“Your sire is Blood Wyne?” I stared at Roman. No wonder he was so powerful and ancient. He was old past counting. And living in Seattle. In a palatial estate. There was only so much my mind could take in during one conversation, and I had the feeling I’d almost reached my limit.
“Yes—and more. My mother is Blood Wyne. She only became my sire when she was turned.
And she then turned al of her children. There are eight of us scattered throughout the world. I am the eldest.” He rubbed the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “The Vampyr are truly the sons and daughters of Blood Wyne, in al imaginable ways.”
I slowly inched back into my chair. She’d turned her own children? A sick feeling hit the pit of my stomach. “Were you in danger? Or did she just decide to turn al of you into vampires with her?”
Roman picked up his cigaril o, considered it for a moment, then pinched it out. “Blood Wyne was . . . a possessive mother. After her transformation, she waited very little time before attacking us. Al eight of us—she ordered the guards to hold us down and then fed on us until we were near death. Of course, at that point she forced us to drink from her veins. I’m lucky. I was the oldest. But my sister and brother, twins . . . they were only twelve years old.”
He sounded almost sad, and a mist covered his eyes. “They live forever locked in prepuberty.
They turned on her, ran away together. I last heard of them five hundred years ago, when they terrorized and destroyed a vil age in France.”
“Why? Why would she do that to her own children?” I couldn’t imagine someone loving her children and deciding to turn them into monsters.
“She wanted to build an empire that would last an eternity. She wanted to keep us with her forever, and for al intents and purposes, she managed to accomplish her mission. At least in terms of life span. But we left home, instead of helping her create the kingdom she desired.
Others took care of that desire—vampires who craved the same sense of power. Over the years, she accrued a kingdom, and her children . . . we eventual y went back to her, but only on our terms.”
“Al of you?”
He paused, then said, “Two of my brothers now hang on her skirts. If we’d stayed together from the beginning, we’d rule the world by now. The rest of us agreed to be her emissaries, to help her rule but not from the heart of the throne. She was angry, but final y agreed. She wanted her rule to be visible, but she had to settle for a more sinister existence, ruling from the shadows, letting the mortals go about their business.”
“You chose to forgo letting people know about you.”
A nod. “We knew that if we al owed her desire to rule logic and reason, a war would be waged against al vampires. The times were not so progressive as they are now. We would be destroyed unless we rampaged across the land and ruled by terror. I’d had enough rampaging while I stil lived. I’d rather not repeat the experience. There are times when conquerors are necessary for the world, but I am no longer a warrior, save for when I must take up arms again. I prefer to strike a balance between ends of the spectrum.”
I gazed at him. Aligning myself with Roman was a smart move in many ways. On the other hand, I’d certainly draw more attention to myself, and some vampires were not going to like it. Wade, in particular. But he was as good as dead if I didn’t do what Roman wanted me to. As angry as he’d made me, I couldn’t just let him die.
And, I had to admit: The thought of Terrance being permanently removed from the picture dangled like a juicy, bloody carrot. He was crazed, dangerous, and I had a personal grudge against the man.
Roman possessed enormous power, and it said something for his nature that he hadn’t used it to terrorize the city. He outclassed Dredge by far, but Dredge had used his power like a hammer.
Roman wore it like a cloak.
I licked my lips. My fangs had descended when he pul ed me onto his lap and they had stayed down. Roman was delicious, and deadly, and al of those wonderful things that made power seductive. In the end, I made my decision based on instinct.
“I’l help you as long as it doesn’t interfere with what my sisters and I are doing. Our work always takes priority.”
I wasn’t about to tel him about the demons, but I had a feeling he already knew. Vampires were cagey, and one as old as Roman didn’t make it this long without holding info over the powerful and influential members of society.
I also knew that, at least Earthside, as vampires aged the territory battles increased. Like lions, only one king could rule over a defined area without a fight breaking out. Which explained why Roman’s brothers and sisters had spread throughout the world, except for the two stil living with Blood Wyne. But with Roman around here, it meant that he’d be the oldest and most powerful in the area.
He inclined his head, his gaze beckoning me. “As you wil , my lady.” He paused. “Do you dance?”
I nodded, thinking about my dream.
He stood and held out his hand. I took it and he pul ed me to my feet. I said nothing as he led me to a door on the left. With a faint smile, Roman drew me through and I gasped as we entered the long chamber that had been in my dream. I wasn’t wearing a fancy dress, but everything else seemed the same.
Roman placed his hands on my shoulders and slowly slid my jacket off, tossing it to the side where it fel against the floor.
With a snap of his fingers, music fil ed the chamber—wild and free. A piercing ululation gave way to thundering drums, and a woman’s sultry voice swept in to enshroud us in its rhythm.
And then we were dancing, spinning and turning, a combination of tango and waltz. Faster we went, our feet barely skimming the ground, and I found myself laughing at the pure joy of movement. Roman’s eyes flashed, sparkling, as he tightened his grip around my waist and his right hand grasped my own. He broke into a smile that reminded me of a triumphant wolf as he whirled me around the room.
As the song faded, he tumbled onto a backless divan, pul ing me down on his lap. I was stil laughing, but as I met his gaze, desire flared, sparking off a hunger in me that I hadn’t felt for a man since I’d been on the back of Smoky, getting hot and heavy with Vanzir.
Vanzir had promised a wild ride, free of fear that I might hurt my partner, but somehow, we’d never fol owed through to the actual act. Rozurial had been a delightful lover, but he was too gentle in spirit, even more gentle than my Nerissa.
With Nerissa, I had passion and love and I never minded holding back, making certain I didn’t lose it and attack her in a fit of blurred hunger and excitement.
But male lovers? I wasn’t looking for emotional attachments. With men, I wanted a no-holds-barred fuckfest where I could let my inner predator out without fear. And Roman smel ed like pure, unadulterated sex.
The music shifted to Gary Numan’s “Strange Charm” and I stopped laughing. I leaned forward, straddling Roman’s legs, and crawled up him as he lay back, our gazes locking.
On my hands and knees, staring down at him, the music was the only sound fil ing the room. And then, before anything else happened, I whispered, “I can’t be anything for you but this. I am in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, and my heart belongs to her, but we have given each other permission to play with the boys.”
He reached up and his fingers traced my face, cupping my chin as he pushed himself to a sitting position so that I was straddling his lap, staring into his face. “I wil never ask you for love.
There is no place in my heart for such emotion. But Menol y, I desire you. I want you and I have enough respect for you not to force the issue. If you choose to grace me with your body, then I wil be a most wil ing and attentive playmate.”
That was al the encouragement I needed. I leaned forward and his lips caught mine, and then we were standing, his hands under my ass, holding me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. I pushed the memory of Dredge out of my thoughts—he was the only other vampire I’d ever fucked, and only because he’d raped and tortured me, so I’d had no choice.
But Roman . . . Roman’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he carried me over to a thick rug in front of a fireplace and laid me down on the floor. I reached for my jeans, but he stopped me.
“Let me undress you.”
“I need to tel you something about myself,” I said, stopping his hand. Closing my eyes, I paused.
Then the words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m heavily scarred . . .”
He stopped, pul ing me to a sitting position. “Dredge, correct? That was the Scourge’s preferred method.”
I nodded, biting back the flare of anger that rose at the mention of my sire’s name. “He raped me. He tortured me, scarring me al over my body before he kil ed and turned me. The scars remained.”
“Your lover, she has no qualms, does she?” He reached out a lazy finger and traced circles on the denim of my jeans, over my knee.
With a shake of the head, I smiled. “No. She taught me to love myself, despite the scars. But they can be disconcerting, and I don’t want you freaking out when I show you my body.”
“Battle scars, my dear.” Roman tipped my chin up with one finger. “Be fiercely proud of them—
reclaim them and change them from what they were first intended to do. Take them for your own.
They make you the vampire you are. And vampires—we are predators, we are top of the food chain. We walk among the Immortals.”
His eyes, so gray and ful of mist, frosted over as he straightened his shoulders. “Your scars no more diminish your beauty than the red of your hair, or the curve of your lips. Your passion, your beauty, reside in your soul, and that you possess intact and for yourself only, no matter what your looks. But trust me, you are a beauty in form as wel as spirit.”
I let his words settle, then raised my arms. He eased my turtleneck over my head, gently tossing it to the side, baring my breasts. Slowly, Roman leaned forward, his eyes flickering up at me, and took one nipple in his mouth.
A fire sparked somewhere low, rumbling in my bel y, and I let out a little moan. He wrapped his arms around me and laid me back, stretching out beside me, his mouth stil working my breast. I gasped as the sensations began to spread through my body, setting off explosions down my spine, toward my thighs.
With one hand, Roman unbuckled my belt and I reached up to help him, but he pushed my hands away and then unzipped me. I lifted my ass and slid the jeans down and somewhere between his lips on my nipple and his lips on my neck, my jeans were off and I was exposed in the dim light that filtered down from the chandeliers on the ceiling.
Roman rose up, kneeling beside me as he slid off his jacket, baring a muscled chest. A thatch of chest hair matched the rich brown of his ponytail, thinning as it trailed in a V toward his abs. His arms were strong, wel muscled, and scars laced his wrists and chest—not deliberate, like the scars tattooing my body, but marks left by a whip or a crop. I reached forward and traced one that ran the length of his chest. It had to be thousands of years old, preserved in the flesh, a living fossil of a torture long gone.
“I fought many battles before I was turned,” he whispered. “My mother was a queen even then.
We ruled a smal country of nomadic warriors. I waged war by her side, with my brothers and sisters, as we conquered neighboring vil ages and eventual y smal territories. I nearly died five times.”
“Show me.” My gaze lingered on the scars, taking in the scope of what he was tel ing me. He might even have existed before the Great Divide, when the worlds were ripped apart.
Roman stood and slid out of his trousers, careful y draping them over a nearby chair. He turned to me, strong, hard, ready. But rather than jump me, he motioned toward a long scar that graced his thigh.
“A wooden spear almost kil ed me. I recovered, though. I was strong and healthy and the magic of our shamans was strong.” He pointed toward another scar that marred his left side. “Obsidian arrow. Came close to my heart but missed by just enough to spare me.”
He turned and lifted his ponytail. His back was laced with scars from a whip. “When I was caught by an enemy. He tried to whip me to death. Instead, he vanished into the grave and I walked away, bleeding and in pain but triumphant.”
Roman drew his shoulders back, standing so regal y that I almost forgot he was naked. The power, the elegance rol ed off him in a wave and swept me forward. I rose to my knees and leaned forward, pressing my lips to the scar on his thigh. Fol owing it across his stomach to the scar on his side, I left a trail of soft kisses, nibbling, barely nipping him as he shuddered and his erection hardened.
“Oh my beautiful girl, you are such a wild spirit,” he murmured, his hand gently holding the back of my head as I slid around and began kissing my way up the lacerations that crisscrossed his flesh. He was cold—unlike my Nerissa—but the chil was familiar, matching my own body temperature, and as I pressed my naked length along his back, a hunger began to build.
Hunger for blood, hunger for sex.
I slid my arms around his waist. “I’ve never been with a vampire before, except when . . .”
“Sshh . . . don’t sul y this moment with his name. Not here. Not now.” Roman turned around and gathered me in his arms, crushing his lips against mine. He let out a low hiss. “There are so many things we can do,” he murmured. “I long to taste you, to feed on you. Wil you exchange blood with me?”
I found myself nodding, eager to taste him, eager to feel the rush of cool blood in my mouth. The blood that remained in our bodies was nowhere near normal temperature, but it stil flowed, stil circulated at an almost unbearably slow rhythm, giving no pulse, no fire to the body.
He lowered his lips to my neck. “Let me drink from you, then drink from me, my beauty, and taste my power.” As his fangs touched my flesh, neatly puncturing my neck, a wave of euphoria slid over me and I closed my eyes, spiraling into a river of passion. It flowed, pul ing me deep, sucking me under like the fingers of a riptide.