lingered, swirling over Skye's flesh. He licked along the length of each aristocratic digit. Sucked the thumb into his mouth, then slowly released it.
Skye's pupils dilated almost completely. The red of his aura now dominated the gray. He pulled the boy into his arms, almost as though they
prepared to waltz. He held the injured hand up, bared his fangs, and then hesitated.
He turned his gaze to Skye's beautiful face. Angular and pale, high cheekbones, hollowed cheeks. Pink lips trembling.
The arm linked around Skye's body pulled him closer, pressed groin to groin. The unexpectedly strong surge of lust that swept through Donté
almost floored him. His fangs ached to bury into the sweet, pliant flesh, to taste the rich blood that flowed through Skye's veins. To have Skye
Templeton on his knees, begging to be taken.
"Captain," he whispered.
"Yes, lad," Donté murmured.
"Do you consider yourself a good person?"
The question took Donté by surprise. His gaze shot to Skye's face. He saw submission there, but there was something else as well. Something
deeper, a level of defiance he tried to hide. To own this man's soul would be worth far more than all the others combined.
"A good person?" Once. Maybe. A long time ago, when he truly was human. But that was a faraway place and distant time. Before the rebellion.
Before his sire had turned him. Not that he'd had a choice. Which is one of the reasons he refused to turn another. They had no idea the purgatory
of the undead life he lived. Eternity wasn't as glorious an existence as humans were led to believe.
He turned his attention to the hand with the slender angry bloodline mark, brushed his lips across the throbbing heat of the wound. "I like to think
I am a fair man. Not necessarily good."
"How many humans have you killed? Do you remember all their names?"
Again, he turned his head to look at the intriguing young man. He wrenched Skye's arm behind his back, drawing him closer still.
"Is that why you're here, lad? To avenge a supposed wrong I've committed? Or do you believe yourself a vampire hunter? Ready to lay down your
life for the chance to kill one of my kind?"
Skye opened his pretty mouth as though to say something, and then seemed to think better of it. Donté smiled. He was so human. So lovely.
Donté leaned closer. "Do you want to kill me, Skye? Do you think you're the first? Do you think I care what their names were before I disposed of
them? Before I bled them dry?"
"I--I d-don't--" Skye's voice trailed away.
"You would not be the first to have attempted to board my ship under false pretenses. Was there even a distressed ship? We've seen no sign of
one. You're playing a dangerous game, lad, very dangerous. I will say you are certainly the first to intrigue me in many years. I think I want to keep
you, Skye Templeton. We'll see how long my interest in you lasts."
Swiftly he turned and razed his fangs across the palm of Skye's hand without piercing his flesh. Just enough pressure to prove his control. The
young man struggled for a moment, attempting to free his hand, and then he stilled as Donté licked his palm, soothing the heat of the red tracks left
in his wake. He turned his attention back to Skye, pushed him up against the wall and then ripped his shirt open, baring smooth, hot flesh beneath.
"So perfect, so beautiful," he whispered. He looked into Skye's eyes and saw stark fear blended with molten desire. Donté saw the battle raging
inside him. He smoothed his hands over Skye's torso, enjoying the feel of his unblemished skin. He bared his teeth, prepared for the first breach of
unmarred flesh, marking him for all to see.
He shredded the shirt and tossed it aside. Succulent, rippling muscle met his gaze. Taut and bronzed flesh. Pulsing veins rich with energizing
blood. More than anything else he wanted to taste this man, to own him. To make him bleed for Donté and no one else.
To fuck him and brand him.
He watched as Skye slowly tilted his head, eyes fastened to Donté's, exposing the pulsing artery decorating his throat. The desire to taste Skye
burned deep, raging through him--taste his flesh and his blood. Just a sip would never be enough.
He wanted to linger over his new treasure, to sup leisurely and elegantly. Donté bowed closer, inhaling his scent.
"Captain!"
"Bloody damn," he said under his breath as he leaned away and Skye slid to the floor, eyes closed.
Donté stalked to the door and pulled it open. "What is it?"
Jupiter stood there, cutlass gripped in his hand. "Onyx spied a set of sails. Looks to be a French brigantine he says. I thought you'd want to know.
There's no flag and by the look of her appears to be a zombie ship."