What did he intend to do to her? He’d been furious in the warehouse. How did she know he didn’t intend to kill her and leave her body for the scavengers?
And once she was back in the hexed cell, she would be utterly helpless.
Pounding his back with her fists, she futilely attempted to kick him in the one place vampires were as vulnerable as any other man.
“No,” she shrieked. “I won’t be locked up again.”
His steps never faltered as he bypassed the curious guards. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Let me go.” He ignored her, shoving open the door to the dungeon and heading down the narrow corridor that ran between the line of cells. “Roke, did you hear me?”
“I’m sure your screechings are audible to half of Chicago.”
Sally bit her lip. Her hands ached from hitting the unyielding muscles of his back and with every step the cell grew nearer. Soon she would be locked away. Or worse.
Abruptly something inside her broke and to her utter humiliation she burst into tears.
“You . . . bastard.”
Apparently as shocked as she was by her emotional meltdown, Roke slid her off his shoulder so she was standing directly in front of him.
“Sssh,” he muttered, frowning as his thumbs brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She sniffed, telling herself that she wasn’t comforted by his gentle touch.
He was a . . . a . . . cold-blooded leech.
“You already have,” she muttered.
“Me?” He appeared ridiculously outraged by her accusation. “What have I done?”
Was he serious? She lifted her arm to reveal the strange rash on her inner arm.
“This, for one thing.”
His jaw tightened, as if angered by her reminder of the crimson mark. “Don’t blame me. That’s entirely your fault.” He lifted his own arm, pushing back the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a matching rash.
“I don’t . . .” Her words faltered. Wait. How could he have the same exact rash as her? Was it some side effect from her powers? She hadn’t heard of anything like it. All right, there was the brand between mated vampires that was supposed to be some sort of red tattoo, but it couldn’t be that. Impossible. Abruptly she remembered his fury as he’d ripped off his jacket and her heart stuttered to a painful halt. “Oh crap. Is that . . .”
“A mating mark,” he assured her in icy tones.
She shook her head, stumbling backward as her brain refused to accept what he was saying.
“How’s that possible? I thought leeches had to exchange blood to become bonded.” She unconsciously ran her fingers over the markings on her arm, as if she could rub them away. “Not to mention lack the homicidal urge to murder each other.”
He curled back his lips to reveal his fully extended fangs. Yep. Definitely murder on his mind.
“Obviously your spell triggered the mating instinct.”
She shivered. Mating instinct. It was primitive. Uncivilized.
And not at all a reason for her stomach to flutter as if she were . . .
Excited?
No. Way.
“I don’t care how it happened,” she said, an edge of panic in her voice. “Just get rid of it.”
He lifted a dark brow, his pale eyes reflecting the overhead light. “And how would you suggest I do that?”
“I . . .” She licked her dry lips.
“Yes?”
She wrapped her arms around her body, which continued to shake with uncontrollable tremors. “How do vampires break the bond?”
“They don’t.” He held her wary gaze, his expression grim. “A mating is for eternity.”
“But this isn’t a real mating.”
“Isn’t it?”
She frowned. Was this some sort of trick? Did he think she’d intentionally tried to trap them together? “Of course not.”
“You can’t feel me deep inside you?” His voice thickened, his fingers lightly touching the narrow valley between her breasts. “Here.”
An erotic burst of heat speared through her at his touch. A heat that was nearly as shocking as the realization he was right.
She could feel him.
His burning frustration. His barely leashed fury.
His unwanted arousal.
She’d tried to tell herself that the sensations were just an echo of the spell that had bound them together.
That it would quickly fade.
But the words rang hollow.
He was . . . a part of her.
“Roke,” she breathed, her heart skipping a beat as he turned smoothly toward the far door.
“Styx is coming.”
His muttered words had barely left his lips when the door to the dungeon was flung open with enough force to make the hinges squeak in protest.
A bare second later the six-foot-five Aztec warrior entered the dungeons, bringing with him an icy tidal wave of power.
As far as entrances went, this one was a doozy, and Sally instinctively stepped backward, pressing herself against Roke, as if he were a safe harbor in the midst of a gathering hurricane.
“What the hell is going on?” the Anasso roared, the lights flickering in and out to create an unnerving strobe effect.