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I punched the Talk button to find my wife on the line. “Where the hell are you? I thought you were in the kitchen.”
She laughed, her voice throaty and rich. “I’m downstairs, waiting for you. Make some excuse and come down here now.”
The soft suggestion ran through me like a blazing fire. “I’ll be there in a minute. Don’t start without me.” As I hung up, I glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight by now, and I was ready for a break. I flashed Lash a wave, then shoved Trillian in her direction.
Whispering so she wouldn’t hear, I told him, “Entertain her till Camille gets back. I have things to do.”
“Yeah, I overheard your phone conversation. You have to go do your wife?” But he was grinning and nodded me off, heading over in Lash’s direction.
Trillian was a handsome man. His skin gleamed, obsidian smooth, and his mid-back hair was caught back in a ponytail, silver softly shimmering with cerulean accents. He could be an arrogant bastard at times, but he backed it up with action. And… really… he was a good guy. I’d grown to appreciate the Svartan over the past couple of years.
As I headed into the kitchen, toward the door to my lair, it hit me that right now, Trillian’s home, city of Svartalfheim, was awaiting siege from the sentient storm. None of us—except probably Camille—had even bothered to ask him how he felt, or if he had family or friends he was worried about. The Dark and Charming Fae—actually an offshoot of the elves—didn’t have the best reputation, but truth was, they’d sent help to Elqaneve. And when Shadow Wing threatened to force them under his rule, they had packed up the entire city and their sorcerers transported every building, every person, to Otherworld.
I had no clue how much the effort had cost them. That kind of magic took an enormous toll, and it had to have hit the mages hard. Unless they had somehow sourced their power off some object, or opened a door to one of the Elemental planes. That was a possibility.
With that in mind, I turned back to the living room, peeking around the corner, but Trillian was already engaged in talking to Lash. Ah well, I’d save my thoughts for later. Nerissa was waiting for me, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.
As I slipped through the door and clattered down the stairs, I could already sense her waiting. Over the past months, since we’d been married, Nerissa and I had developed a bond that went beyond words. I could feel her needs, and she seemed to sense mine. I wasn’t sure if this was normal for lovers, having never really had much of a love life before I was turned—and none to speak of afterward until I met Nerissa—but whatever it was, I didn’t question it. I just accepted the connection.
My lair was set up like a studio apartment. Here I could ride out the night in safety. For the first couple of years nobody except my sisters, Iris, and I had known where the entrance was. But as our family grew, keeping it hidden became too much of a hassle, so we’d traded in the wooden door behind the bookcase in the kitchen for a steel one that could lock from the inside. Now it might be easier to find me, but it would be harder to get to me.
The stairway led down half a flight, then turned back on itself for another half flight, opening into a hall. To the right was the ventilation shaft through which I could come if I was too filthy to walk through the house. Directly ahead was my bath. The bath was done in pale sage, with white tiles. While I didn’t need a toilet, anybody staying with me might, and I definitely needed the walk-in shower to hose off after fights, or if feeding had gotten messy.
To the left, the short hall opened into a living area with Nerissa’s desk, a filing cabinet she needed for work, and bookshelves. The layout was a lopsided U, with the hallway wall dividing the bath and living area on one side, from the bedroom on the other. The “bottom” of the U contained love seat and chair in a dark hunter green and, opposite the sleeping area, a floor-to-ceiling wardrobe. The wardrobe had a full-length mirror on the door. It wasn’t for me, since I couldn’t see my reflection, but for Nerissa.
My bedroom—or rather, ours, now that Nerissa was living with me—contained a king-sized bed, two nightstands, a rocking chair, and a TV/DVD player. We’d had cable run though, so now the TV actually worked, though I wasn’t much of a television buff. But Nerissa liked it and she didn’t always want to watch the trash TV that Delilah so loved.
I rounded the corner into the bedroom, where I stopped short. There she was. My wife. Waiting on the bed, in a pink baby-doll. She was curled up beneath the comforter—my green toile had been switched out for a gold-and-black spread, and though I’d been fond of my choice, Nerissa’s tastes had grown on me. They were luxurious, and opulent, and now that we were together, they didn’t seem self-indulgent. I would have felt like a stereotype if I’d turned my bedroom into a passionate love nest while alone, but now it felt natural.
Nerissa languidly draped herself over the mound of pillows, thrusting her breasts in the air. I could see the warm glow of her skin through the sheer nightgown, the rose-brown nipples jutting against the silken cloth. She stretched out those long legs, which seemed to travel on forever, and slightly spread her thighs so I could see the thatch of tawny, well-trimmed curls between them. Her bush was as silken as the hair on her head, which now tumbled over her shoulders, free from the ever-present librarian’s chignon.
Her hips were ample, her waist smooth and firm, and her boobs could rival Camille’s. All in all, my Amazon werepuma goddess was one big sex kitten. She let out a throaty laugh and crooked her finger at me, motioning me over to the bed.
I moaned softly, desire rising to flare in my heart. I wanted her, wanted to sink my lips into her pussy, to kiss every inch of those long legs, to lick and suck her breasts, to slip on a strap-on and go at her.
She rose up then, turning to kneel on the bed. Her skin glimmered under the light, and I stood, still as night, unable to take my eyes off her.
“Strip.” She pointed to my jeans. “Get your ass over here into bed.” As she cocked her head to the side, I was mesmerized by the sight of her ruby lips working their way around every word.
Slowly, I reached down and unbuckled my jeans, pulling the belt slowly through the loops to drop it on the floor. Then, just as slowly, I slid my jeans down over my hips and kicked them off. As usual, I was going commando, and I reached down to gently stroke the mound between my legs. Dredge had shaved me, carved his name into me, and the scars were still there, but now I didn’t notice them; they were simply the topography of my body. I stroked my fingers across my mound, waiting as Nerissa leaned forward on her hands and knees.
She wriggled, kittenish, cocking her head to one side as a wicked grin slid across her face. Then, as I stepped toward the bed, the smile slid away and her eyes took on a golden glow as she whispered, “I want you. You know how much I want you. Please, tell me you know how much I love you.”
I shuddered, her words hitting deep in my core. I’d never expected to feel this way—never in the world thought I’d find someone who made what life I had so very important. After Dredge, I’d given up hope. Then came Nerissa. And like water to a dying man, she had quenched the flaming thirst I hadn’t even realized was there. She was my everything. My all. Even though I loved to play with Roman, I’d kill a dozen of him just to keep my bronze goddess happy.
With a low growl, she reached out, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me to the bed. She had me down, her lips covering my neck, my chest, seeking out my nipples. As I spread my legs, she reached down and her fingers lightly trailed over my pussy, lingering along my clit, as the fire began to build.
I wrapped my arms around her, forcing my fangs to stay retracted. And then, I was exploring, my own fingers playing a melody with her body, cupping her breasts—pendulous and ripe. I squeezed, lightly at first, but then she pushed herself up, kneeling over me.
“Don’t play nice. I want it rough.” Her eyes were on fire. “I want it dark and delicious and deadly.”
“You know I can’t drink you—you know I won’t.” I shook my head, unwilling to subject her to my dangers.
She laughed. “There are other ways. Your glamour—you can use it without drinking from me.”
I understood then. I knew what she wanted. My lover was more like Camille than anybody knew, although Camille and Nerissa had talked about their needs before.
Unleashing my glamour, from both my Fae and vampiric natures, I focused on her. I willed her to hunger for me, to ache for me, to beg for me. And she growled again, low and throaty, and I knew her inner puma was on the prowl.
