue thick in his mouth.

And then he could wait no more.

Lips parted, fangs bared, and then he sunk into her soft flesh. The first taste had his eyes closing in ecstasy. He heard her soft gasp but couldn’t bear to open his eyes and look at her. He might do something dangerous if he saw even a hint of pleasure there.

Her taste flooded his tongue. Spicy, rich, and sultry just like her voice. It wasn’t enough. Nostrils flaring, Draven took from her in hard pulls. He needed more of her, had never tasted anything like it. She was quickly filling him, powering his body.

His heart, no longer a slow, heavy drumbeat, pounded in his chest like a thousand racing horses. His cock hardened in an instant, filling his pants, trying to burst free. Visions flared in his mind. He saw himself coming down over her on the floor, pushing her into the rug. He would take her neck as he worked her dress up to her waist, released his cock from its strict confines, and then filled her up.

A soft moan caressed his ears. Draven tore himself away from her. Breathing harshly, Draven’s gaze rushed over her taking in everything. It was a mistake. A flush crept from her neck to her cheeks; her red lips were wet and shiny, chest heaving hard against that damn dress. She was stunning, desire glittering in her wide eyes.

Draven reeled back from her before he did something stupid. He bumped into a table; a vase filled with flowers teetered, and he steadied it with fumbling fingers. He was at the door in the next second.

“Warrior, wait,” he heard her plead.

Draven muttered a hoarse goodbye and shut the door behind him. He didn’t stop walking until he was safe in his own quarters. Even then, he paced with agitated steps.

Being away from her didn’t help him to calm his raging heart or soften the thick mass in his pants. He could still taste her, could still hear that soft, delicate moan she made. The sound was needy and made him wonder if he touched her between her legs would he find her wet and wanting.

“Dammit!” He slammed his fist into the wall. There was no pain, only a small alleviation of the pounding in his skull.

What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter 6

“As if this is any way to woo a lady,” Willow muttered, tugging on the chains around her wrists.

“Well, I’ve tried more traditional means, but they seem to mean nothing to you.” Willow’s eyes frantically searched the room, found the source of the voice, and cursed.

“What do you want now?”

Lyonis Keelan stalked to the bed where he’d conveniently chained her. Sexist pig. He wore something similar to what he always wore. A baggy pair of khaki’s and a loose, button-down plaid shirt. Simple clothes but on him they looked good enough for a model. God, she hated him.

“Don’t you remember? I saved your life.”

“Well you don’t have to sound so cocky about it.” Suddenly he was in her face, his eyes hard with anger, lips firm.

“I am not happy that I had to rescue you from nearly drowning. The water was pitch black. It took longer than it should have to find you. I was terrified you’d die down there.” The way his eyes traced over her face almost made it seem like he cared.

“You don’t care about me so stop acting like it.”

“Oh, but I care very much.” His fingers traced over her cheek. His touch burned.

“You don’t know anything about me, Alpha. So why don’t you back the fuck up.” She used her bitchiest of tones. The kind that made men throw up their hands and back away from her like she had lit dynamite strapped to her chest.

But the Alpha only grinned. “I know everything I need to know.”

She tried not to ask, but it came out anyways. “Like what?” He smiled bigger. It was a happy smile and had probably charmed many women into his bed. Hundreds of them, thousands...sluts.

“That you are mine.” Willow snapped her teeth at him. He tossed back his head and laughed. “If you want to bite then go ahead, sweetheart. But be warned that my teeth are bigger, sharper, and longer.”

Willow snorted. Men. Always bragging. She looked pointedly at her chains, and the room spun around her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she said, “Mind telling me why I’m chained to a bed. And know that before you answer, if you say I’m in your bedroom, I will kill you.”

Lyonis’ smile died as he cupped her forehead. “You’re not well. You need to feed, Willow.” Now it was Willow’s turn to laugh, except it wasn’t such a good idea because it sent the ceiling spiraling round and round.

“You wish.”

“Listen to me, I’m serious. When’s the last time you fed? You’ve been here for nearly a day and I didn’t see you the day before when you were on your little excursion to Russia. How often do you need to feed?”

Willow closed her eyes since the room wouldn’t stop moving. The word feed triggered something inside her, dampened her sex, hardened her nipples.

He was right. She felt weak as a baby kitten. Her eyes fluttered open, to watch his handsome face framed in the dim light of a cheap lamp.

“Where are we?” It came out as a croak.

“Still in Moscow. I couldn’t risk moving you after your accident. God you scared me.” The harsh way he said it almost convinced Willow he meant it. Couldn’t possibly. He didn’t know her. Besides, it’s not like she meant to slip on ice and tumble over the bridge into the icy water below.

“Dammit you need to feed, don’t you? Willow we were together days ago. What do you need? Your skin is cold, but I have you under a heap of covers with the damn heat turned up. I won’t let you die because you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Willow whispered. She blinked at him, focused on him since he was the only thing that didn’t spin around her. Her head felt discombobulated, separated from her actual body like she was on some kind of drug after a bend in the hospital.

The heat of his hands made her wince as he cupped her icy cheeks. Her face burned as he pressed his scalding cheek against hers. She hissed at the tingling sensations of his touch. It felt like her skin had been asleep until he touched her, and now little pinpricks poked her from the inside.

Her body snapped—acting on pure instinct. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. She ate at his lips, pressing hard, thrusting inside to taste and feel. She moaned, already the hazy feeling in her mind retreating like fog lifting.

She felt his hesitance, and then when he finally caved. It spiked her blood better than alcohol ever could. Groaning, his mouth ate at hers, tongue dueling. His tongue was thick and wide, made for sucking and pleasuring. She was mindless, desperate. The need to survive, the need to live driving her as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

Her core landed against the hard length of his shaft, and she rubbed herself against it. With a groan, he pulled his mouth away from hers. His eyes shone with molten desire as his hips pressed in a seeking rhythm against hers.

Thoughts of why she hated this man didn’t matter, never even popped into her mind. She was starved, and he could give her what she needed. She threaded her fingers into his hair and brought his lips to her neck.