Page 119 of Hunted

I step in, cup her chin, and turn her face back towards the Heartshard Glass. ‘No. She was not. And pay attention, little hunter. I will reprise this story only once.’

She grimaces at the pet name, but her body focuses.

My shirt hangs open now, but she is standing directly before me and can see only hints of skin in the dark reflection. I place both hands on her shoulders and draw her back, fitting her against my chest so we stand aligned before the Glass.

The contact is immediate ruin.

The mark, hidden only by the loose fall of my shirt, brushes her through the thin layers between us and flares with throbbing heat. Almost sentient. As if it recognises her and strains towards her.

A low, dangerous ache ripples through me. Pain. Pleasure. Something older and more destabilising than either.

I lock my jaw to keep the sound from escaping.

Netheris.

For one beat, I close my eyes and endure the sensation. The drag of her body against mine. Her heat at every point of contact. The mark pulsing where it touches her as though awakened.

When I open my eyes, she is staring at me, trying to peer beneath the surface. I do not want to dwell on what she seeks, lest I make the grave mistake of offering it to her.

Then she makes the smallest whimper of sound and moves a few scant inches back, into my body.

I allow her.

Then go one better and pull her closer, until her soft curves press against my granite ones. Until her delicious ass cradles my desperate shaft with maddening perfection.

As if she was made for it.

For me.

With a wave of irritation directed entirely at myself, I realise I am once again letting truth veer towards hunger. Towards rampant thoughts of fucking Eira Cross when I brought her here for sacred, near-forbidden insight.

I force my focus past her parted lips, past the peaked nipples I want to suckle with a need bordering on manic, and back to the Heartshard Glass.

‘The five of us established dominions,’ I say, voice lower now, roughened in spite of myself. ‘Five Blood Thrones. New York. Chicago. London. Ireland. Sicily. Distinct territories. Distinct houses. Systems built so our kind would not devolve into chaos in the dark and call it freedom.’

Eira stills in my arms. ‘Wait. Is Don Rafe Navarro one of them?’

I tense. ‘You know the vampire who rules Chicago?’ The question comes out harsher than intended. ‘Have you crossed paths with him?’

She shakes her head. ‘Crossed paths, no. But I’ve hunted in his city. It’s good to know what you’re up against when you enter a territory.’

I realise my grip has tightened on her arm and loosen it. ‘Yes. Rafael Navarro is one of my blood brothers.’

She gives a shallow gasp. ‘And the one in London. Damian Vale?’

My teeth grind at hearing their names from her lips. Even slightly incorrect.

‘Lord Dorian Vale. Also correct.’

Before she can offer more names, I continue.

‘There are rules to holding territory. Like feeding boundaries and siring restrictions. Enforcement structures. Pacts of noninterference except under agreed circumstances. We do not move openly against one another’s seats without consequence or poach power carelessly, especially when that power will ignite wars we cannot contain. When our wars spill into the human world, mortals notice. When mortals notice, deaths multiply.’

A tiny huff escapes her. ‘Good to know you’re all capable of strategic thought.’

I ignore the barb, though my cock digs deeper between the firm curves of her ass.

Sweet demons of Netheris. What I would give to sink there in this moment.