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  Sophie lapped at his wrist again, taking more of his sweet, strong blood in her mouth, and felt another warm tingle race through her. The heat was spreading up her arms and legs into her core and it seemed to be pooling between her legs, somehow. Her pussy suddenly felt swollen and sensitive, just as it had when he marked her, tasted her…

  “It’s good,” she whispered, taking another small lick. “I didn’t think it would be but…I like it. Is that strange?”

  “It’s because you are as attuned to me as I am to you,” he murmured. “Tell me, does it give you pleasure to drink of me?”

  “Drink of me…I like that.” Sophie took another lingering lick, feeling the rush of tingling warmth that flowed directly to the tender spot between her thighs. “Yes,” she admitted softly. “It does give me pleasure. It’s almost like I can feel it—the effects of your blood, I mean—uh, everywhere.” A wave of embarrassment washed over her and she wondered if he knew what was really happening to her every time she took another taste.

  From the way Sylvan’s eyes were half-lidded with lust, he knew exactly how his blood was affecting her. “Are you wet, my numala?” he murmured, catching her gaze and holding it with his own. “Do you feel the pleasure of my blood between your thighs?”

  Biting her lip, Sophie nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I…I do. Do…” She cleared her throat. “Do you feel the same way when you taste my blood?”

  He nodded. “Your blood, your honey…as I said, my body is attuned to yours now.” His voice was a soft growl. “Everything about you makes me want you. Even the way you take my blood.”

  Sophia’s eyes flickered down to the thick outline of his cock, pressing against the fabric of his black flight pants. “I…I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling flustered. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I know you didn’t.” He shook his head. “The fault is mine.”

  “Sylvan…”

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. “Just drink of me one more time to be certain you’re well and we’ll say no more about it.”

  “Are you sure you want me to?”

  “When will I ever get the chance to give you the gift of blood again? To feel your soft lips pressed to my flesh as you take what only I can give you?” His voice was hoarse with need and longing. “Yes, Sophia, I’m sure. Drink of me. Drink and be healed. Drink and be pleasured.”

  His soft words seemed to do something inside her, to touch and caress her exactly where the tingling warmth of his blood had already started a fire. Feeling like she was drowning in lust, Sophie met his eyes and flattened her tongue against his wrist to take another long, slow, lick of his blood…

  “I see you’ve arrived in one piece, son of my sister,” said a high, feminine voice behind her. “It’s so good to see you again after all these…oh dear!”

  Sophie was so startled she jerked away. At the same time, Sylvan pulled his wrist back and turned to look at whoever was speaking.

  “Mother’s sister,” he said steadily to the tall, thin woman with pale blonde hair and light blue eyes, who was standing there in the stone hallway behind them. “I am pleased you came to meet us.”

  “We wouldn’t have come if we knew you’d be doing…this. Really, Sylvan, it’s hardly appropriate—especially in a public place like the access tunnel!” She had her arms crossed over her narrow bosom and her thin lips were drawn in a tight line of disapproval. Behind her was a man who was almost as tall as Sylvan but of a much thinner and slighter build. His dishwater blond hair was thinning, showing a pinkish scalp and he had a long, boney face that was also drawn in deep lines of condemnation. To Sophie he looked like a large, hairless cat.

  “I am sorry, Mother’s sister,” Sylvan said, nodding his head. “It was regrettably necessary. Sophia had frostbite in all her extremities and I had to, uh, stimulate her system.”

  At the word “stimulate” their faces grew red. They were both dressed, Sophie saw, in thin pastel furs that seemed to be cut into clothes. The woman’s pale pink fur was made up into a long, sleek dress that fell elegantly from her neck to her ankles but the man’s pale green fur was tied at the side into a kind of loincloth that barely reached the middle of his thighs. His narrow, scrawny chest and long, skinny white legs were bare and he was wearing a pair of huge furry purple boots that made Sophie want to laugh. But she held back the giggle that rose in her throat—clearly these were Sylvan’s aunt and uncle and just as clearly they weren’t happy.

  Sylvan’s uncle cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sharing the gift of blood is a private, Kindred matter, best kept behind closed doors,” he said, addressing Sylvan. “While you stay with us, you and your bride will please remember that.”

  “She’s not my bride.”

  “What?” If Sylvan’s aunt’s eyebrows got any higher they were going to disappear into her hairline. “She’s not even bonded to you and you were giving her the gift of blood? Have you no shame?”

  Sylvan sighed and stood up to face them. “As I said, it was necessary.”

  “Well it had better not be necessary again,” blustered his uncle. “After all, we have an impressionable young daughter to consider. Nadiah doesn’t need to see such things.”

  Sylvan nodded. “I understand. It won’t happen again.”

  “Well good.” He nodded curtly. “Since we understand each other, your mother’s sister and I offer you and your, er, female friend, the hospitality of our home.”

  “Thank you. Sophia and I accept.” Sylvan looked down at her. “We should go. Can you walk?”

  “I…I think so.” She was still sitting on the hard, stone bench. When she tried to stand, her legs folded under her. Had exposure to the extreme cold made her weak or was it some side effect of taking his blood? “I’m sorry,” she said as Sylvan swung her up into his arms again.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t mind carrying you.” He smiled.

  “Thank you.” Sophie smiled back gratefully…until she saw the disapproving way his aunt and uncle were looking at her. “Uh, unless it’s against some kind of law or custom,” she added hastily. “I don’t want to offend anyone.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Sylvan assured her and looked at his aunt for confirmation. “Is it, mother’s sister?”

  She shook her head curtly, though she still looked to Sophie like she’d been sucking an unripe persimmon. “No. Not as long as that’s all you do.”

  “You have my word that no more intimacies will be performed in public or in private,” Sylvan said, looking her in the eye. “I have foresworn myself of Sophia for reasons I choose not to discuss.”

  “Well then, that’s a different matter.” His uncle gave Sophia a tight smile which wasn’t much better than his disapproving frown. “I’ll let that be known at the feast when we introduce you and your guest.”

  “Very well.” Sylvan looked almost as unhappy as Sophie felt. It was a shame that he had to tell everyone they weren’t together in such a public way. She had been feeling so close to him after he saved her yet again. The taste of his blood lingered on her tongue and the tingling feeling between her thighs hadn’t quite dissipated either. And he smelled so good…

  Stop it, she told herself sternly. It’s better not to wish for things you can’t have. Because you can’t just have one part of him. It was true but it still made her frustrated and sad. Sighing deeply, she laid her head on his broad shoulder and watched as his aunt and uncle preceded them down the long, stone corridor that seemed to go on forever.

  * * * * *

  Sylvan was filled irritation as he followed his kin down the access tunnel that led to the main grotto. His mother’s sister Zeelah and her mate Grennly were still as prudish as ever. Maybe even more so than last time he’d seen them. He wondered if they were out and out Purists yet or if they were still teetering on the edge of that controversy. It was one he would rather not get into himself, if he could help it. He was Kindred, born and bred and he couldn’t help it if his mother’s people disapproved of th