Weapons strapped to his chest, Erion ran at top speed, almost unseen to anything that could not decipher a blur. It was his preferred method of transport-Lycos too. The wolf paven kept pace with him over the rolling Scottish hills as they neared the credenti it had taken two slit throats and a near drowning to find out about. Of course, they had to flash over things like massive bodies of water, but other than that they used their legs, their incredible lung capacity, and their animalistic need to hunt.

A Beast was a Beast always.

And for Erion, no amount of sympathy and curiosity regarding certain blood relatives would ever change that. Just as the rest of the Pureblood vampire race thought him and his brothers gutter shit, no doubt the Romans thought so too, and the sooner he released any thoughts of bonding, any hope of a life similar to theirs, the better off he would be.

His loyalty was with his father. Had to be with his father. The new Breeding Male was coming back with him, and if he had to torture the veana the paven was with to get his pale ass moving, he would.

Reaching inside his pack, Lycos took the arm he'd severed from a Pureblood herder they'd found in one of the fields they'd come through a few minutes ago-the nasty bastard had been nearly ready to mount one of his sheep.

Sick fuck had a worthwhile purpose dead, Erion mused, watching his brother bite into the paven's wrist, then run his still warm blood over the lock.

The credenti gates creaked open and before another breath was taken, the Beasts were off.

Bronwyn sat up in bed and clutched her stomach. The empty feeling had been gnawing at her belly for over an hour, but she'd stayed where she was. She'd fed so well from Lucian on the island, she hadn't expected to be hungry-this hungry-for another day or so.

Slipping from the bed, from the cold, dank room, she stepped out into the hallway. All was quiet except for the low crackle of the fire. She padded down the hall, not wanting to wake him, yet knowing she must. It wouldn't do for her to get sick, too ravenous to feed from him properly, gently.

Not that Lucian was ever into gentleness.

But he wasn't asleep. In fact, he was stretched out on his pallet with a book in his hand, reading by the light of the fire as though he were on vacation. Bronwyn's gaze swept over him with a covetous pinch in her chest. He looked so beautiful, so intimidating, even with the shackle on his wrist. He wore no shirt. It sat on the floor beside him, shredded from the scuffle with the guards and all the wear and tear he'd experienced becoming a newly born Breeding Male. As her gaze continued to peruse him, an uneasy thrill coiled in her belly. With the bulk of muscle on his arms she wondered if he could rip the bolt that held him from the wall if he wanted.

If there was something before him that he wanted badly enough...

She tore her gaze from him and quickly searched the room-the empty room.

"Have the guards returned?" she said, remaining at a safe distance. If there was such a thing anymore.

He looked up over the top of his book, his eyes heavy, reminding her of the moments following their encounter on the island, the moments after she'd given him her body, the moments after they'd both climaxed.

"They have left us fairly unprotected, it seems."

"Us?" she said.

His eyes flashed with amusement. "You."

She inhaled deeply, trying to convince herself of the words she was about to utter. "That's not good."

Lucian just lifted a brow, but neither agreed nor disagreed with her statement. "So, what has you up, lass? Checking on the Breeding Male in training?"

"I couldn't sleep." She wrapped her arms around her chest, the thin fabric of her white nightgown allowing every bit of cool air to caress her skin. "Bed's too hard, room's too cold."

"I did offer." His brows lifted. "Though meager, my pallet is soft and there is much heat down here by the fire."

A shiver moved through her that had nothing to do with air now. It settled deep in her belly and threatened to fall lower. "And it was a good offer. I'm just looking for a different one."

He put his book down, his eyes glistening with sensual curiosity. "What do you need, Princess?"

She shook her head and sighed. "I'm hungry. Far more than I should be. Must be all the activity, stress..."

The heat in Lucian's eyes was quickly replaced with concern. He sat up, motioned for her. "Come, Princess. I have what you need. Always."

She melted a fraction. Why did he have to say things like that? And in that way-his voice growing huskier with each syllable. It was cruel-cruel to her unbeating heart and her foolishly willing body.

"I'm worried," she said, though she took a few steps closer to him and to the fire, "about stripping you of blood right now. It may activate the gene. I just don't know. I can't predict what's going to happen."

He shrugged. "Neither one of us can predict what's going to happen." His voice grew firm, determined. "But you must feed."

She licked her lips. She could practically taste him on her tongue. Which in turn sent coils of awareness through the lower half of her body, squeezing the muscles of her cunt. "There is the Order's blood," she considered, though that was supposed to be for him, only for him.

"And you are welcome to it." Lucian said the words, but every inch of him clearly despised the idea.

She sighed. "I hate the Order's blood."

His lips twitched with amusement. "Your veins, your belly, they deserve better than cold, thick swill."

Did they? she wondered. At this point, she wasn't sure she deserved much of anything with her wanton behavior and broken vows-and the thoughts, the desires that she never stopped or tamped down. Wouldn't it be better, smarter to take that cold swill and keep herself at a distance from this paven? Not to mention that it may risk Lucian's mental state to bite him and consume from him right as he battled against his own demons.

"Get over here, lass," Lucian commanded. "We will take it slow and I will let you know if the beast threatens to emerge."

His command pushed her forward just as his eyes, his wicked, wicked eyes, hypnotized her. The firelight and its warmth seared her skin as she moved, as she came to sit on the center of the pallet near his feet. "It is so lovely and warm down here," she said, trying not to look at his chest, at how the firelight played with each hill of muscle, and the enticing bones of his hips.

"Warmer now," he said, catching her eyes on him. "And if your gaze falls upon my cock it will become like a forest fire down here."

She made a piteous attempt to rebuke him. "Your crudeness-"

"Turns you on." He laughed at her shocked expression. "Come on, you like it. In fact, I'm willing to bet you more than like it. Admit it now, Princess. Make a paven happy."

She shook her head, unable to quell the smile tugging at her mouth. "Perhaps I do. Perhaps I like many things about you, Lucian Roman."

"I knew it," he said with a roguish grin, but his gaze was all caresses and promises, and in that moment, she wanted so much more than just his blood.

Her insides trembled with the danger of the situation she was in-that she was putting herself in. She could have chosen to remain in her room until the guards returned. She could've chosen to drink the Order's blood and keep her insides sustained. And yet she couldn't stop herself from seeking him out, living and breathing under his gaze.

She exhaled. So, what did that make her if she didn't care about her fate or her sins-if she pretended nothing outside this cottage existed so she could have him all to herself for a while?

He opened his arms then, giving her access to his body, to his scent-an invitation to heaven. "Where do you wish to tap the keg, Princess?"

"What?"

He laughed, his eyes glittering at her. "The neck or the wrist is where you'll get it hard and fast. But if you'd rather go slow and easy, there are other spots on my flesh that may appeal to you."

Her mouth watered. Again. He was a beast, even without the Breeding Male crouching within him, waiting to spring up and seize control of the paven that housed it. Her gaze ran over his skin and she inched closer to him. Oh, how she would love to taste him, every inch-feel his hot flesh on her tongue, against the tips of her fangs.

"The wrist is fine," she said, disappointment filling her. She was a coward, a veana who knew what she wanted and yet refused herself.

Lucian stretched his arm out to her. "We will start there, then."

As she had done before, in his bed in SoHo and on the island, she gripped his wrist with her hands and lowered her head. The anticipation was nearly the same as when his solid cock had hovered at the entrance to her body. How strange, she mused, her eyes locked on to the long, pulsing vein on his inner wrist.

And how delicious.

She gasped and closed her eyes as her fangs sank into his flesh. Deep, deeper, until the hot, wet, crimson gold flowed like the sweetest river. She drank like a veana who had never tasted blood in her long life, and every swallow urged her forward, to take more, take her fill. She'd never felt so needful, so overwhelmed by every sensation-taste, scent, the feel of her fangs penetrating him. She never wanted to release him.

Was this how a paven felt when he sank his prick inside a female's body? Was this how a true mate felt for her other half when that connection was found and tied for an eternal life?

She prayed not.

She hoped so.

Lucian fell back suddenly, onto the pallet, chuckling softly. He uttered a husky, "The princess is hungry," but Bronwyn barely heard him. She was trying to understand his movement, wondering in her blood haze why he was pulling away. Then suddenly she realized it was her that had driven him backward. Her aggression, her hunger-and she was straddling him, her thighs on either side of his hips. How had she gotten there? she wondered like a drunk fool. And yet the questions went unanswered as she continued to feed from his wrist like a starved creature.

The rush of blood quickened, and just as she was about to swallow, she felt him-his cock, hard and straining against his jeans. Her mind brought forth images-images of him inside of her, his hands gripping her backside, guiding her back and forth as he hit every sensitive spot within her tight cunt.

She coughed and sputtered, blood shooting down her throat, but also into her lungs. She tried to breathe...God, she wanted him-didn't care about breathing, living, feeding-she wanted what she felt against the thin barrier of her undergarments right now.

And then Lucian was lifting her off him, pulling her to his side, and rapping her back gently. "Easy, Princess. Easy. There is always more. Whenever you need it."

Breathing heavy, her throat raw from choking, yet her body warm from the feel of his and his potent blood, she looked up at him. He was lying on his side, facing her, his gaze an odd mixture of heat and gentleness.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded, whispered, "What about you? Are you all right? Do you feel...anything?"

"I feel fucking amazing," he said with a grin.

"Don't say 'fuck,' Luca," she scolded halfheartedly, curling deeper into his embrace.

"Why?" he whispered against her hair. "Because it's crude or because you want to?"

She was too satiated and delirious and turned on to lie. "I suppose it's both."

He inhaled deeply and wrapped his arms around her. "Oh, my princess..."

She lifted her head, looked at him through her wonderful blood haze. "Will you kiss me, Luca?" She shook her head. "I know no good can come from it, but I don't care."

"You're wrong about that," he uttered, his eyes blisteringly hot now. "So much good can come from a simple kiss." He tightened his grip on her, his mouth closing in as he whispered, "I'll see to it."

Bronwyn closed her eyes and melted as his lips touched hers. The combination of hard and soft turned her inside out and she moaned contentedly. She could remain this way forever, or for as long as she was allowed. Holding her against him with a possessiveness she found deliriously arousing, Lucian kissed her as though he knew her more intimately than anyone else, knew what she liked, knew her pace, her penchant for nips of pain on her lower lip and a slow, deliberate suckle on her tongue. Pressing her hips to meet his cock, she inhaled him, breathed his scent into her lungs and felt every inch of her body flare with heat and want. Lucian must've felt it too because he made a low growling noise and pulled her impossibly closer, his chest so hard against her chest, his jean-clad thigh locking over her hip as he thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth.

Her body went limp at his delicious assault, yet inside a fire blazed. How did veanas exist without this, this exquisite pleasure? If she would've known how it felt to be consumed, taken, adored in this way, she would have forced herself on him sooner, begged him to kiss her sooner.

"Bronwyn," he whispered into her mouth, against her lips. "Bron..."

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard him, heard him calling her. But it wasn't the same as before and she dropped her head back, abandoning his mouth for one brief moment.

"You called me..."

"Bronwyn." He claimed her mouth again in a quick, intense kiss.

"Yes," she said breathlessly, "but you've never called me by my name before."

He shook his head. "I could not."

"Why?"

"I suppose I felt it wasn't my right. Maybe like the shrinks say, I didn't want to get attached." His gaze lifted to hers, the pale brown flickering with sudden intensity. "Or maybe I didn't feel as though you'd ever belong to me."

Her heart, the one that never beat, moved so profoundly in that moment she almost believed herself mortal. "Do I belong to you now?"

"I'm afraid so."

His mouth captured hers again and their kiss was frantic and passion-filled, and Bronwyn wished with everything inside her that his words, his declaration could be true. She wished her entire past away, wished for nothing but him and this.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her belly tingling with heat. His mouth took hers with such exquisite force she lost her breath and her sense of self for a moment, and she was but a feeling-a single strand of happiness. As she met him kiss for kiss, she abandoned the realities of their situation and just let go, let herself be his.

Lucian nipped at the corner of her mouth, kissed her cheek, the spot at the corner of her eye and then nuzzled deep into her neck. Bronwyn gasped as his lips suckled the ridge of muscle, the softness of vein.

She wanted to cry out-tell him to bite her, drink from her there, right there, in that sensitive spot that was making her breasts swell and her nipples harden and tingle. But he had his hands on the top of her nightgown, easing the pliant fabric down, over her shoulders, down, over her breasts, until it lay just beneath, at her rib bones.

There was a quick urge to cover herself, her modest upbringing and the shame attached with nudity under the eyes of anyone but her true mate filled Bronwyn's senses for a moment. Especially when Lucian lifted his head and took her in.

"My princess..." Bright, greedy eyes roamed over her, flashing with a hunger her blood could never feed. "You are so beautiful."

Her own eyes glistened with thankful tears as his hand moved down her shoulder, his thumb tracing the curve of her right breast.

"I have thought about this," he said, his fangs descending, "thought about you-touching you, tasting you, for as long as my memory will hold."

"So have I," she uttered, her hips pressing forward, trying to get at him, get closer to what her body craved.

He laughed softly. "In your bed. I remember."

"That was not for you to see."

"That was only for me to see." He lowered his head and licked her nipple.

She gasped as the feeling shot straight down through her belly to her core.

"And I will not apologize for it," he said, his breath on her nipple causing it to swell and beg for him. "For my covetous stare. For watching, panting as you touched yourself, your hands moving down your belly. Your fingers sliding through the lips of your cunt to find the hot, aching clit beneath."

She could barely breathe, barely rasp out the words, "Bad paven."

Chuckling with satisfaction, Lucian bent his head and pressed his lips over her nipple. He drew it so deeply into his mouth, Bronwyn cried out with the pain/pleasure of it. The wetness between her thighs said everything, said yes, Lucian Roman had claimed her. She was his. Truth or a lie, she didn't care, and she brought her hands up and thrust them into his hair. She wanted him to suckle her deeper, take her under him and bury his large prick inside her where he could truly declare ownership.

Her gaze slipped down to watch him, his head to her chest, his white hair bracketing her breast like a cloud, his harsh, demanding mouth, wet and stroking. Oh, God...Her core clenched, releasing more moisture against the thin fabric of her underclothes. The agitation, the need-the need to be filled was making her writhe, her legs moving, her hips lifting-she just wanted her panties off, wanted to feel his hips against hers, feel his long, thick rod pressing against her nether lips, begging entrance to the hot, wet sheath it craved.

Or demanding it.

Lucian's hands slid to her nightgown again and down it went-over her belly, her hips, down to her knees. She was nearly completely exposed to him-all that remained was the strip of white cotton that covered her. The soaking wet strip of cotton.

His nostrils flared then, and he lifted his head. "Oh, God, Princess. Your scent. As much as I would love to see you work your cunt again, up close and personal this time, I must have you, taste you. Fuck, I want to drown in you, bury my face in your pussy and lap up every drop."

His words had her moaning, moaning his name-she sounded so desperate. His hands were on her belly now, moving down-his head too. Bronwyn wanted to feel embarrassed, maybe even momentarily startled by his direction, his course of action, but she felt only the electric pangs of passion and the provocative urgency of a veana who wanted everything her paven had just described.

"You have my blood inside you, Bronwyn," he said, his chin resting just above her pelvic bone as he stared up at her.

"And you have mine." Her gaze locked with his, so beautifully fierce, so tight with desire.

"I want to taste more than your blood." His fingers closed around the waistband of her panties. "I want the very essence of you inside me." He looked at her through his lashes and grinned. His eyes were the darkest she'd ever seen them. "I want to show you just how good a simple kiss can be."

Her stomach fluttered, her core releasing more moisture, and before she could stop him, Lucian bent his head and ripped her panties from her hips with his fangs.

Her hips jerked and her breath hitched in her throat.

"Part your legs for me, lass," he commanded on a growl. "Wide, so I can go deep, drink deep. Fuck your sweet cunt with my tongue."

Bronwyn licked her lips. She felt a quick shudder of nervousness as she stared down at him, his gaze so viciously hungry, so dark and excited with his lust. She knew how wet she was, how it rained from her, relentless. What if she didn't please him, what if-

His growl turned into a stream of curses as his gaze took in the sight before him. "Ah, lass, this is torture-this is the real torture. You, my princess, are the most delectable thing I've ever seen in my long life." One hand, the shackled hand, grasped her knee and drew it back. "Hot-pink and so wet. Crying for me." He lifted his eyes to her. "You have the sweetest pussy, Bron. And it's mine. All mine to taste, to suckle, to devour."

He lowered his head and lapped at her with his tongue, running it straight through her slit, then up over her clitoris.

Bronwyn's hips jerked like a wanton, like a veana who wanted more, wanted deeper and quicker.

Lucian spread her pussy lips with his fingers and groaned. "Yes. Fuck yes, there you are. That's where I want to go." Then he dropped his head and slid his tongue inside her.

Bron gasped and writhed beneath him. The feelings running through her were savage and untamed. Electric pulses hit every muscle, every cell. Never had she felt such all-consuming pleasure, never had she wanted something, someone, so much. And as he worked his tongue in and out of her like his prick had done on the island, she melted, died, ached, but with absolutely no relief. Not that she wanted relief. God, now she didn't want this to end, ever. She wanted the pleasure of his tongue, his teeth on her forever.

"Ahhhh, yeah," she heard him moan between her legs. He gripped her hip bones, the long chain stretching, slapping gently against her thigh as he slid up to her clit. "It's begging for me, Bron. It's so red, so full. Should I lick it nice and slow or suck it into my mouth and make you come?"

"I can't come," she cried, her ears filled with the sounds of the fire crackling behind her and screams of pleasure coming from her body, her skin, her core. "Not yet. Please, Luca, not yet."

He chuckled softly, his lips, his breath so close to her clit. "Tell me what you want, lass."

"You're doing it," she uttered. "It's perfect."

"Tell me," he urged. "Tell me to lick you."

She shook her head, her body on fire, her nipples so hard it was painful. She couldn't. She couldn't...

"You must," he said wickedly. "Say the words. Say the words and I will lick your sweet clit so softly, feather-light strokes until you fall apart under me."

"Oh, God," she cried out, her hips jerking, shaking. She was desperate, so desperate for him she'd do anything, say anything he asked of her. "Lick me-"

"Lick my tight cunt, Lucian," he corrected, dropping his head and giving her pulsating clit one soft lap. "Say it, Princess."

She pulled in a breath, her lungs so tight she thought she might die from the pressure. "Please, Lucian," she begged. "Lick me, lick my tight cunt."

His head disappeared between her thighs and his tongue went to work on her clit. Slow, gentle circles as his fangs grazed the flesh surrounding. It was too much. Bronwyn felt herself slipping away, her mind unhinged, perhaps dead now-dead and gone. All that remained were the sounds of him as he fed from her. She arched her back, moaned, gripped his head, his scalp, his white hair with her fingers until he hissed.

"Oh, yes," she called out, riding his mouth as the heat began to build inside her.

No! She wasn't ready. She wanted him all day, for hours. She wasn't going to come.

But as his tongue moved quicker over her clit, as the heat and the pressure collided into a mass of uncontrolled sparks, she knew holding on was impossible.

And then he slid two fingers inside of her and she lost all control. Her skin went tight, her head buzzed, and she felt herself cream all around him.

"Ah, you have the sweetest taste any paven could wish for," he whispered, his breath moving tantalizingly, achingly over her wet, sensitive lips. "I will lick every last drop from your pussy, lass; then I will hear you scream."

His mouth closed around her clit and as his fingers played inside the hot, wet channel of her body, he sucked.

Bronwyn's hands left his hair and fisted around the pallet, her breathing so ragged she couldn't keep up with her own movement, much less the hope that she could prolong her climax. It was too much, too wonderful, too perfect, and so she let go, let his fiercely passionate suckle on her clit, his fingers moving inside her like a piston, drive her over the edge.

Without the thought of his earlier command, she screamed-loud and long and without care. A shower of sparks had erupted inside her and she could do nothing but take them and cry and pump and die under his mouth.

Her blood-or was it his?-rushed from her veins toward his mouth, his tongue, and she came, tumbled over the edge, her legs shaking, her hips spasming as she rode the waves of pleasure, rode his mouth and fingers until exhaustion struck her down.

"Oh, God," she uttered, unable to breathe, to think. He'd destroyed her, and yet given her life in the process. She lay there, trembling, wanting to move, wanting him, but unable to move. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes, but not from sadness, from the purity of release. She'd never felt so boneless, so heavenly, so deeply relaxed, and she wanted to remember the feeling always.

Lucian was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his arms. "Come, my tired one."

"Your blood is a drug to me," she said, burrowing into him where it was warm, safe.

"As yours is to me," he growled.

"But your body," she murmured, unable to think properly..."Your hands, your tongue..."

"I know. Fuck, I know."

"I want to touch you, Luca. I want-"

He kissed her temple. "Not now. Now, you rest."

Her breath was gone, her words too. All she wanted was him, all she wished for was to stay in his arms forever-for the pure true mate love she had longed for since balashood to be real. But what was the truth? She burrowed deeper into his flesh to avoid answering, even silently. Yet it was there...He could have no true mate, and in the blink of an eye, his safe arms could become weapons to hurt her-her perfect fantasy into her most ultimate nightmare. Conflicted down to her soul, she whispered, "What are we going to do, Luca?"

"Sleep," he said, his jaw tight, and yet his hand on her back was so gentle.

"Not that," she said, utterly wiped out now, the warmth of the fire lulling her. "About us. What is the future for us?"

Too late, she wished she could call the words back. Future? Us? She was a fool. How could there be a future?

"Not tonight, Princess. Tonight you must rest." He turned onto his back and took her with him, let her fall easy against his chest. "I will read to you, shall I?"

"Hmmm," she breathed, "that would lovely."

Her eyes closed then, and as he read Treasure Island to her in a soft, husky baritone, she drifted off into a sound, gentle, and very warm sleep.

Lucian, however, remained awake.

Something was happening. A sound he knew touched his ears, a feeling of foreboding pulsed through him. Then, on the stone wall before him, moving in those slow, easy waves he both recognized and despised, were letters carved with an unseen hand.

Beware, my son. Cruen and his mutore advance. They will not stop until they have you caged. They will kill whomever they must to get to you.

Including Bronwyn Kettler.

The only words in the message that had Lucian's fangs extending were the final ones. He pulled Bronwyn closer to his side and growled a word of warning himself...

Mine.

Synjon's insides felt as though they'd been stuffed through a meat grinder. But he didn't give a donkey's arse. He needed to see her again. Up close. Know that what he'd seen through those razor-sharp specs had been complete bollocks-that his mind was playing tricks-bloody cruel tricks.

Couldn't be his love, his veana. It was impossible. She was dead. And though her body had been stolen before he'd ever had a chance to give her over to the sun, he'd seen her murdered. He'd chased her killer into the woods near their home until the coward had flashed away with her body in his arms.

Syn had never forgiven himself for being a premorph and unable to flash, and his body, his veins, had never stopped craving her. Never would.

On the rock ledge facing one window in the compound, Synjon raised his blade and cut through the glass, popped it out, then expertly slid through the opening.

He'd be quick, unseen like the ghost he was named for, and he would find this imposter who tortured him with a hope he could not have, did not deserve. And once he revealed her identity, he could get back to work.

He had to find the one who truly waited for his rescue.

Bronwyn.

The veana he would never let down.

The veana he would never fail.

With the memory of his father's warning still very much imprinted on his brain, Lucian flexed his muscles in frustration. "If you'd free me, I could help you with that."

Bronwyn was warming water on the stove for the bath, but glanced over her shoulder to answer him. "I don't have the key. One of the guards has it and, as we both can see, they haven't returned yet. It's why I need to go to town. Find those males and bring them back."

Yes, the guards-where were those bastards? Screw his own protection; how the hell was he to protect Bronwyn?

"I should be going with you." Not chained to the wall like a dog, unable to bite if any problems should arise.

"Agreed," she said, carrying the water over to the tub and pouring it in. "But unless you're capable of ripping down the stone wall and taking it along, then you're sort of stuck here."

He watched the steam rise from her nearly full tub. He didn't want to overreact to what Titus had written on the wall and scare the veana before him, but he needed to find a way to calmly talk her out of this journey. "You don't know your way."

"I'll be fine," she argued, returning to the stove and the final pot of heated water. "I have a very good sense of direction."

Leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, he grumbled, "I don't like it."

"What is it you don't like exactly?"

Oh fuck, did he tell her? Lucian thought, grinding his molars. Did he tell her about the warning or that he hated the idea of her leaving at all, walking out the door, taking her scent and her smile with her, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the possibility that while she was gone he could change back into the monster?

Shit, no. He wasn't saying any of that. Not yet.

"You will be meeting credenti members," he said instead, "speaking with them."

She laughed, her back to him at the stove. "I hope so. It's the only way I'm going to get some information on our guards."

"Screw the guards! I don't need them anymore. I just need you."

She brought the last of the hot water toward him, toward the tub. "Well, that's very sweet, in a volcanic eruption sort of way, but I'm worried about them." She smiled at him, her green eyes flashing like emeralds. "You? Not so much."

He pushed away from the wall and headed straight for her, only stopping when the chain wouldn't allow him farther. Even then, he yanked on the thing, seeing if he in truth could rip the fucker off the wall. Damn the Order! Damn his father. Damn his head for all the thoughts of her, his tongue for wanting to taste her again and again...

She poured the last of the hot water in the bath and was about to remove her nightgown when she suddenly realized he was in the room and unable to leave it. She glanced up at him, her brow lifted.

Lucian rolled his eyes. "I've seen you naked, remember?"

"I don't care," she said with too much calm, too much embarrassment. "This is...different."

"What? Standing before me in the light of the fire as opposed to lying beneath me in the light of the fire?"

"Shut up." Her eyes narrowed and a blush crept up her neck. "And yes."

He grinned and his cock knocked at the door of his zipper again. Poor fucker needed some attention..."Since I can't get this leash off and take myself for a walk, what would you suggest, baby?"

She lifted her chin. "That's Princess to you."

He snorted. "Maybe stab my eyes out with the fire poker?"

"Hmmm," she said, her eyes roaming over him, his chest, his zipper, "not a bad idea."

God, he'd love to take her right now-rip that white scrap of nothing off of her once and for all. Let her walk around naked all the time. "Or perhaps I can turn around and face the wall like a good dog?"

Her lips twitched. "Even better."

Wicked thing, he mused, backing up until his back hit stone. Forget tasting her. What she needed was a good slap in the ass. And he was just the asshole to do it. "Or perhaps I could watch you bathe and comment as crudely as possible about everything I see and wish to touch?"

She swallowed, her neck turning a pretty pink as blood rushed toward her face. "That would be true to your nature."

He looked at her through his lashes, his voice going savage. "You know, with your blood inside me, I would be calm and gentle-fit to assist you."

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, her eyebrow lifted. "Touch, but don't look? Is such a thing possible for you, Lucian Roman?"

His cock pulsed. It wanted her, wanted between her legs, wanted up and inside her cunt. "It would be a supreme effort, Princess, but I believe I am up to the task."

"Perhaps I could blindfold you," she joked, holding up the dish towel she'd used to wipe the stray droplets of water that littered the side of the tub.

The seductive humor dropped away from Lucian's mood and countenance and was replaced with a tight jaw and eyes narrowed into two slits of predatory lust. "I would like that."

She tilted her head. "Stop it."

His brow arched in challenge. "Blindfold me, baby."

Her cheeks colored prettily. "No look. No touch."

"Well, what the hell else is there?" he growled with annoyance.

She walked toward him, waving the piece of fabric, her grin widening with each step.

"You will make me a credenti veana with that wrap," he uttered, but beneath his grouch, his body was aflame and pulsing, thinking about her containing him.

"Fine," he said as she placed the towel over his eyes. Anything to keep her here, keep her close. "Have it your way, but I will be listening."

She reached up, fitting the white fabric to his eyes. "Consider me warned," she said, as she moved behind him, her breath on the back of his neck. Then slipped away, cool air filling the space.

He stood there, his chain and shackle hard against his wrist, digging into his flesh. But he didn't give a shit. His ears strained for any sound it could manage to pick up on. Hands rising, the hiss of fabric as it fell down the body.

This was fucking torture! "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I have just removed my nightgown," she said.

He ground his molars, his hands clenched into fists. "I knew it."

"You peek, you die, Roman."

"I'm already dead, remember?" he growled. His cock jerked, his balls tightened. "You said so yourself, lass."

"No, you're the undead. Remember?"

He never got a chance to answer because he heard the sounds of water moving, rushing, greeting beautiful, white skin. Fuck. His nostrils flared. This was completely unfair. He wanted to see-using his imagination was complete and total horseshit!

He heard her hiss and started.

"What?" he said, his hand reaching for makeshift blindfold. "What it is?"

"Hot," she said with a sexy little growl.

He about lost his mind. "This is bullshit!"

"Wait, Lucian!" He could almost hear her covering up all the good parts with her hands, her thigh crossing over to meet and protect the other in a continuation of splashes. "We agreed-"

"I agreed to nothing," he uttered tersely, his body on fire. "I don't follow rules. No matter who makes them." He ripped the fabric from his eyes and threw it into the fire, then let the sunlight assault his vision. "No one will ever keep me from looking at you, Princess. Understand? Not even you."

She stared up at him from the center of the white claw-foot tub, her green eyes emerald bright. Her dark hair was loose and falling over the back edge like a waterfall of chocolate. He was no artist, but she was sure as hell a painting.

His eyes roamed over her in the water, and as they did, she let her hands fall away from the places and treasures they were hiding.

"That's right, lass," he said, his tone as fierce as his intent. "What you have, what you are, belongs to me now. No more pretending, remember?"

Her eyes closed and she inhaled. "I don't know how this happened...It wasn't supposed to happen."

His hand went to the waistband of his jeans, flipped off one button, then another. "Does it matter? Does anything matter anymore? We are both doomed to our own particular brand of hell."

Her eyes opened and she turned her head toward him. "I wish you could come in here with me. Water's warm. I'm warm."

His lip curled. "Too far, but how 'bout I come right here."

She bit her lip and her gaze dropped to the waistband of his jeans.

His hand was almost to his cock when a loud rap on the front door halted him. In under a second, he had his head down, his eyes up, and his fangs bared.