The mere mention of being cradled against the wide chest with his strong arm wrapped around her was enough to stir heated fantasies.
Her lips trailing over the smooth, bronzed skin. Her hands tangled in the silken strands of his hair . . .
“I think I can manage,” she muttered, abruptly turning to head out of the woods.
With long strides he was swiftly at her side, the cool scent of powerful male teasing at her senses.
They walked in silence until they reached the path leading south along the cliffs, Roke’s gaze scanning for any danger.
Then, without warning, he lifted his fingers to lightly touch the exposed skin of her nape.
“Are we going to discuss the elephant in the room?” he demanded, his tones dark . . . compelling.
She grimaced. Crap. Had he picked up her X-rated thoughts?
“No.”
His frustration hummed in the chilled air. “So you’re going to pretend that I didn’t strip you naked and kiss every inch of your silken skin?”
Oh . . . hell.
She struggled to breathe.
“Exactly.”
His fingers moved to stroke over the frantically pounding pulse at the base of her throat.
“That I didn’t taste your climax on my tongue?”
She knocked his hand away, glaring at him as every nerve in her body sizzled with excitement. The precise memory of cresting beneath the stroke of his tongue was almost enough to topple her over the edge again.
“Stop it,” she hissed, not sure if she meant Roke or her renegade thoughts.
“Not talking about our mutual attraction won’t make it go away.”
She didn’t bother to try to deny that it was mutual.
What was the point?
“Will talking about it make it go away?”
His gaze returned to the surrounding countryside, scanning the thickening shadows as the path led them to the very edge of the cliffs.
“Do you regret what happened?”
Regret?
Oh yeah. Sally had plenty of regrets. But not for the reason Roke suspected.
It was going to be hard enough to scrub Roke from her thoughts once the mating was broken. It was going to be ten times more difficult now that her body was addicted to his touch.
“It was a mistake.”
His profile tensed, as if she’d managed to wound him.
Which was ridiculous.
“A mistake?”
“One that won’t happen again.”
His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Just keep telling yourself that.”
Brandel wasn’t prepared for the sudden mist that floated in the middle of his private rooms.
If you could call the damp, dismal caves rooms.
They felt far more like crypts just waiting for a corpse.
They were, however, the one place he could go to be completely alone.
Or at least that was the plan.
Still weakened from having a house collapsing on top of his corporal form, followed by an unwelcome encounter with Siljar, the last thing he wanted was another unpleasant confrontation.
Which was precisely why he’d ignored the summons from Raith.
He hadn’t expected his partner-in-crime to take the risk of making an actual appearance.
“So, you failed?” The voice spoke directly in his mind.
Brandel remained perched on the edge of his cot, too weary to pretend that he wasn’t exhausted.
His journey to Canada had been one unpleasant surprise after another.
He’d expected to find some forgotten temple that had been unearthed by annoyingly curious humans. Hieroglyphs that had been buried for centuries were known to release low-level bursts of magic when first exposed. They were usually harmless and passed as the contained magic spread through the atmosphere.
The last thing he’d expected was to be confronted by a vampire clan chief and one of the most powerful witches he’d ever encountered. And he most certainly hadn’t expected to discover a box that pulsed with enough ancient magic to make his mouth water.
So rare.
So precious.
He’d been blinded by his hunger to get his hand on the object.
Which was why he’d blundered so badly.
“It was a temporary setback.”
The mist stirred, anger vibrating through the air. “Did you at least determine the source of the magic?”
Brandel gave a reluctant nod. “A box.”
“Odd. What’s in it?”
“Impossible to say. It was guarded by very powerful glyphs.”
Raith wasn’t pleased. Brandel felt his companion’s anger pulsate through the cave, threatening to reveal his presence to the highly sensitive Oracles spread throughout the sprawling caverns.
“You have to get that box. Its magic is beginning to spread.”
“I understand the danger,” he hissed. “Better than you.”
“Then why are you just sitting here?”
Brandel scowled. How easy it was for Raith to toss out commands while he remained safely concealed.
It was Brandel who was forced to take all the risks.
“I can’t just leave.” He spoke the protest out loud. “Siljar already knows I traveled away from the caves.”
Pain lanced through him, nearly jolting him out of his corporal form.
“That wasn’t a request.”
Brandel flinched, but he wasn’t stupid enough to strike back.
Raith had been in close contact with their prisoner for centuries. His ability to absorb such magic had given him a power that Brandel couldn’t hope to match.
Not unless . . .
He deliberately squashed the dangerous thought. At the moment he wasn’t alone in his mind.
Instead he held up his hand that was beginning to show a hint of translucency.
“I need to feed.”
“Feed, then take care of business.”
The words echoed in his mind as the mist disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.
Brandel studied his fading hand, his thoughts returning to the box that held the sort of magic that offered possibilities he’d never before considered.
Dark, treacherous thoughts.
“Mine,” he whispered softly.
Chapter Eight
It took almost two hours to reach the wharf that was built on a bleak stretch of rocky beach and another quarter of an hour for the boat to navigate the rough waves. But at last they reached the small island just off the coast.
Tugging the hand of a reluctant Sally, Roke led her past the weaves of illusion that fooled the human eye into believing there was nothing more than an abandoned lighthouse on the island and entered Pandora’s Box.
Instantly they were surrounded by a soaring Greek temple filled with amphitheaters where naked water sprites danced and heated baths came complete with beautiful nymphs.