“Sally.” He cupped her face to pull her back, his harshly beautiful features tight with need.
She met his smoky gaze. “Let me.”
He gave a slow nod, his lips curling back to reveal his massive fangs as she took him back into her mouth, her fingers circling his base as she swirled her tongue over his tender tip.
His fingers shifted to tangle in her hair, the ground shaking and a frost coating the ceiling as his power flowed through the room.
“Yes,” he groaned, his entire body trembling as he jerkily surged in and out of her mouth. “Perfect. So perfect.”
Chapter Seven
Roke had been a vampire for more centuries than he could remember.
Which meant he’d assumed that he’d seen and done just about everything possible in the world.
An assumption that had been blown to hell by the tiny witch who was tucked next to him with her glorious autumn hair spilling over her pale, satin skin.
Christ almighty.
He’d expected pleasure. He’d even expected it to be explosive. A man couldn’t lust after a woman with such painful intensity and not be blown away by when he at last got her naked.
But what had happened between the two of them . . .
It went beyond pleasure.
The mere touch of her hand had been enough to set him on fire, the resonating feel of her own arousal pulsing through their bond until he couldn’t tell where his passion ended and hers began.
And when she’d taken him in her mouth . . . holy hell, it’d been nothing less than sensual ecstasy.
Now he was perched on his side with Sally lying next to him, her fingers lightly tracing the dragon tattoo that marked him as a clan chief.
Yet another first.
He hid a rueful smile.
His image of a loner wasn’t just an act. He didn’t do “cuddling.” Hell, unless he was in the middle of sex, he didn’t want anyone touching him. Period.
This shared moment was even more astonishing than the tiny quakes of pleasure that continued to vibrate through him.
Why wasn’t he pulling away to leave her alone on the narrow cot?
It was his usual modus operandi.
Instead he held himself perfectly still, afraid the slightest movement might break the spell.
“Was it terrible?” she murmured, the brush of her fingers down his ribs sending sparks of euphoria through him.
“Was what terrible?”
“The battles of Durotriges.”
He shrugged. Terrible didn’t begin to describe the gladiator-style games. The weeks he’d been locked in the arena had passed in a blur of blood and pain and death. But in many ways it’d been a simple time.
You lived or died.
No in between.
“It’s never fun to kill a worthy adversary.”
“Then why did you enter them?”
He lowered his lashes, hiding his bleak stab of fury at the memory of his former clan chief, Gunnar, and the female vampire who’d ruined him.
The selfish bitch’s only power had been her beauty, but she’d managed to use it to turn Gunnar from being a strong, influential leader of a clan that was feared by all, to a mindless fool who spent so much time pandering to her lust that his people had lost everything.
But it wasn’t just Gunnar’s self-destruction that caused the raw regret that refused to heal no matter how many years had passed.
He’d deliberately entered the battles of Durotriges to challenge his former friend as chief, but while he was gone Gunnar’s lair had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground.
Or at least that was the story he’d been given.
He’d never been able to shake the suspicion that his beloved sire, Fala, had been responsible.
The female vampire might not have her memories of life as a human, but she’d clung to her beliefs as a wise woman, searching for mystic portents in nature. Including an omen that she’d read the night Roke was turned.
She’d been convinced that it meant that Roke would one day be a great leader.
After Gunnar’s death he couldn’t help but wonder if the ancient vampire had taken matters into her own hands.
It was the only way to be certain that he wouldn’t lose the challenge to become chief.
Aware that Sally was beginning to frown at his continued silence, Roke struggled to speak.
This was not a subject he discussed.
With anyone.
“The previous clan chief . . . was difficult.”
She studied his clenched expression, no doubt sensing his instinctive retreat.
“Cruel?”
“Worse.” His voice was cold, flat, his rare sense of peace shattered by his unwelcome memories. “He was indifferent.”
There was a pause, as if she was struggling between the knowledge she was touching a raw nerve and curiosity.
Unfortunately, curiosity won out.
“How could that be worse?”
His jaw clenched, his thoughts veering toward the sheet of paper he kept locked in his lair. On it were written what had been lost after Gunnar’s mating.
The silver and gold mines that had been the source of their wealth.
The acres of territory that had been claimed by rival clans.
The weaker members who’d been stolen from their lairs and sold to slavers.
He stood at his sire’s grave and read from the list, promising her that her sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain. He would regain everything they’d lost.
“Vampires are by nature savage creatures.” He pointed out the obvious. “Without a strong leader a clan splits apart or becomes victims of more aggressive demons.”
She grimaced. He didn’t have to explain what happened to the victims.
“Why did the previous chief bother forming a clan if he didn’t want to be a leader?”
“He did, at first.” Roke had still been a fledgling when his sire had joined Gunnar’s clan, but he’d heard enough horror stories to realize how fortunate he was to be trained by the honorable warrior. “He was a rare clan chief who was willing to kick the ass of anyone who got out of line, but was fair in his judgment.”
“What happened?”
“He mated.”
She blinked at the clipped explanation. “That’s it?”
“The female was jealous of the time that Gunnar devoted to his people.”
She studied his tight expression. “You didn’t like her?”
The temperature dropped at the mere thought of the bitch.
“I hated her for destroying a vampire I once considered my friend.”
Sally shivered. “What happened to him?”
He glanced down to where her fingers continued to trace the dragon tattoo, his body savoring her gentle touch even as he twitched with the need to pull away.