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“I suppose we don’t have a choice in any of this, do we?” Mercy whimpered, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
“No, so why not just give in and enjoy ourselves? You can hate me all you want, but I can promise to pleasure you in ways you’ve never imagined.”
He planted another searing kiss along her skin, his tongue plunging into the warm recesses of her mouth as he set to work on the zipper of her dress. The fine material parted with a quiet whisper, and soon, it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing at their feet.
Mercy gripped his hard cock in her hand, fondling it with ease and the right amount of pressure.
“Fuck,” he growled, the sensation of her touch shooting sparks through an erotic system he had long thought dead.
His hands found her breasts, palming them through the barely there lace of her bra, his thumbs brushing over her erect nipples. Mercy gasped, her long legs wrapping around Hunter’s waist as he pressed her against the table.
“Is this part of your promise?” she breathed out, her fingers squeezing him gently.
“Just a small taste,” Hunter replied, ripping the lace from her body with a predatory growl.
Naked and flushed under his gaze, Mercy looked like a goddess. Her body was heated and willing beneath his. But it wasn’t until he claimed her lips once more that she fully surrendered herself to him.
Her kiss was hungry, desperate for more contact, and for the first time, Hunter felt the tiniest sliver of hope. Maybe they could survive the madness after all. It was a dangerous thought but one that fueled his desire all the more. They’d done something few others had ever attempted—the mating of a vampire to a shifter.
Both her people and his had tried to stop the creation of hybrids for centuries… but there was power in their joining. With a darkness rising, their union could be used to bring all sides on the side of the light to the table and keep more blood from being shed.
Mercy’s moans grew louder, and he dipped his hand between her legs, feeling her essence.
“Hunter,” she sighed, the sweet sound of his name on her lips making him even harder.
He stroked her, eliciting another gasp. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing the pleasure she knew he would undoubtedly give her.
“Patience, mate,” he teased, withdrawing his hand only to slide two fingers into her tight warmth. She was wet and ready, her body clinging onto his fingers, begging for more.
“You should know patience isn’t my strong suit,” she whispered huskily, her hands digging into his shoulders. “I need you now."
A smile tugged at his lips as he lifted her off the table, her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. With one swift motion, Hunter sank into her warmth, causing them both to groan at the contact.
“Fuck, Mercy,” he panted as he began to move in and out in slow, deliberate strokes.
Each thrust pushed a soft whimper from her lips. Mercy’s voice trembled as she clung to him, her fingers finding solace in his hair.
“Harder, Hunter,” she begged, and happily, he complied.
Each thrust was harder than the last, making her gasp and moan in delight. Their energies collided in a pleasurable rhythm that traveled through their bodies. Her moans matched the intensity of his rhythmic movements, the symphony of their lovemaking echoing against the stone walls of the library.
A shiver ran down his spine as Mercy dug her nails into his back. Her breath hitched when he altered the angle of his strokes, hitting a sweet spot that made her scream out his name. The sound of pure pleasure rippled through him, fueling his desire and quickening his pace. She was close—so very close.
“Right there,” she cried out, her body trembling with near climax.
Hunter captured her lips with his once more, muffling her scream as she reached her peak. She arched her back, her body stiffening in pleasure as waves of bliss washed over her. She clung to him, her breath hitching as she rode out her orgasm.
Mercy’s climax triggered his own, and with a last hard thrust, he tumbled over the edge. His groan mingled with hers as he spilled himself into her warmth. He buried his face in her neck, nuzzling her in a kind of faded ecstasy. She smelled so good that he couldn’t help but lightly rake his fangs against her delicate skin, yearning for more.
God, he wanted to taste her… but now was not the time.
Hunter stirred in the small bed, his senses gradually returning as the dream faded away. The faint glow of a lamp cast a soft light across the stone walls, illuminating the modest roomhe found himself in. He blinked; his mind sluggish as he tried to piece together how he’d gotten here. The room had the feel of a dungeon or perhaps a monastery’s enclave—cold stone, sparse furnishings, but with a subtle attempt at comfort. A pillow and blanket were provided, and he noticed his wounds had healed completely, not even a scar remaining to mark where he had been hurt. A small clock on the nightstand ticked softly, its hands indicating that evening had given way to full night.
Rising from the bed, Hunter swung his legs over the edge, flexing his limbs as he tested his body’s recovery. He stretched, rolling his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles loosen.Whoever took care of me did a damn good job.He stood and walked over to a small chest where a set of clothes had been left for him—dark trousers, a clean shirt, and a well-worn leather jacket that fit him perfectly. He dressed quickly, feeling the familiar weight of the fabric on his skin, but his mind raced with questions.
Hunter crossed the room, testing the heavy wooden door. It opened easily, much to his surprise, swinging outward with no resistance. His instincts, honed by centuries of hunting, told him to be wary, but the air felt calm.Still, best to be cautious.He stepped into the hallway, the stone beneath his boots slightly uneven, worn smooth by countless footsteps over the years. The passageway sloped gently, leading upward, and he followed the incline, his senses alert.
As he ascended the stairs, his hand trailed along the rough stone walls. The architecture was old, ancient even, and as he climbed higher, the sounds of activity drifted toward him—faint murmurs, clattering dishes, and the unmistakable scent of food. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. Unlike many of his kind, Hunter still liked to eat. He didn’t need to in order to survive, but food had always been more of a pleasure than a necessity. Perhaps because he had lived so long, he didn’t require a daily intake of blood—human or otherwise. Humanwas best, but he could survive on the blood of animals almost as well.
