Taken by the Vampire King(3)

Eyes the color of icy blue topaz cut toward her and narrowed. His gaze   was penetrating in its intensity. His head tilted and his brow furrowed   as he studied her, as if puzzled by her appearance.

For a moment, her greeting stuck in her throat. She cleared it and   offered a soft, "Hallo," in Norwegian, in which she was fluent. The   Scandinavian languages were largely mutually understandable.

His expression cleared and he nodded. He glanced to the contestant   ribbon pinned above her breast. "Are these yours?" he asked, gesturing   to the wall. His accent marked him as a native and his voice was like   melted chocolate, unexpectedly warm and smooth, deliciously appealing.

"Ja," she managed, stepping closer. Despite his age, something about him attracted and intrigued her.

"Truly remarkable shots. I've always been fascinated by the lights.   These photographs capture the majesty and wonder of them as well as any   I've seen."

Excitement and pride welled up within her. "And that is one of the best   compliments I've ever received. Thank you." Awkwardness threatened, so   Kaira plunged on. "Have you been to the festival before?"

"Many times," he said, dragging an appreciative glance over her gown. "You?"

She fought back a blush. "This is my first time."

"Well, I welcome you to my hometown, then," he said with a small bow and   a smile that charmed. The expression made him appear younger, less   troubled. He turned toward her and Kaira was struck by his size. A good   eight inches taller than her, despite her heels. If he'd been more   muscular, he would've been downright imposing. Instead, hollows carved   shadows into his face and the bones of his long-fingered hands   protruded.

With all the time Kaira had spent around other cancer patients, she   couldn't help but wonder if he was sick. The speculation made her feel   some small affinity with him and she smiled back. "Besides the gallery   owner, I think you might be the first person I've met who's actually   from here."

"Truly? My family has lived here for centuries."

Her heart gave a little squeeze. To know that kind of history about your   family, to have such deep roots. So foreign to her, and yet the  thought  was able to set off a deep longing within her. What she  wouldn't give  to have a family of her own. Old emotions caught her off  guard, and she  turned to the photographs hanging on the wall so she had  a modicum of  privacy to blink away the blindsiding sadness. "The  lights must feel  like old friends to you, then," she finally said.  Tromsø's position in  the middle of the auroral zone made it one of the  best places in the  world to witness them.

When he didn't respond, she looked back to him.

The man stood right behind her. She hadn't heard him move or felt his   nearness. He stared at her, hard and unapologetically, his gaze focused   somewhere just below her face. His nostrils flared and his tongue   dragged over his lip.

Kaira's pulse raced, her heart tripping into a sprint. Gasping, she   inhaled a spicy-sweet scent, warmed cinnamon with just a hint of   cayenne. Heat flashed through her, as if her fever had suddenly spiked.   Before her very eyes, the man's face changed, the angles of his jaw and   cheek sharpening, his pale eyes dilating, his mouth opening.                       
       
           



       

Panic skittered down her spine, the urge to fight or flee settling into   every muscle in her body. Surely she was misreading the situation.   Seventy people surrounded them in the middle of this well-lit public   place. There was no danger here. Drawing moisture into her mouth, she   said, "I'm Kaira Sorensen. And you are?" She couldn't quite force   herself to extend a hand.

Something flickered behind his gaze, and his eyes snapped to hers-and   flashed with light. She would've sworn it. He sucked in a harsh breath.   "Jakob," he said, louder than necessary, the smooth tone gone. Now his   voice sounded strained and ragged.

Instincts on even higher alert, she made herself observe basic   pleasantries. Last thing she wanted to do was make a scene. "Nice to   meet you, Jakob."

Out of nowhere, another man appeared at their side. Kaira took a   surprised step backward and gawked. Tall, broad, blond hair with an   unusual braid hanging down one side. Ruggedly handsome and   breathtakingly masculine. The resemblance between the pair was striking,   except for the difference in their ages and the older man's leanness.   The newcomer grabbed Jakob's arm and yanked him back from her. "Let's   go."

Jakob stood there, as if mesmerized.

The younger man grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to turn   away, and then he hauled him across the room and out the door. Another   man followed closely on their heels, nearly as tall and as broad.

The door closed behind them.

Shaking and heart pounding within her chest, Kaira cut her gaze to the   right and left. The reception carried on around her, no one seeming to   have paid any attention to her strange exchange with the man, or to his   hasty departure.

What the heck had just happened? And why did she feel to her very marrow she'd just escaped a brush with death?





Chapter 3

Henrik's back slammed against a brick wall, the darkness of the narrow   alley sheltering their trio from the tourists thronging Tromsø's   streets.

Lars stood at the entrance, making sure no one developed an unhealthy curiosity.

Jakob got right up in Henrik's face, forearm pressing into the king's chest. "What happened?"

He shook his head, swallowing thickly, his hunger burning so intensely   it was almost a living thing within him. "Wanted her," he rasped. It   hadn't been a decision. There wasn't anything rational or conscious   about it. From the first moment she'd approached him, he was awash in   her appealing scent, like the smoky berries of a vintage wine or the   rich bite of an aged, dignified whiskey.

"Wanted her how?"

"I wanted her." He knocked his head against the brick. Even now, he   couldn't shake the image of the vein's rhythmic dance along her slender   neck or of the luscious dip of her cleavage, both displayed so   invitingly by her upswept hair. His fangs throbbed with a want and a   need he couldn't remember feeling in ages. Not to mention the aching   hard-on between his legs.

"Straight out no-shit bloodlust?" Something like hope sounded in the warrior's deep voice.

"Ja." Henrik heaved a deep breath of cold January air as his imagination   unhelpfully replayed how it would've gone down. Tearing the gown from   her trim body. Holding her curves in his hands. Bearing her up against   the wall. Sinking his fangs and his cock in deep until every dark,  needy  part of him was sated.

"I'll get her." Jakob turned away.

The king slammed his hand down on his brother's shoulder and gripped hard. "Nei."

"You want her. You need her."

"I'll kill her."

Because he wouldn't be able to stop.

Once he got a taste, something base and instinctual told him he wouldn't   be able to make himself stop. He'd been so close to the edge of his   restraint in the gallery. Only the sound of her voice had pulled him   back from the brink.

All he'd wanted was a night out of their mountain citadel, away from the   looming promise of death. He thought the jovial atmosphere of the   festival would distract him from all that was to come. Instead, it had   thrown it right in his face. Christ, he was a catastrophe waiting to   happen, already more beast than man. He shook his head again. "I'll   fucking kill her," he rasped.

"You won't."

Acid washed through his gut. "You willing to risk an innocent woman's   life-or her soul-to see which of us is right? I'm not." He shuddered,   the danger of becoming like his evil enemies one of his greatest fears.   "Leave her be. I'll not have it any other way."

Jakob lowered his chin and his shoulders lifted and lowered in a weary   sigh. When he raised his gaze again, Henrik hated the grief and   resignation he saw there, hated that he couldn't go through this without   dragging everyone around him down, too. "What do you want to do,  then?"                       
       
           



       

"Get the hell out of here. And find some goddamned Soul Eaters to rip   apart." He pressed his arm to his side, feeling the satisfying weight of   the holstered gun there. What he couldn't take care of with his bare   hands he'd happily dispatch with the clip of bullets poisoned with the   blood of the dead.