“Re…lease me…” Her voice was hushed, so raspy. Her throat ached when she spoke, but the blood would heal her. Soon enough. “Or…die.”
His tongue slid over her skin. Did he—did he press a kiss to her throat before his head lifted? It felt as if he had. “Easy. I barely took a sip from you.” One dark brow rose as he offered her a half-smile that flashed a dimple in his cheek. “While you guzzled me like a frat boy with a new keg.”
A frat…? Her eyes slit and she forced herself to speak again, “Re…lease…”
“Right, right…” He dropped his hands and moved back a step. “Happy now?”
Her teeth snapped together. Happy wasn’t exactly a part of her vocabulary.
The man raised his hands. “I’m guessing that’s a no?”
“Who are…you?” Her voice was a bit stronger now. Good.
“I’m the man who saved your sweet ass.” Definitely sounded like arse that time.
Her gaze swept over him. “Not…man.” Men didn’t have claws. Men didn’t drink blood.
He shrugged. “True enough. I’m more than just a man.” A brief pause. “I’m a werewolf.”
“So…you’re dead…” A threat because…he would be. Vampires and werewolves didn’t mix. She’d tried that path once upon a bloody time. Hell had been her reward.
“Not quite.” That grin came again. His dimple winked. “I’m the hero who just rescued you.”
Werewolves weren’t heroes. They were the monsters in all the stories. All of her stories, anyway.
“And I’m the guy who can give you exactly what you want.”
He didn’t know her. How could he possibly know what she wanted? Her lips parted and she sucked in a deep breath. Then she realized what she was doing. Air. Wonderful, precious air. Her lungs had been starved, for so long. She actually felt a bit dizzy as she pulled in more of that delicious air.
His eyes were on her, watching her far too closely, and then the guy said, “I can give you Latham, and I’ll even help you to cut the bastard’s head off.”
Okay. Perhaps…maybe…this stranger did know what she wanted, after all.
She’d let him keep living a bit longer.
Latham. The name had burned itself in her memory. Latham Gentry was the wolf responsible for sending her to hell. “Who are you?” Iona asked again. Her speech was improving by the second. Good thing she’d always been a fast healer.
“My name’s Jamie O’Connell.”
The name meant nothing to her. It was Irish. So was he. In all her very long life, she’d never met Jamie O’Connell before.
Not until she’d opened her eyes and tasted his blood.
Now that she knew him, Iona realized she’d never forget the werewolf. His memory would stay with her long after he was dead.
“Just give me a little time,” Jamie said as he nodded his dark head, “and I’ll lead you right to Latham.”
She stared at him. The werewolf was trying to offer her some sort of deal. She didn’t do deals. “You brought me back.” He’d given her the blood she needed to break whatever wretched curse Latham had used on her.
Jamie inclined his head toward her. She figured that was an agreement.
She’d once vowed to destroy the werewolves, to take them out…one by one.
But this man, this werewolf, he’d given her life. Killing him then, well, it didn’t exactly seem right. “Count yourself lucky, wolf.” She brushed by him and headed for the window. The only window in that narrow room. As she walked into the ray of light that spilled through the glass, the sunlight felt wonderfully warm on her chilled skin.
Most vampires hated the light.
Not Iona.
She’d been in the darkness for so long that she was desperate for that light. She pressed her palm to the windowpane. Beyond that glass, she saw the rough edges of the cliffs that waited outside. Heard the crash of waves. Water seemed to surround her.
Figured, water would be needed for a holding spell.
The werewolf and his damn witch. She’d find them both. Make them bleed and beg.
But first, she had to deal with this werewolf. “Good-bye, Jamie O’Connell,” Iona said, without bothering to look back at him. Then she slammed her hand through the glass. The window shattered and broken glass rained down on the floor—and fell outside of the window.
Jamie called out her name, but she didn’t stop. In an instant, she’d leapt through that window, and she was rushing for her freedom. She was an old vampire, one gifted with powers that few others could ever hope to possess.
She’d been born as a vampire. Born to a father who wanted the power of the gods.
He’d gotten her instead.
She leapt over the rocky terrain. Stared at the water that seemed to howl and snarl below her.
“Stop!”
The dark werewolf, giving chase. She paused at the edge of the cliff.
“What are you doing?” He demanded as he rushed after her. “Do you want to die?”
She laughed then, and the sound was as brittle as her voice. Iona glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’ve been dead for too long.” And she wanted to wash away the rot and stench of the hell that had trapped her. “It’s time for me to live again.”
And when the Blood Queen lived, everyone else should fear.
Lifting her hands high above her, Iona turned back to the crashing waves. Then she stepped off the edge of the cliff and plummeted into the dark water below her.
***
Footsteps pounded behind Jamie as he peered over the edge of the cliff. Hell, that was at least a thirty foot drop. Forty?
The water roared below him.
“Are you going after her?” Sean asked as the younger wolf huffed to a stop beside him.
Her head had just broken through the foaming waves. While Jamie watched, the vampire called Iona began to swim through the churning tide, taking her sweet time as she moved easily through the water.
Amazing.
In-freaking-sane.
Jaw clenching, he gritted, “No.” Because, unlike the vamp, he wasn’t ready to risk having his body savaged by the rocks and the waves and whatever the hell else waited below.
“She’s getting away,” Sean said, pointing out the obvious. He had an annoying tendency to do that.
Jamie slanted the guy a hard glance. Sean should be glad the lady was swimming away. Especially considering that the vampire in question had been close to ending Sean’s life just minutes before.