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“I’m a vampire now, aren’t I?”
I can’t tell how she feels from her tone and our bond is still weakened. Now that she’s awake I can feel it strengthening.
“I couldn’t lose you,” I offer in lieu of an answer. “You’re mine. Not even death can have you.”
Her perfect face twists in concern. “The baby?” Her voice is a whisper.
“They survived the transition, since they were already half vampire.” It’d been a shock at how relieved I was when my mother told me. I want this child more than I ever thought possible.
I was wrong about something, though. Wren’s brilliant smile at my assurance is the most beautiful thing in this world. She closes the distance between us, capturing my lips in a hungry kiss. Desperate for her taste, I deepen it; both of us moan as our tongues slide together.
My cock is hard and I shudder as she presses against it.
Wren pulls back from the kiss, nipping my lower lip with one of her new fangs and triggering a spark of desire deep in my belly. “I need you in me, Daddy,” she whispers against my lips. “I want my mate.”
I groan and roll her onto her back, settling between her legs. Maybe another man—a better man—would say no, make her rest.
But I’ve never claimed to be a good man.
Holding her gaze, I tilt my hips, gliding my cock through her folds. Her arousal is quick and then, when my cock is coated in her, I sheathe myself in her body with one swift thrust. Wren cries out in pleasure, her nails gouging into my back with her newfound strength. I’ll gladly wear scars from her.
She writhes under me, urging me to move and I do. “Keep your eyes on me, baby girl,” I murmur. I angle my thrusts so I’m grinding against her clit with each stroke and I know I won’t be able to last much longer. Wren’s breathing is ragged, her pussy fluttering around me and I know she’s close but she needs more.
I need more. I need to claim her. Mark her as mine forever.
Lowering my mouth to her chest, my fangs elongate and I scrape them against her skin above her heart. Her hands go to my head, holding me there as she arches against me.
“Yes, Landon,” she moans. “Do it.”
On the next thrust, I sink my fangs into her. Her blood, my personal ambrosia, fills my mouth. Wren’s orgasm erupts, and I’m teetering on the edge of my own. Swallowing down her blood, I raise my head when she guides my head away. Her body still shakes with pleasure but she leans up and I feel her fangs for the first time. She bites me in the same spot, and it’s the most exquisite feeling I’ve ever experienced save for sinking into her for the first time.
My thrusts grow erratic as my pleasure threatens to overwhelm me. She pulls back, her lips coated with my blood, and I swoop down, crushing my mouth to hers. The taste of our blood mingles on our tongues and I thrust hard, burying myself deep as I roar into her mouth as I come.
I gently kiss her then rest my forehead on top of hers, still filling her. Both of us are breathing heavily and unable to look away from the other.
“I love you,” I say, needing her to know. “I’m still who I am, but I realized I can and do love you. When I couldn’t get to you and then I felt you die.” I close my eyes and I feel her hands gently stroking up and down my back. I open my eyes again. “I’m never letting you go, Little Bird.”
Wren smiles and steals a quick kiss, pulling back before I can deepen it.
“I love you too, my beautiful savage,” she says, and I don’t just see it in her eyes. I feel it, wholly and encompassing my dark heart, through our fully formed bond. Where there was darkness in my heart, Wren’s love shines brilliantly.
I kiss her and give into my need to make love to my mate.
EPILOGUE
Ashe
It seems the sudden death of Oberon Benoit has brought out Topside’s elite in droves. The gallery, renamed Memento Mori in the late tech mogul’s honor supposedly, is at capacity for the grand opening. It’s been four weeks since Benoit kidnapped Wren and attempted to sacrifice her to continue his unholy life. Four weeks since he’d shot me and I’d come the closest to death since being turned.
Glancing across the gallery’s showroom, the place I’d lain staring up at high ceiling unable to move while clinging to my second life has men and women in expensive gowns admiring the antiquities and relics from Benoit’s private collection.
Only the Nightshades are aware of what truly happened here four weeks ago. Ambrose had his contacts working around the clock to spin the story of Oberon’s death. Malachi had dealt with the police, making it clear they were to report Oberon’s death as natural. His heart had given out, according to official records. Wren, grieving for her father, had taken an extended bereavement.
Dedire, with her position at Newgate Times, had ensured that the newspaper kept any other speculations out of print. Especially when Miles Lawson, Benoit Tech’s second-in-command, was also revealed to have died. His death is being spun as a mugging gone wrong.
Too bad Ezra has disappeared since Ambrose exiled the half-vampire, half-demon. He’d always been the one who ensured our business was smoothed over with the police and media. When Ezra left the night of his exile, he hadn’t revealed which mortal soul he’d accepted. Accepted, as in been given—not bargained for. Having spent the last century and a half keeping tabs on the demon inhabiting my wife’s body, I’ve learned a few things about demons. A mortal can give their soul freely to a demon, and in doing so, bind their lifespan to the demon.
Ezra had refused to reveal who’d given him their soul, but Ambrose had his suspicions. The suspicions of the vampire king are more often correct than not.
