Her pills were on the nightstand with a bottle of water. She swallowed one down.
Dayne’s back was to her, and he was curled in a ball like a large, old, and well-preserved squirrel. She wanted to curl her body around his and go back to sleep; let him wake her later. But she couldn’t. She was sure she’d been a nice diversion, but he’d only agreed to let her stay until after the full moon, and she wasn’t about to show her naiveté by hoping for more. She was twenty-eight, not eighteen. It wasn’t as if he’d professed undying love.
The sorcerer’s hand closed over her wrist. “Good kitties don’t run away,” his sleep-filled voice rumbled.
Greta gave him a questioning look.
“Stay.”
“I thought you said just until after the moon?”
Practically every sexual encounter they’d had had amounted to pity sex. She couldn’t handle further pity or possible rejection. She’d become stupidly attached to him.
“You might need me to keep you safe,” he hedged.
Greta bristled and jerked her arm away. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need your goodwill. Thanks anyway.”
Dayne chuckled and let his hand come to rest lightly on her thigh. “Yes, I saw that in action last night when you were tied down to an altar like the star of a B movie, complete with heaving breasts.”
“I was not heaving. And anyway, you just came to rescue me because you needed my blood. What was the spell for anyway?” She hoped it wasn’t for something world-ending.
“Oh, please. It was a huge hassle rescuing you. If I just needed blood, I could have taken one of the morbidly rubbernecking gawkers standing on the sidelines in the woods. Please stay.”
“I don’t need a man.”
He scooted up behind her and trailed kisses over the back of her neck. “Didn’t say you did. But I’m a very old man, and I now know the joys of having a pet around the house. Though in hindsight, seeing how well you listen, I should have gotten a dog.”
Greta smacked him on the arm. Dayne pulled her back and flipped them so he was straddling her. He planted a long, slow kiss on her lips. “Now, stay. You took your pill, right?”
“Yes?”
“Good. I’d like to make love again without you thinking I’m doing it out of some twisted mercy. If you want me without the heat interfering, that is.”
His hands started to stroke over her flesh and she relaxed and allowed her legs to fall open. A contented purr began to rumble through her chest. This was how Greta became kept.
11
Claimed
Earlier that Night
Anthony Burgess crouched outside a circle of flames wondering if anything was worth this much drama. An ally had asked a favor. Could Anthony be persuaded to drink and siphon drugs from the woman he loved? Sure. He wasn't doing anything else exciting that night. Why not?
Between himself and Dayne, they'd killed most of the remaining werecat tribe. Dayne had used magic while Anthony had snapped necks, as well as sampled a few for himself. He listened as Dayne chanted and the sky opened to let rain pour down, dampening the flames and making his passage to the center of the circle safe.
“It's safe now,” Dayne called from inside the circle.
Anthony rolled his eyes. He wanted to say, No shit, but the retort died a quick death on his lips as he took in the dark-haired beauty chained to the stone slab. A feral grin lit his face when he recognized the captive as Greta from the bookstore.
He ignored the bickering between Dayne and the man who'd taken her for sacrifice. The life was slipping from Dayne's true love as Anthony looked on.
She was dressed in a long white gown, though she wasn't a virgin, and they were at least a thousand miles from the nearest convenient volcano. Thin cuts marred her otherwise perfect tan flesh, and he could feel the power pulsing out of her. He'd wanted her blood for a long time now.
“Looks like I get a taste after all,” he said with a leer.
“Oh, this is a great plan. Vampires are entirely untrustworthy. He'll take too much.”
Anthony turned and raised a brow at the villain of the piece. Dayne had trapped him in a band of energy, but he wouldn't shut the hell up.
“Shut the hell up,” Dayne said. Then to Anthony, “Do it.”
As if he had to be invited. Nothing could keep him from the therian's potent blood flowing out under the full moon.
Dayne went to one side of the altar and held Greta's hand, whispering words of reassurance that the big bad wolf wouldn't kill her. Anthony could hear bits of dialogue but ignored it, too lost reveling in his own good fortune.
It had been a long time since he'd drunk from a shapeshifter. They couldn't be enthralled. They were strong. They were fast. And they weren't normally very free with their bodily fluids outside their own species. It was a rare pleasure to drink from one, and this one was more intoxicating than most.
He knelt beside her, turning her head to expose her neck. It took every ounce of control not to start lapping at the cuts covering her body, but he wanted to bite, and he couldn't siphon the drugs if he just licked her like an out-of-control puppy. He had to remember this was a favor for a friend, not a buffet. His eyes scanned up to her uncut throat.
There. A clean canvas.
He inhaled deeply and trailed his tongue over the spot he intended to bite, savoring the salty tang of her skin. The scent and taste of fear, desperation. She was on the cusp of accepting her fate, yet a thread of hope ran through her. The mixture of emotions would make her blood all the richer.
“Just get on with it,” Dayne said.
Suddenly, the sorcerer didn't seem so excited about the plan. Anthony chuckled and sank his fangs into the feast provided for him. The flavor exploded over his tongue like dark chocolate with the tiniest tinge of raspberry. But the power of the blood was stronger than the taste. He gripped the back of her neck and drank more deeply, feeling himself pulled into her web of power and unwilling to let go.
“Okay, that's enough,” she said. Her strength was returning as the drugs left her body. He growled as she fought him, refusing to let go of her neck until Dayne intervened and ripped him off her.
Anthony laughed, energized and wild from the combination of therian blood and the drugs addling his brain. He pivoted and ran through the woods while adrenaline pumped on overload through his veins. His mind was unfocused, swirling in a dark, euphoric fog.
He hadn't felt this way since he'd experimented as a newly-turned vampire with drunks and illicit drug users. Whatever had been injected into Greta's system, combined with the otherness of drinking from a therian, had intensified his appetite. And now there was only one person he wanted to go to, to slake the thirst.
Charlotte Devlin. The little redheaded firecracker who worked in the bookstore alongside Greta. She always had a sassy retort for him.
He'd spent long nights fantasizing about drinking from her, his pants growing tight as he thought of her sass turning to desperate begging. Yet until now he'd resisted. Even when he'd wiped her memory the night before, he'd resisted.
She'd managed to get a little too up close and personal with the world of magic, and the preternatural border patrol had called him in to wipe her memory. He'd been tempted to drink then, but he was saving her for a special occasion. Well, the night had just been upgraded.