The Warrior Vampire(7)
“Good. You’re awake.” As if she couldn’t stand to waste any of the water, the female standing over him shook the empty glass, sending a few stray drops onto his face. She seemed a little pissed.
Ghosts of sensation whooshed through Ronan, filling his chest—his entire body—near to bursting. Emotion, strong and hot, choked the air from his lungs and the emptiness that had consumed him vanished in the presence of this female who stood above him, her dark eyes flashing with indignant fire.
His back bowed off the bed and Ronan’s teeth clamped down as his secondary fangs punched down from his gums. The thirst that burned in his throat raged. An inferno burning too hot to quench. Desire took him in its grasp, his cock hardening as his need for this female’s body warred with his lust for her blood. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
This unknown female had tethered him.
Situation? Proceed with extreme caution.
How could this have happened? Though still hazy, Ronan knew that this female was the one from his memory of the previous night. She had returned his soul to him, made him whole in an instant. Whether or not she knew it, this female was his. Ronan cocked his head to the side, all thoughts of being bound and held against his will forgotten. Maybe the chains were left over from a wild night with a little light bondage? Doubtful, considering his aversion to being bound. Damn, he wished he could remember. It would take one hell of a woman to convince him to allow himself to be tied up. Then again, would he not do anything for his true mate? He let his gaze roam slowly from her knees up the curve of her slender thighs and well-rounded hips and paused at the swell of her breasts. Her V-neck tee provided the perfect amount of cleavage and he let his eyes linger for a bit before he met her eyes. They reminded him of onyx, almost black, and sparkling despite the meager light. Her skin was deep brown and flawless. Warm. Her mouth … Jesus Christ, her mouth was gorgeous. Full—her bottom lip only slightly fuller—and set in what he assumed was a perpetual pout. Had he kissed that mouth last night? Taken that delicious-looking bottom lip between his teeth? His want of her only intensified with the thought. Had he sunk his fangs into her throat while he fucked her?
Situation? Maybe not as dire as I’d thought.
“How do you know my name, vampire?”
Whoever she was, his mate was damned sexy when she tried to appear tough. Interesting question, though. She seemed unfazed by the fact that he was a vampire. This female was no dhampir, though. Nor was she human. Beneath her spring-rain scent, Ronan caught the tang of magic clinging to her skin. It sparked on his tongue like champagne. She was his. The knowledge of it was embedded in his very DNA. But as far as her name … he had no fucking clue. “I’m guessing we didn’t have a wild, drunken one-nighter, then?” he drawled.
He couldn’t help a triumphant smile as his words seemed to infuriate her even more. If he’d thought she was alluring when she was perturbed, she was fucking irresistible when enraged.
“Look, why don’t we start by unchaining me, yeah? I’m a lot more cooperative when I’m not tied to a bed and dripping wet.” He quirked a brow at her dubious expression. “You might want to at least try the polite approach first. Flies, honey, and all that. I am chained to your bed after all. Before I jump to any”—his gaze drifted to her cleavage one more time—“conclusions about what happened last night, maybe you should fill me in first.”
“Not a chance,” she said flatly. “You, answer me.”
“Considering I’m the hostage here, and the events of last night have, ah, slipped my mind, I think maybe you ought to go first and tell me what I’m doing here.”
She pulled a dagger from a sheath at her back and touched the point to his left pec, over his heart. The strange blade glowed like a damned canary diamond and practically screamed with energy. A warm tingle radiated from the tip of the blade as powerful magic flowed over his skin. The dagger was hungry for a kill. He didn’t know how, but somehow he could feel it.
She put pressure on the dagger, as if readying herself to drive the blade home. A thrill rushed through Ronan’s veins that he’d be at her mercy and the scent of her blood blinded him with need. “How ’bout you tell me how you know my name and why you’re in town—now—or I’ll run this blade through your heart?”
Situation? Definitely hostile.
* * *
The song was unlike anything Naya had ever heard before. There was nothing corrupt about it, the notes pitch perfect and the harmony so beautiful it threatened to bring tears to her eyes. A power resided in the notes, something so intense that it commanded her attention and at the same time made her want to retreat in fear of that power. This was the song she’d heard calling to her last night, the melody that robbed her of her senses and stole her breath.