Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

“It is to me.”


Since her mother’s death, she’d felt as though there was no one who cared whether she lived or died. She was useful to Asmodai, but that was probably all she was to him. Now here was this beautiful man—well maybe not man, but definitely beautiful—and for some strange reason he cared for her. One day soon, she would ask him why. It wasn’t in her nature to just accept things without questioning, but right now she was going to bask in the glow.

Just for a little while.

Surely, she could allow herself that.

“But I haven’t performed a human sacrifice in two thousand years.”

“How about eating them?”

“Most survived; some even enjoyed the experience.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Look, I’ll never be a good person, but I’ve come to terms with what I am, and I have my own set of codes that I don’t cross.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You’re lying in my bed, naked. I think that makes it your business.”

She peered under the sheet and grinned. “So I am.”

“So you are.”

His voice sounded different, and she glanced up at his face. His eyes were hot and hungry. Her skin suddenly felt too sensitive for the covering, and she peeled it off, wriggled down in the bed, and saw his lips curl in a slow smile that revealed one sharp, white fang.

At the sight, her muscles tensed, and that insistent pulse throbbed between her thighs. He came up over her, and his mouth drifted down over her body, kissing her breasts, then lower, until his cool breath ruffled the curls at the base of her belly.

He shifted beside her so he could kiss the inside of her thigh. “You know you have a vein”—he kissed her again— “just here.” He licked her skin, and the breath caught in her throat. Glancing up the length of her body, there was a question in his eyes.

She nodded and held herself still as his fangs punctured the flesh of her inner thigh. Heat flooded her, soaking her core, and she let her head fall back and gave herself up to the rhythmic tugging. One hand slid up her thigh, easing between the folds of her sex. Her whole body jerked in response as his finger pushed inside her. Then withdrew, and in again, so he was moving to the rhythmic tug of his mouth. Roz could feel the heat building inside her, then he stroked the pad of his thumb over her clit and she came in a slow wave of pleasure that rolled over her, sucking her under.

When she came back to herself, he was lapping at the small wound. He caught her gaze. “Thank you.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “It was my pleasure.”





Chapter Eighteen


Roz was dozing, snuggled up against his cool, hard body, when the shrill ring of the phone jolted her awake.

Piers picked it up and listened.

“Your old boyfriend’s here,” he said as he put the phone down.

“Asmodai?”

“Yeah. They’re all waiting for us.”

“Damn.” But they had to get up at some point, and sooner rather than later. Dawn was only a few hours away and presumably, Piers would need to sleep. And there were things to do, people to see.

“Do you have to sleep during the daytime?” she asked.

“No. When I was younger I had no choice; I had to sleep. Now, I can choose, but it’s better if I rest.”

She tried to imagine what it would be like to live in perpetual nighttime. “Do you miss the sunlight?”

“No. I was always a creature of the night, even when I lived.”

She had a lover. A vampire lover.

And she guessed she was in love. She was trying not to think of that aspect too much, in case she scared herself off. It was funny to think that she trusted herself less than she trusted Piers. But she knew what a fucked-up mess she was. And she’d lost too many people she cared about.

But Piers had lived for two thousand years; surely he was a safe bet for a while longer. He could take care of himself.

She glanced down at the small wound on her inner thigh. At least it had stopped bleeding. There was another at her throat. She’d look like a pincushion if they weren’t careful. How often did he have to feed? Would he feed from other people? She wasn’t sure she liked the idea.

She made a mental note to go talk to Tara at some point. She presumed vampires followed the same rules—sort of.

Her glance strayed to her upper arm, where the sigil still showed, like black ink against the pale skin of her arm.

“How well do you know Asmodai?” she asked as she searched the floor for her clothes. Somehow they had become scattered around the room.