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“Yes, love,” Camil e said quietly. “You were that il . We stood a good chance of losing you.”
“But do you know what vampire blood does to my kind?”
“No, that’s the point. We didn’t. We stil don’t, though I’m getting the impression it’s not a good thing. Not entirely.” Camil e slid into a nearby chair, and I joined her in the one next to it.
“Tel us,” I said. “What do we have to expect now?”
“Vampire blood creates a bond between the giver and receiver, a lot like siring a vampire but without the subservience. It also . . . I’l be a whole lot stronger for a long, long time, once I’ve healed up. And . . .” He glanced at Camil e. “Don’t worry, my love—I won’t forsake you for your sister. But for the next few weeks, it’s best if Menol y and I aren’t left in the same room alone. My demon nature wil be at the forefront a lot . . .”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew what he was talking about. I wanted to strip down and join him under the covers, to push my sister out of the way and tel her to leave the room. Apparently Morio wasn’t feeling quite so possessive, or he wasn’t showing it, thank the gods.
“He’s right. You’re my blood, my sister. And I don’t know how long this wil last. Morio wil be in the hospital for a little while longer . . . I’l just try to keep out of your way,” I said. I had no intention of stealing my sister’s husband.
As I headed for the door, the bond threatened to snatch me back, to prevent me from leaving.
Pushing the feeling away, with an abrupt jolt, I launched myself into the hal way, ignoring the urge to return to the room where Morio lay.
This was a fine mess, but my guess was that it would be temporary. Until it wore off, we’d just be cautious and avoid being caught alone. Because I knew, were we in the same room, the pul would be so strong that we’d be in each other’s arms. And the last thing in the world I wanted to do was interfere in Camil e’s affairs.
As I hurried out of the medic unit, I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew that I needed to put some distance between the fox-demon and me. I found myself roaming down to the Wayfarer, which was open and busy.
Derrick was behind the counter, and the drinks were flowing. I watched him from the back for a little while, satisfied that he was doing a good job. On a whim, I cal ed Roman.
“Hey dude, how would you like to see my bar?” I asked when he smoothly answered the phone.
With a low laugh that set me on edge, he whispered, “I’ve seen it before, so no, but I’d like to see you. If that’s an invitation, I’m in the car now. I’l be there in five minutes.”
As I hung up, a shiver ran up my spine. The pul to Morio had been strong. I needed to blow off steam and I didn’t trust myself with Nerissa right now. I was too set on edge. I wanted to feed, even though I wasn’t hungry. Roman was my best choice at this moment.
I wandered over to the jukebox and slipped a few quarters in. “Tainted Love” by Marilyn Manson,
“Sister Midnight” by Bowie, “Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode . . . al good dance songs. And sometimes dancing was the only way to get some of the hunger out of my body. I understood why Camil e liked the pounding rhythms she listened to— ear sex, she cal ed her alternative grunge-goth music.
I began to sway to the music. I might not be curvy, but my hips knew what to do, and the tightness of my jeans accentuated my hunger, making me ache for someone’s touch, for the feel of hands on my body. I’d final y accepted my sexuality and it had come through like gangbusters.
A few of the other customers joined me and we rose and fel to the music, letting it move our bodies as it raced from speaker to speaker around the bar. The beat throbbed through the wal s and floor, reverberating in my stomach. And then I looked up to see Roman standing at the door.
Everyone fel back as he entered the room. His hair was long and sleek, and he was wearing a pair of leather jeans and a jacket the color of crimson. He took one look at me, and the next second, he took me in his arms. As we danced, weaving and spinning to the music, everything else fel away and I began to transfer the hunger I’d felt for Morio to Roman. Before I knew it, we were kissing, my arms draped over his shoulders, his pelvis pressed against mine, as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
I rol ed my head back, fangs extended, and let out a long hiss. He echoed the greeting in return and his eyes flashed as he nuzzled my neck. “We need to fly,” he whispered. “We need to run, to own the city.”
Without a word, he led me to the door and we raced into the darkening streets. We explored the city via the rooftops, running so fast, so hard that the lights were a long, neon blur, streaks of time-lapse photography. Cars passed by in slow motion, the cacophony of a hundred conversations al blended into one. Building after building fel beneath our feet as the hiss of silent snow fel around us and we claimed the city rooftops for our own.
And stil the music echoed from behind me. I could hear it; it had worked its way into my system.
Then we were standing atop a rooftop, and his lips were on mine.
I returned the kiss, hungry and fierce. “I need to drink from you.”
He stripped the jacket away from his neck. “Please, my sweet. Drink. Drink deep, drink hard.”
I sank my fangs into the cream-pale flesh, and a shudder ran through my body as they slid easily into his neck. Blood wel ed up, sweet liqueur in my mouth, ambrosia of the damned. No longer metal ic, but like a fine port, thick and heady. I swal owed, coaxing more into me, and then felt Roman unzip his pants.
Struggling to keep control, I pul ed away and stripped out of my jeans and shirt. His gaze fol owed me, like a cheetah stalking his prey. His cock rose thick and pulsing and I throbbed deep inside, wanting to impale myself on him.
With a shriek, I wrapped my legs around his waist as he cradled my ass and thrust into me. As his delicious length and width spread me wide, I plunged my fangs back into him and he propped my back against a wal for leverage, fucking me hard.
As he drove into me time and again, I coaxed his blood, drawing my tongue along his neck as I sipped on the violent wine. His mother was the Queen of Vampires, Blood Wyne, and the royalty sipped on the violent wine. His mother was the Queen of Vampires, Blood Wyne, and the royalty rang in his life force—a dusky, rich, ancient taste of power. He was a god of ice, a god of heat, a god who had witnessed history come and go. He was Roman, and he wanted me.
