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So I tipped my head back, offering my throat.

“Very tempting.” Lightly, she leaned down and pressed her lips directly over my pulse. “But I’m in need of something a little different tonight. If you’re willing.”

“Always, my queen. What may I give you?”

“I want to hear you scream.”

My lips twitched into a fierce flash of a smile, gone in an instant, but I knew she’d seen it from her own smug grin. “How about I howl?”

SHARA

His silver eyes glowed like his wolf, peeking out of the shadows. Crouched. Ready to leap to do my bidding, racing away on the next hunt.

He feared the hunts were over, though he would never speak of any such worry to me. His aloof, silent nature made it easy for him to slip through the nest like an invisible ghost, even among my Blood, without drawing attention to himself.

So I always made sure to see him. Even more, I heard him. Even his heartbeat. I could tell him with words that I would always need him.

But it would be ever so much better to show him.

His pulse pumped, his heartbeat quick and eager, making the big vein in his neck move beneath his skin. I used my index nail to puncture his throat directly over his pulse. Not a big or deep wound. Just enough to draw his blood so it trickled down the long, elegant column of his throat. So I could lick it up.

Again. And again. And again.

I moved down his body, lightly drawing his blood and licking the traces away. Though what began as a way to tease him quickly became torture for me. Which was part of the game, of course.

My hunger stretched inside me, rising like a great dark beast from the depths to rival Leviathan’s size. My punctures became deeper. I lingered longer. Sucking harder on the small wounds when they didn’t yield blood fast enough to suit me. Fighting the urge to sink my fangs into him and end the agony.

Taking him into my body only spread the flames quicker. I rode him, digging all my fingers into his chest. His stomach. Ragged gouges more than clean, tidy punctures. So I could lean down and rub my breasts into his blood. Coating my skin. Spreading the fire.

He ran his hands down his own throat and shoulders, gathering his blood so he could smear more down my back. His palms spread liquid fire down to my buttocks. My hips and flanks. Urgency tightened a burning fist in my stomach. Driving me to move harder. Faster. Grinding against him. He swiped another palmful of blood and spilled it down my breasts.

My head fell back, my breath hissing out. Bliss. But also torment. For us both.

He wanted me to feed as deep and hard as he was inside me. Though of course that would end our game.

He gripped my hips, pinning me harder against him. So he could draw his knees up enough to brace his feet on the mattress. Giving himself more leverage to thrust up into me. Lifting me. So he could drag me down and slam deep at the same time. His body strained beneath me. Eyes burning quicksilver. The prick of his claws in my skin, his teeth more wolf than fangs.

Shuddering, I came in the first wave of release, and his howl rolled deep from inside him. Rumbling through me. Vibration adding to the pleasure. The need. He sat up and pulled me close, his arms around me. His hair sliding around my shoulders like a thick heavy pelt as I sank my fangs deep in his throat.

He howled again, a deep, ringing call into the night. Made even more special because of how quiet he normally was.

Boneless in his arms, I drank from his throat while he cupped my head and stroked my back as long as possible. Before his arms fell away. His body slumping beneath me. His eyes closed.

But with a gentle, rare smile curving his lips.

13

GERARD

Khalid was one lucky bastard.

My former queen had prepared us for everything, or so I’d thought. How to survive in Marne Ceresa’s court as long as possible. How to subtly work together even if we weren’t allowed to see or speak to each other.

Let alone touch.

Fitting that the rest of our crew had returned as birds, because we used birds regularly to pass messages to the other Isador Blood. The queen of Rome had kept us isolated. Usually separated. From everyone, but especially, from each other.

In the grand scheme of my long life, the last twenty years felt like twenty million centuries.