And when he was mindless, she rose over him, sinking onto his erection, her heat a tight, languid caress. She gripped his hands, brought them to her breasts, and rode him.

For hours.

“Makeda, please.”

He begged for her bite, but she teased him, punishing him for his arrogance the night before.

Please.

He was dying. He needed her. He was losing his mind.

Then Makeda bent down and offered her neck to him.

Lucien bit viciously and flipped her over, taking control as he thrust a hand in her hair and rode her. Kissed her. Tasted her amnis as it flooded his blood and skin.

She cried out and came hard around him.

Lucien didn’t stop.

By the time he came, her neck and breasts were swollen from his lips and fangs. His teeth had marked her, high on her breast, on the curve of her shoulder, the soft skin behind her ear. She was panting and shivering.

Lucien was shivering too. The combination of their blood was a heady thing, as close to intoxication as he’d ever felt since he’d become immortal. She’d wrecked him with slow pleasure. Then he’d wrecked her in the most gratifying way possible.

“Lucien.” She curled her body into his, goose bumps covering her skin, her hands and arms trembling.

“Queen,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. “Yene Makeda, you are my queen.”

They passed the rest of the night in mindless pleasure, and no one knocked on their door.

Sadly, that didn’t last the second night.

Lucien felt Carwyn before he heard him. “The father is here.”

Makeda blinked her eyes. “Who?”

“Carwyn. Didn’t I tell you he used to be a priest?”

“With those shirts?” Makeda frowned. “You know, somehow I can see it. It’s weird, but I can see it.”

He walked to the door, cracked it open, and came face-to-face with the pale, redheaded man whose fist was raised to knock.

“Hello!” Carwyn’s voice was loud enough to cause a wince. “Get that out of your system yet?”

“Is sex something that’s supposed to get out of your system?”

Carwyn grinned. “Not if you’re doing it right. You’ve been summoned though, both of you.”

“To the island?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath and tasted the air, but he couldn’t smell his mother or any of the ancients. “Fine. Give us thirty minutes and have a boat ready.”

“Your mate doesn’t need a boat.”

Makeda shouted, “His mate is in the process of taming her disastrous hair, so a boat is definitely needed.”

Lucien raised one eyebrow. “You heard her.” Then he shut the door.

Makeda was already in the small bathroom in their quarters, showering the sweat and blood off her body.

“Your hair could never be disastrous,” he said. “Just so you know.”

“Spoken like a man.”

He didn’t try to argue with her. Thousands of years had given him that much wisdom at least.

The shower was too small to join her, so he waited until she was out to take his turn. When she left the bathroom wrapped in a towel, he was smiling.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I like this.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Living with you.”

She shared a shy smile with him before he took her place in the shower. When he emerged, she was already dressed and her hair was “tamed.” Lucien found it difficult not to muss her again, but as he valued his life, he decided not to chance it. He took Makeda’s hand and led her down the steps to the lower deck where a boat was waiting to take them to the island.

Life seemed to have sorted itself out the previous night. Or Inaya’s people really were that good at hosting.

Vampires lounged near the pool with trays of fruit laid out. Silver carafes—containing blood if he had to guess—and bottles of blood-wine were also scattered about the deck. Lucien saw their allies conversing quietly or laughing in corners. Kiraz lay on a pool float, flirting with one of Emil’s men. Inaya’s daughter held court in the corner, quietly advising several newcomers Lucien didn’t recognize.

“Battle one day, party the next?” Makeda asked.

“Most of these vampires have been in enough battles to know when it’s time to relax.”

“Is anyone going with us?”

“Tenzin and Carwyn will come.”

“Where’s Baojia?”

“Trying to get home, according to Carwyn.” Lucien helped her down the last set of steps. “Apparently Brigid is being stingy with the plane. I think she’s still mad we left her in Athens.”

The boat to the island was a sleek wooden vessel that came with Emil’s yacht. It buzzed toward the great mass of rock that only two nights before had been a smoking pile about to explode. The sea gate stood open, its rock-hewn edges concealing the harbor within.

Tenzin flew overhead. Her task that night was to formally greet the new council of elders at Alitea and report back to those at Penglai. No doubt she was mostly curious what disaster Saba had wrought.

But as they passed through the stone gate and entered the harbor, the last vestiges of worry fell from Lucien’s shoulders and his heart finally felt peace. The earth was a resilient and powerful thing.

The ancient streets of Alitea were no more. The cracked marble and ruined statues had been swept into the harbor. Lucien saw their shadowed forms standing silently beneath the sea, testament to a god’s folly. He looked up at the cliffs, and instead of white balconies rising from the walls of the sea fortress, vines crawled and flowers fell from balconies taken over by lush greenery where birds were already flying.