Prince of Power (10 page)

Strawberries.

It was a sad and crazy fact that Anton hadn't tasted a fresh strawberry until the day before being released from the hospital. He'd stayed there after being left for dead by his own supposed family. By God, he had delighted in every sweet, tangy bite.

Dreaming of them now was so vibrant that the flavor filled his mouth, accompanied by something richer. Something delightfully bitter, like a dark chocolate. He'd had some of those in the hospital too, both thanks to a patient in the next bed sharing a gift basket with him. He moaned at the delicious combination of flavors.

There had been nightmares, too. Vivid images of his father and the torture he'd received at the man's hands, and of Tyra being held captive. Tied down like all the other vampires had been, while his father approached with a sternal saw in hand and something unseen held Anton fast. Helpless.

No amount of fighting had been enough to get him to her in time. He could still hear her screams and smell her blood. The scent was still fresh in his nose…

Something clogged his throat. Anton sputtered and was forced to swallow. It had smelled remarkably like… like…

Anton forced his eyes open. Tyra's gaze made contact with his for just a second before she brought her wrist up to her mouth. Then the warm, comforting weight of her other hand landed on his chest and the cock in his pants throbbed harder.

Good grief, he'd woken from sleep aroused plenty of times, but usually not from a nightmare. How odd. And that succulent flavor lingered in his mouth, even as he shook off sleep. A lick of his parched lips, and the flavor burst on his tongue all over again.

Suspicion dawned when Tyra ran her tongue across her wrist. A drop of blood lingered at the corner of her mouth, and he gave no thought to reaching up and sweeping it away with his thumb. Or to licking the residue. He just did it. For a few beats his eyes closed again. It was the same flavor.

He didn't have words to thank her for the gift she had just given him. “You gave me your blood.”

Her head tipped to one side. “You did the same thing for me.”

Anton inhaled deeply. Suddenly, he was so warm. His veins sang with energy. Power. He had felt this before. Twice. Two terrible, awful, hideously sickening times when he had participated in the ritual of cutting open a vampire and eating the heart to claim its power. Despite the increase in his body temperature, the memory made his stomach lurch and his body shiver.

“Do you need a blanket?”

He shook his head. It made his brain slosh a little, but he would not show Tyra. He wanted nothing more than to be worthy of her. “I'm fine.” He blinked and met her gaze. Those eyes were just beautiful. So dark and vast. “You shouldn't have wasted your blood on me.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't answer. Instead the firm weight of her hand slid across his chest. The touch burned his skin, moving over one painfully tight nipple and down his side. The heat turned to shivers again and Anton pressed his lips together hard, determined not to release the undignified whimper trying to claw its way out of his throat.

One jagged fingernail scraped near the wound on Anton's side. The bandages plucked a few hairs when they were lifted, but Tyra's palm was there immediately to soothe the pinch away.

Anton realized he was holding his breath. For what, he wasn't quite sure.

“You were hurt so badly. The doctor said he wasn't sure what to do for you, since you're not a vampire. I wasn't completely certain it would work, but I figured it had to, right? See, now it's already healing,” she said.

Her hand dipped lower, conspicuously close to the waist of Anton's pants, and the rest of his blood went south with dizzying speed. Shit. He could barely control himself in her presence, let alone when she touched him like that. For the love of mercy, what would he do if she actually touched him further down?

Anton's cock was hopeful that they might have their answer when her hand stilled. “Anton?”

He almost didn't hear her over the sound of his own thoughts. A rush of breath left his lungs and didn't return. He placed a hand over hers. “Tyra?”

“Why did you help me?” Her voice was unusually soft. Breathy.

His fingers dared to close around hers. “I told you why.”

“But you…” Her head shook, a slow back-and-forth, like she was suddenly very tired. “You just don't do that sort of thing. You don't fall in love with someone you've never met. You don't sacrifice yourself for them the way you did.”

Anton squeezed his eyes shut. The late-afternoon sun was coming through the blinds and hitting him right in his face. His head throbbed like crazy. So crazy that he almost forgot how hard he was. Almost. Damn, what he wouldn't give to sink into the bed right now.

“Tyra, can you close the blinds? I get these migraines, ever since my head injury.” Thanks to his father.

“Sorry.” She stood to pull the heavy drapes over the window, and almost immediately the room was blanketed in darkness.

Anton expected to need time for his eyes to adjust, but his vision was startlingly acute. Sharp enough that when she eased next to him on the mattress, the widening of her eyes and the frantic tick of the pulse at the base of her throat were immediately apparent. His mouth was as dry as the desert. More of her blood would surely quench the thirst. And what did thinking that say about him? Maybe he was no better than any other wizard, if he was thinking things like that.

For
fuck's sake, I can't be like my father. I can't be
.

“Tyra, I don't think you should be so close to me.” Her chest rose and fell under the fitted V-neck of her T-shirt. If he had fangs, no doubt they would have gotten longer. That neck of hers was gorgeous. Long, smooth, and golden. A single, wispy curl clung to it near her pulse point.

She bit her lower lip. “Anton, how can you say you fell in love with me? You didn't know me.”

He
had
known her, though. He'd hidden near the shelter and watched the way she'd interacted with humans for weeks on end. Day after day he'd witnessed who she was through barred windows and when she ventured outside. The way she carried herself. With confidence, but always with care and compassion. The way she melted when someone—a child especially—smiled at her. Probably because as much as she cared for people, she never stopped to let anybody care for
her
.

He gave in to his longing to brush that stray curl from her neck with his thumb. He let his palm linger against the softness of her skin. When she allowed his hand to stay without complaint and silently held his stare with hers, his breath rushed out with dizzying speed. He shook his head.

“I know it sounds psycho. Considering how I was raised, maybe I don't really know what love means.” His breath came deeper and faster as she allowed that same hand to trail down her neck and over her shoulder. Her arm. Such an amazing rush, that simple touch.

“Look, I just know that when I was assigned to watch you, I saw someone who was far beyond good and giving. I remember a little girl that you pushed on the playground swings at the shelter and stuff. I hated who I was, and you were… I couldn't sacrifice you to my father's disgusting cause. I just couldn't.”

He sighed deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. Warm, soft lips brushed over his.
Oh
God.
Kissing back was the most natural thing in the world. He licked gently against the seam of her mouth. Hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her tan body on top of his. Her groan mirrored his own when her pelvis ground against his hard length—it was
so
good. He was gonna come in his pants if he wasn't careful.

“Tyra,” he mumbled against her lips. God, they were so soft. And sweet. She must have been chewing gum again.

“Hmm?”

“What changed your mind?”

“All those things you were saying…” She shook her head. “I'm not sure myself at the moment.”

Right. Who was he to question her abrupt one-eighty when he was about to get
laid, for heaven's sake?
But she deserved to know first. “Tyra. I really have to say something.” She dipped her head to trace one fang around his nipple before sucking it into her mouth. “Oh God, that feels good. But… listen, I'm… you should really know that…”

She sat up. “What is it? Are you in too much pain?”

He shook his head. “No. Like you said, it's already healing.” It was amazing how fast. And he would ignore a little pain for this.

Oh boy. He was really about to screw the pooch here.
You
have
no
fangs. No fighting powers. Your kind has been killing hers for centuries. You have absolutely no clue how to please her physically. What do you have to offer her, Anton? Not a damned thing
.

“I haven't done this before, Tyra.”

***

Tyra blinked at Anton, who seemed both hopeful and afraid at the same time. “You haven't done what before?” Not that she was clueless, but they couldn't afford any miscommunication here.

He coughed and cleared his throat. “I haven't… been with a woman. A female.”

How was that possible? “Have you been with males?”

Anton coughed again. More of a choke this time. “Of course not.”

“There's nothing wrong with—”

“God.” More coughing “I like females. I like
you
.” As if to illustrate, large hands grasped her hips. He was still hard, and he pressed himself against her between her legs, just enough to drive his point home.

Oh mercy. His admission had sobered her up from the buzz of exchanging blood and reminded her that it could be nearly suicidal to sleep with him. But the way he was touching her? Turned out she wasn't quite as sober as she'd thought. She met his smoky gaze. “You're serious. You're a virgin? Aren't you in your thirties?”

Anton held up a hand. “Twenty-seven, roughly. At the risk of sharing more than I should, I did once allow a prostitute to, you know, service me orally. But I haven't had… sex, no.”

She shivered. The room was cold and this conversation was strange. Come to think of it, no lover had discussed his sexual history with her. “Why?”

Almost with resignation, he pushed her to the side until she sat next to him in the bed, rather than on him. It was probably better that way. “All roads lead back to my father, I'm afraid. Sex was only to procreate, and only with the lowest of the low. To ensure not just the genetic anomaly that allowed us to absorb powers but also the… more psychopathic tendencies, I guess. Whores and addicts mostly, because they're easy to find. Since I wouldn't go looking for them, I had two brought to me. The first was too young. I paid her to pretend. I did let the second… service me, but never… never…

“I didn't want to bring more of me into the world,” he said finally.

Tyra's chest ached. What a thing to say.

She didn't realize that Anton's hands were still on her until one of them moved. Callused fingers caressed her cheek with startling gentleness. “Then I saw you.” His thumb brushed over her lips. “And I couldn't fathom wanting any other female.”

Well, good grief, if that didn't just make her heart melt.

Hardly a thought passed through her head before she turned toward his palm and planted a kiss in the center. She leaned back and studied him. His square jaw and full lips, his scarred collarbone… His demeanor seemed mild at times, but the whole look screamed sexy bad boy, and she couldn't deny a dangerous attraction to that. Very dangerous, if it turned out that she had read this whole situation wrong.

No. No, she wasn't wrong. Just wasn't. There was no evil aura. No malevolence that she could detect in his emotions. And he had saved her. Saved her, when he could have just as easily have taken her home to reap whatever reward his father had offered for her capture. And sex could be a very comforting thing. They deserved some comfort after everything they'd both been though, right? Anton especially.

Hard to believe such a sexy bad boy hadn't been with a female before.

Thad
will
be
furious
.

She didn't care about Thad just then.

Tyra smiled slightly at Anton, who returned the gesture after a moment of confusion. The smile lit up that brooding face of his. “You're so handsome when you smile,” she murmured. Slowly, she leaned forward to kiss him, at the same time reaching down toward the button of his pants.

Don't come. Don't come. Don't come.

The barest flutter of fingers over the head of Anton's cock, and already he was about to blow. That wouldn't do at all. Thoughts whirled in his head like a tornado, and he reached desperately to grab one. To have something to focus on so that he could hold back at least long enough to get Tyra naked, for heaven's sake.

It was amazing, the clarity with which he could make out her features, even in the dark of the room. Tyra's ordinarily rich brown eyes had gone darkdark
dark
, her lids hooded, and that gaze never left his as she divested him of his pants and socks.

She slid forward to cover Anton's body with her own, and despite the warm softness and please-god-kill-me-now of her still-clothed body, he couldn't stop himself from pointing out: “The last time I tried to kiss you, you almost made me sing soprano.”

She kissed him. Her lips made a warm, smooth, whisper-soft caress against a mouth that barely deserved to say words to this female, let alone worship her with his tongue as he so longed to do. “Anton, if you don't stop talking, I'm likely to remember all the reasons why this is such a God-awful idea.”

Right. A foreign-sounding growl emitted from the depths of Anton's throat. His hands thrust under her shirt, pushing it up to her shoulders. “Your skin is amazing.” It was. Smooth. Soft.

That seemed like a better thing to say.

His hand caressed the back of Tyra's neck and she moaned, honest to God moaned, and after some thrusting of hips and pulling of hands, with lips meeting sporadically in between, his female was naked and writhing underneath him. His female.
His
.

Anton's hands were everywhere. The tips of his clumsy fingers ached to touch every smooth inch of her. He stroked, licked, and nibbled. Starting with her gently toned belly and easing up to the luscious swell of the most perfect breasts that heaven or earth could have possibly managed to produce.

His pulse surged and his cock throbbed harder when a tiny taste and a puff of breath caused one round, smooth-skinned peak to tighten and wrinkle into a hard point. He ignored the stab of pain in his side when he twisted to worship the hourglass curve of her side and the roundness of her ass and her hip, which were as creamy and delicious-looking as a warm cup of tea flavored with just the right amount of milk. Her legs, parted around him, were long and firm. And between those legs… dear God, he was almost afraid to look, much less touch.

This female—this amazing, beautiful, perfect angel. This warrior in such an impossibly feminine package. She deserved to be touched by cleaner hands than his. Hands that had never done what his had. But even as he thought it, one palm slid closer to the mound of her sex, delighting in the startling softness of the curls he found there.

“I can't believe this.” It was the most unmanly thing he could have possibly said, but damned if it wasn't true. All the times he'd watched her and fantasized… never in a thousand lifetimes could he have imagined being given the gift of this woman's body… her blood…
her
.

“Anton,” she whispered in a low, husky voice as she placed a hand over his, the one at the juncture of her thighs, and–
Oh
God
—thrust it, pointer finger first, into a moist heat so exquisite he very nearly passed out.

“Tyra.” Without further instruction on her part, Anton burrowed a thumb into those tight, damp curls to find the sensitive nub inside. This much he knew about. A tiny whimper told him that he'd found the right spot.

Anton thought he very well might die like this. With his head so light and dizzy, and his fingers curling and thrusting inside the most amazing place he had ever known. The nerves of his skin and even the blood in his veins were lit like an overstrung Christmas tree. Some kind of amazing shiver and tingle flew through him, and when he dragged his stare from the action at his fingertips to the molten chocolate of Tyra's gaze, the tie between them was clear.

That cool rush flying through him was Tyra. Her blood. Her pleasure. How could he have forgotten that they were already part of each other? The infinitesimal jerk of Anton's body over that stunning remembrance brushed his desperate, hungry cock against the hand working her core. With no warning, the orgasm he'd fought so hard to push away was back and a mere fraction from release.

“Anton, no. Stop.” Amazing how things could change in only a fraction of a second.

Tyra's strong grip wrapped around his wrist. Pushed his hand away. Immediately his entire body chilled, as if the heat between her legs had been the only thing keeping him warm. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she gasped. “God, no.”

Oh, thank fuck.
He had barely begun to process the dizzying relief, to grasp at the intense joining of their auras, their spirits, or whatever the fuck it was, when a pair of deceptively soft hands landed with an iron grip on his shoulders.

Before Anton could blink, he'd been pulled, flipped, and mounted. The breath left his lungs in a mighty
whoosh
the second his back hit the mattress.

Now
that
was a female.

“Wait.” Hands on Tyra's hips, Anton squeezed his eyes and gritted his teeth, willing his body under control with every fiber of his desperate being as she straddled him. Just one slip of his hands and he would be inside of her…

“What's wrong?” With her curls matted against her wrinkled forehead and her body poised above him, Tyra was absolutely without question the most amazing thing that Anton would ever see in his lifetime.

Not one damned thing was wrong. She was amazing. Fucking amazing. “What about… can I get you pregnant?”

“No. Only at the full moon.”

A slight shake of her head, and that was all Anton needed. Tyra's gasp and Anton's, thanks to a God he wasn't sure he believed in, collided in the air at the same time his hands released her hips and allowed their bodies to join.

Holy, holy,
holy
shit. He could have died right then and there, and he would have left the earth the happiest man ever. Tyra planted her hands on his chest. Sweat made her fingers slide just a little, just enough to get his nipples hard before the bite of her nails sank into his flesh. His head dropped back with a hiss. The ride was… unbelievable. Both of them were breathless, their stares locked firmly with each other's as Tyra's body rose and fell, milking him for all he was worth.

Anton bit down hard enough to crack his teeth. He would not last long. Dear… fucking… Lord.

His heart skipped a beat when a thunderous bang sounded from beyond the door. Someone was knocking on her front door. Dammit, he really hadn't meant it about dying right then.

“Tyra!”

“Shit.” Rather than stop, as Anton assumed Tyra would, she sucked in a breath and sped up.

“Tyra, that sounds like the king.”

“Shh.” Tyra folded forward so that their bodies were flush against each other and her lips met his. Long fingers pulled his hands from her waist and threaded their fingers together above his head. Slicked with sweat, their bodies slid together, their breath sawing and mingling so loudly that Anton barely heard the bang of Tyra's front door slamming open and then shut again.

Barely.

“Tyra.”

“Shh.”

The muscles of Tyra's sex squeezed as if to drive home her point, and Anton was no idiot. Or he was, but he did as she instructed him and shut up. He blotted out everything else, including the vampire king outside who was likely about to kill him. His world narrowed to nothing but two sweat-slicked bodies and Tyra's golden face. Their noses bumped together as she moved, faster and faster, gasping louder.

He was so close, but he wanted to know that he'd pleased her.

“Tyra.” The bang on the bedroom door came just as Tyra's body shook, her head thrown back in a silent scream of ecstasy. Anton's split second of turning his attention over her shoulder to the door made him miss the strike of her fangs.

The pinch was exquisite, so unlike the pain of before when her life had been on the line and he'd been afraid for the both of them. So fucking amazing that with the first suck of her lips at his vein, he shuddered and thrust hard. He spilled inside her as the pounding went on outside the door, and everything went white behind his eyes.

“Oh hell, yes.” For the next few beats of Anton's heart, he and Tyra were alone inside a quiet, imaginary bubble. The forces outside the door were nothing but a distant echo as he wound his arms around her back and held on. Feminine muscles rippled gently beneath his hands as she sucked, licked the wound, and rested her forehead against his.

Their hearts thumped in perfect time with each other.

“Shit, I shouldn't have done that. You're still healing.”

Then reality returned with a loud, angry rush. He took a deep breath. “No. I feel amazing. Better than I can ever remember.” He really did. That blood of Tyra's must be powerful stuff. Even though he'd been injured, and even after the physical exertion of lovemaking, he'd never had so much energy.

Another series of loud bangs sounded from the other side of Tyra's bedroom door. “Tyra Yavn Morgan, I swear to God, if you don't open this door in the next thirty seconds, I'm gonna break the fucker down and I don't give a damn what you're doing in there when it happens.”

Anton realized the harsh rumble that filled the room was coming from him. No way was anybody going to see her the way she was right now. No way was he going to let the king lead him gently to the slaughter. This was his female. He wasn't leaving without a fight. Most importantly, there was his father to kill.

“Shit,” she murmured again and slid off, leaving him cold. She raised her voice and said, “Just a second.”

Anton's hand stilled hers when she reached for her shirt. “I'll go. We both know he wants to see me,” he said. His large hand caressed her smaller one and moved in to kiss the remains of his blood from her lips. “No worries.” He smiled and ran a thumb over the worry lines on her forehead. “He's not going to kill me out there in your living room, right?”

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “Hope not. That carpet's taken enough of a beating.”

He placed a kiss on her shoulder and made a hasty grab for his pants. “We'll talk later.”

They absolutely fucking would. Anton might not have a clue what love was supposed to be, but he sure as fuck wasn't going anywhere without a serious fight. The way they'd been so
in
tune
with each other just then? It had to be something real. It did. If only they had time…

“No. I'm not sending you out there alone.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and leaned down to gather her clothes from the floor. “I'm not trying to insult you, but it wouldn't be right.”

He couldn't help but stare for a moment at the long, graceful curve of her back while she bent over. Her neck was so long, and her hair was curled and scrunched from the sweat of their lovemaking. He swept it to the side to give one last kiss to that intimate piece of real estate before going out to confront Thad.

Oh no.

Anton's vision, sharpened even in the dark by Tyra's superior blood, landed on a mark just below her hairline. A strawberry-colored birthmark in the crude shape of a heart. He had one like it just under his own hairline. All wizard offspring did. Some sort of magical marking tagged in their DNA, or whatever. Anton wasn't sure how that worked.

Tyra opened her eyes again and sat up straight. The slight smile fell from her face, replaced by a look of worry. “Anton, what's wrong? He won't really kill you. I wouldn't let him even if he tried.”

He shook his head and schooled his features, leaning to place one last kiss on her satiny smooth cheek. “No, I know. I want to do whatever I can to help your kind. He'll see that. Please stay here. He needs to see that I can face him without you.” He made a hasty grab for the doorknob behind him, suddenly anxious to reach the living room where Thad was likely waiting.

Anything to avoid telling this beautiful, fierce vampire warrior that she wasn't part human, after all.

She was part wizard.

***

Finally, the crying had stopped.

Xander slumped in Eamon's comfortable leather chair. The sound of the central air kicking on was almost deafening, given the extreme silence now that the baby was no longer wailing. His phone clicked softly, the keyboard and screen flashing each time he slid it open and shut. Until he became too agitated by the flashing lights, and then he'd pause and start all over again.

Exhaustion and blood hunger made his eyes very sensitive to the bright light from the screen.

Flay had called. Word was spreading across the estate of some craziness about a wizard being brought into their midst by Tyra, King Thad's sister… Ugh. He scrubbed a palm against his forehead. He barely remembered their conversation already and it had been… what? He checked the phone. January 7… close to midnight. Flay had called barely an hour earlier. Something big was going down; that much was clear. Tyra had brought this wizard in as a potential weapon—sounded like maybe a big attack was planned. More and more lately, he was wishing he could be back out there, be part of the fight again.

The bedroom door clicked open and Theresa stepped out quietly, baby monitor in hand. Her hair hung down her back in almond-colored waves. Today's dress was red. More of a somber burgundy, really, but its color drew attention to the fact that her skin was unusually pale. A creamy ivory, when it should have been more of a honey tone. When she turned to smile at him, the circles under her eyes were even darker than they had been the evening before, and the one before that.

She sank into a matching chair opposite his. “You look worn out.”