FIVE
Raniero ground his aching fangs as she rode him, head tossing until her curls teased his thighs. Amaris felt as deliciously wet as any fantasy he’d ever had, gripping him in a tight vise of feminine flesh. Each time she moved, jolts of pleasure surged straight up his cock and into his balls, drawing them tighter, hotter, until the raging need to come whipped him into a ferocious, heaving gallop beneath her.
Red God’s Balls, what she’d done to him.
Gripped in a fist of lust, Raniero watched her—the sweet, seductive bounce of the breasts he was dying to taste as they danced beyond his chained reach. Her torso rolled as she rode him, all elegant, slim curves, the long muscles of her thighs working as she jogged in easy strength. Her tattoo seemed to glow in shades of red and green on her cheekbone beneath the green flash of her eyes, and her lips pouted at him, inviting kisses he couldn’t reach her to give.
It was maddening to be so utterly at her mercy, driven to climax by her luscious body, gripped so intimately, yet unable to touch.
Orgasm struck him like a spell, a ferocious blast that convulsed his thighs and curled his hands into helpless fists. He arched beneath her, surging upward, her core sheathing his cock in slick, sliding heat. His seed exploded from him in a wave of fire that emptied his balls and dropped him back on the bed, bound and panting.
With one last high, sweet shout, she collapsed on top of him, panting, sweat slicking her skin.
For several long, stunned moments, they lay together like storm survivors. Raniero’s muscles quivered and jumped in helpless spasms. He was more than a little satisfied when he felt hers do the same.
At least he wasn’t the only one left wrung out and shivering. It had been the most amazing f*ck he’d ever had, yet he found himself resenting it. Resenting her. She’d taken him like a camp whore in a ruthless possession.
He was the one who did the possessing, dammit.
She rose from his body, his drained sex slipping from her tight inner grip to plop on his sweating abdomen like a dead bird. Face averted, the Rose searched out the shift she’d tossed on the floor and shrugged it over her head. She tied the laces with hands that shook.
“Are you just going to leave me with my cock hanging out?”
She looked around at him as she stuffed her feet in her shoes. Her gaze dropped to his reddened, sticky organ. Blushing like a schoolgirl, the Rose reached down to drag his breeches up until he was decently covered again.
A moment later, the door banged shut behind her hem. He listened to the patter of her footsteps on the stone.
One of his guards said something he couldn’t make out, and the other men laughed in a nasty, knowing little chorus of chuckles that made Raniero’s face heat.
Bitch.
But Red God’s balls, he’d never had better.
A maris fled down the stairs as if a squadron of Varil was on her heels.
She hadn’t even known her body was capable of . . . that. An explosion of ripe carnality so intense, she felt dazzled, as if she’d stared too long at the sun. Except she’d done the staring with every sense she had. Echoes of the vampire jolted through her body in hot pulses. She could still taste him on her tongue, hear his groans, feel the hard muscled heat of him between her thighs—and deeper, buried in her core, long and thick, an erotic invasion that made her shudder at the memory.
It was one thing to swive some vampire, another to imprint him on your soul. How had he done it? One f*ck, and he’d driven himself impossibly deep, like a dagger between the ribs.
Bitter experience warned her to stay away from him. Yet Korban would demand she go to him again, use all her Blood Rose skills to seduce him into betraying his king.
She rounded the curve of the stone stairway—and almost slammed into a massive reptilian body. The Varil raiders hissed at her, evidently on their way up. In her agitation, she made no reply, instead turning sideways and slipping between the two, barely avoiding the claws that darted out in search of her flesh. They cursed her as she fled.
She reached the bottom of the tower stairs and escaped along the snaking corridor of the keep until she found her chamber. It was far from comfortable—a thin layer of rushes on the floor, a pallet that made her back ache in the morning, and a rough wooden bench before the fire. But as it also served as a vivid reminder of her status, it suited her just as well.
She poked up the fire and tossed on another log. As the room took on a dim glow, she collapsed on the bench to stare blankly into the flames.
What was she going to do about the vampire?
Sergeant Milric Lio Ony straightened warily when the two Varil raiders appeared at the head of the stairs. Wizard Lord Korban might trust the reptilian bastards, but he did not.
“You are dismissed,” the larger of the two Varil said, his words spoken in a hissing accent that was nigh incomprehensible. A pair of iridescent blue stripes ran the length of his body from eye to tail. “Lord Korban has assigned my kevil and me to watch the vampire.”
Milric exchanged a wary look with Camar, his second sword. The two men had worked for Korban for ten summers now, and barely had to exchange a word to know each other’s thoughts. Their fellow guards shifted in unease. “I received no such orders.” Milric let his hand fall to his blade hilt.
Lids veiled glowing orange eyes. “Is the Wizard Lord in the habit of consulting thee on such matters?”
“If he had been, I would have told him to stay away from you scaly bastards.”
The second Varil sneered, the lifted black lip revealing stiletto-length teeth. Bits of his last meal rotted between them. “Then get thee gone, git’fe.”
“You do not order us, lizard.” Milric glowered at the hulking reptiles.
“Get. Thee. Gone.” His four-fingered hand went to the axe slung across his shoulder as he bared those revolting teeth again.
Milric cursed softly. He had no doubt the bastard would use that axe if Milric didn’t obey. Damned if he’d risk his life for the king’s lickspittle vampire. Besides, there was mead in the kitchen stillroom, and he had a powerful thirst. He shrugged. “The post is yours.”
Without another word, Milric headed down the stairs, his men hurrying at his heels.
“Git’fe,” one of the Varil hissed. He didn’t look around.
Which was why he didn’t see the toothy grins the Varil exchanged before slipping into the vampire’s cell.
Raniero looked up as the door opened—and felt his blood chill in his veins as the two raiders sauntered inside, spiked tail tips twitching in anticipation.
“Look, my kevil,” the one with the blue stripe hissed. “A feast all laid out for us. Prime pork.” He flexed his claws and bared a mouthful of stiletto teeth.
“And still alive to squeal.” The other laughed, sending a fat goblet of spit flying.
Raniero eyed the two, clamping down on his instinctive terror with the skill of long practice. Fear was what these bastards wanted. “Korban has other plans for me,” he said, his mind racing. A spell. His only chance was a spell. But given the way these chains drained his magic . . . “He will not be pleased to learn you’ve ruined his plans out of sheer pig greed.”
Blue Stripe lifted his shoulders. “He will make other plans.”
Which was the reason no sane man allied himself with the Varil. They were incapable of considering any concern but their own momentary whims. They made effective shock troops, but could be disciplined only through fear and the ruthless use of magical punishment.
Which meant they were going to slaughter him like the pig they’d called him—if he couldn’t defeat his enchanted chains. Raniero took a breath and reached deep into himself, into the heart of his soul where his connection to the Magical All burned like a torch. The cool, bright flame leaped high at his mental touch, responding to his will.
As the warriors padded toward him, grinning like a pair of demons, he shaped that leaping light into a tight, glowing spear. And flung it at the spell that sealed his chains. If he could break the spell, the chains would be no match for his vampire strength.
The shining lance struck the spell—and winked out, its power sucked away.
Blue Stripe gaped his jaws, a rope of drool spilling from his dagger teeth.
A maris’s sated body purred, demanding sleep. Unfortunately, her mind raced in tight circles like a weasel in a trap. She fought to control its flight long enough for logic. So she had responded to the vampire. Well, so what? She was a Blood Rose. Making love to vampires was what Blood Roses did. All she had to do was . . .
A new thought shot through her preoccupation like a cork bobbing to the surface.
Why had those Varil raiders been walking up the tower stairs? There was nothing up there.
Except Raniero’s cell.
Amaris stiffened on the thin pallet, her breath catching in horror. The Varil were notorious for their vicious appetites. They’d find a chained vampire as irresistible as wolves discovering a staked sheep. And with the enchantment binding him, he’d be helpless.
She bolted off her bed and grabbed the sheathed dagger that still lay on her bedside table after this morning’s spell. It was little enough weapon against the likes of the Varil, but there was no time to run for the guard. She would have to summon Korban with a spell, and buy time until he could arrive. Assuming it suited him to keep Amaris and Raniero from feeding his lizards. Racing out the door, she sought Korban’s black thoughts.
The vampire could be dying even now.
Raniero gritted his teeth as claws flashed down, raking shallow furrows across his bare chest. Blood welled and ran scarlet down his ribs. The reptiles were playing with him, looking to enjoy his pain and terror.
Damned if he’d give them any.
He could scream, of course. If he were lucky, someone might even come running.
But would that serve his king? If Raniero died now, whatever plot Korban had in mind would suffer a major setback. When no word came from Raniero, King Ferran would consider his suspicions confirmed. He’d likely give the situation his personal attention—with an army at his back.
With luck, Korban’s plot would be foiled, and the kingdom saved. Perhaps.
All Raniero had to do was die without making enough noise to alert rescuers. Not exactly the act of heroism he’d prefer, but he seemed short of options . . .
Claws scraped his belly, slowly, cutting just deep enough to bleed him.
“He thinks he is brave.” Blue Stripe licked his teeth with a pointed black tongue.
“That will not last, my kevil.” His partner laid talons against Raniero’s bunched thigh, drew them slowly down. “He is git’fe. He will soon fill the air with his squeals.”
“Go f*ck yourselves,” Raniero gritted, throwing all his strength against his chains, only to feel his power drain away in the spell.
Hissing laughter, the raiders reached for him again.
Raniero sensed the flare of magic just before the door blew open with the groaning screech of shattering bolts and breaking wood.
“Get away from him!”
The Blood Rose stormed through the door, a thin glowing dagger in her hand. She lifted it and snarled, “He is not food, lizards. Get yourselves gone, or die.”
Oh, Red God’s Balls, Raniero thought in horror as the Varil whirled to face her. They’ll rip her apart.