“Oh, I will catch you, my darkling, and the things I will do to you . . .” His voice was growly and made me shiver from head to toe.
I turned back toward the tree trunk and began climbing again. Sixty feet. Seventy. Eighty . . . at ninety I managed another leap into the next fir over. Up at this height, the trees swayed heavily in the wind and even though I had long ago stopped breathing, the power of the gusts filled me with energy, recharging me with their sweeping force that went galloping past.
Sneaking around to the other side of the trunk, I began to look for a hiding place. There, another thirty feet up, a thick pair of branches offered a comfortable place to sit. I quietly skittered up to them and crouched in my hidey-hole, waiting.
A moment passed, and another. I felt the tree shudder and knew that Roman had landed in it. Now to see if he would go on to the next or figure out that I had stayed in this one. I kept perfectly silent, holding on to the trunk as I waited. The moon was riding the sky, and I gazed up at her beauty. Camille and Delilah were both bound to her in a way I would never understand, but the moonlight was my sun, and the night was my life. Suddenly exhilarated, I stood and edged out on the branch, spreading my arms wide to greet the sky. I was a daughter of the night, a creature of the darkness, and my inner predator rose with joyful glee as I let out a long shriek.
Roman paused, and then I heard the branches rustle as he scaled the tree. As he came to where I was standing, a feral smile replaced the silent smirk and he let out a low laugh.
“My beautiful consort—you revel under the moon?”
“I revel in my nature tonight.” And then, as he moved toward me, I stripped off my shirt and let it fall over the side. “Fuck me. Tear into me. I need to play.”
That was all it took. One moment he was Blood Wyne’s son, the next he was my wild, primal mate, grabbing my wrist. He glanced around. “We will play hard, but not here. There are too many broken branches that could inadvertently stake us.” And with that, he wrapped his arm around my waist and leaped over the side. We sped toward the ground, but Roman was an ancient vampire, quite capable of flight—and of controlling his descents. At the last moment, he pulled out of freefall and we landed, laughing, on the soil beneath the tree.
He pushed me down on a bed of moss. The ground was prickly but nothing sharp threatened my back, and so I leaned back and let him strip my jeans off me. I was going commando, so no underwear or bra hindered the moment. The next moment he was naked, standing above me as his body shone with an inner luminosity, gleaming beneath the moonlight.
Roman moved in, his eyes glittering in the night. “Kneel before me, sireling.”
A shudder raced through me. My gaze fastened to his, I slowly brought myself to my knees. He knew how much I both hated and craved this, and he was playing the glamour for all it was worth. I sat back on my knees in front of him.
“My Liege, what is your will?” My voice was steady, firm as the ground beneath our feet.
“Suck me. Taste me.” He made no move to force my head; he did not even touch me. But his words were the only impetus I needed—I could no more ignore them than I could the imperative from the sunrise to sleep.
I leaned forward, my mouth seeking his erection, the icy smoothness of his cock sliding deep into my mouth as I began to work my tongue around him, tickling the tip, stroking the vein below it that pulsed slowly, faintly, mirroring no heartbeat. I sucked, hard, sliding along his length to draw him into my throat, and then pulling back only to drive forward again, my lips creating a tight suction that held him fiercely and wantonly.
Roman shuddered. After a moment he let out a long groan and leaned down to suddenly catch me by my arms as he lifted me to face him. “Feed from me. Feed deep and drink your fill.”
As he exposed his throat, I leaned back and, fangs fully descended, plunged them into his glorious flesh, piercing deep into the jugular. Vampires had blood, but it flowed ever so slowly and without the need for our hearts to pump it. The viscous liquid began to stream into my mouth and I shivered at the taste. Roman was ancient—and the older the vampire, the more intoxicating the taste. It was sweeter than wine, sweeter than honey, sweeter than the most magical nectar in the world. As the crimson drops trickled across my tongue and down my throat, a ripple of power began to race through me. Roman was strong, and his blood took on a power and life of its own. The energy began to trace its way through my body and I coaxed the blood faster, my lips fastened against his neck as the coppery liquid bubbled up to the surface. I made it hurt, I made it delicious, I drove pain and pleasure with my bite until the force rippled through his body.