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“Never in a million years could I have imagined my dear wife wouldenjoybeing bitten.”
“I’m not your wife yet.”
“But youwillbe, very soon.”
“Your Highness, I need you sane, so hurry up and bite me. We’ll worry about the rest afterwards.”
He makes a soft sound; halfway between a strangled cry and a groan of desire. “As you wish.”
Then he presses his lips against my neck, just beneath my jawline, where the large blood vessels run. He kisses me tenderly. His lips are warm and savage. He runs his hands up my back and through my hair, holding me, twining his legs between mine.
In the middle of the winter night, I don’t feel the slightest bit cold.
I feel pain.
Warm, blossoming pain, more pleasure than agony, floods my consciousness. The whispering of the trees becomes a symphony.
He takes.
He takes my essence; that strange energy that swells inside my chest, and I can feel the wild magic flowing out of me.
It’s only when he brings me release that I understand how much pressure has been building up inside me.
I melt into him.
He’s here now.
I close my eyes and let him drink. His mouth is the most tender, decadent thing. My pain dissolves into pure bliss, and my body is on fire, arousal unfurling in me like a blossoming bud.
My hands, still connected to the earth below, suddenly feel lighter. The tendrils or whatever they are start to retract, ripping through the earth, returning to my body.
And all of a sudden, I’m no longer trapped.
I can move. The whispering of the trees isn’t as loud anymore. The rush of the wind dies down. The burning pressure in my chest is gone.
And Corvan lies beneath me, his lips stained with my blood, and he’s smiling, and he looks so damn irresistible that I can’t help but lean in and kiss him.
He runs his fingers through my hair; tenderly, reverently.
Nobody’s ever held me with such tender feeling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “For causing you all this trouble. But I’m glad you’re safe, and I swear to the Goddess that this will never happen again.”
I reach down and caress his cheek, basking in his protectiveness.
Then the most ridiculously outrageous thing happens.
Before my very eyes, his hair begins to grow, moonlight-streaked tendrils extending at an impossible rate, until his once-cropped hair is long again; as long as it was when I first encountered him.
“Corvan,” I gasp.
His eyebrows narrow. “What is it?”
“Y-your hair. It’s grown back!”
He runs his hand through his pearl-hued hair, a look of bemusement crossing his features. “I knew your blood was powerful, but I didn’t realize it wasthispotent. And it smells sweeter than ever.”
“Must be the dryad thing,” I say weakly. “And you drinking from me has tempered my magic.”
