Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Lucian carries me into the bedroom and lays me down gently, then follows, pulling me close until I’m wrapped in his arms, my back pressed to his chest. His body is solid and warm, radiating comfort.
“Lucian—” I begin.
“Shh,” he rumbles sternly. “Just be quiet for a moment while you warm up.” He pulls me closer, rubbing his big, warm hands up and down my arms and sides.
Slowly, my shivering stops.
I sag against him, exhausted, overwhelmed, and suddenly very close to tears.
“Now,” he says, turning me to face him. “We can talk. Why were you torturing yourself like that in there just now?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying not to cry. “It’s just… we were having such a nice day. And then that thing attacked Hanna, and I’m so worried about her. And there’s no way I should be feeling like this—feeling hot—when one of my best friends is having her soul sucked away all because she chose the wrong moment to come check on me and got pulled into my personal mess.”
Lucian strokes my damp hair back from my face, his touch infinitely gentle, and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“It’s not your fault, little one,” he murmurs. “Whistler should have known better than to bring her. And as for the need you’re feeling, that’s the fault of the Passion wine. It is a known aphrodisiac. You cannot blame yourself—either for what happened to Hanna, or for the feelings you’re having now.”
“Really?” I ask in a small voice.
“Really,” he says firmly.
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing softly along my skin as he tilts my chin up so our eyes meet.
“Now,” he says quietly, “are you ready to let me help you?”
I hesitate, my heart pounding. Am I? The need inside me pulses in answer before my mouth can.
“I… I guess so,” I admit.
A low sound rumbles in his chest, something like satisfaction tempered by restraint.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Then just relax…and let me make you feel good.”
His arms tighten around me, protective and possessive in a way that makes my breath catch.
And for the first time since this awful, overwhelming feeling started, I let myself believe that relief is finally within reach.
61
Lucian
I cradle her in my arms, breathing in the warm, feminine scent of her sexual need. The Passion wine is driving her hard, making her ache inside to be pleasured… to be filled. It’s a potent, magical aphrodisiac, and it’s turned her into a trembling, desperate thing. Her skin is flushed, her eyes glassy with want and a guilt that cuts me deeper than any blade ever could.
“Hanna…” she whispers, her head pressed against my shoulder. “She’s so sick… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be feeling like this…”
“Shhh, little one,” I murmur into her hair, holding her tighter. Her body is a live wire against mine, every curve pressed to me screaming with unmet need. I can smell the sweet heat of her arousal—an intoxicating perfume that calls to the darkest, most possessive parts of my nature. She needs. And I know exactly what she needs.
She needs to come, over and over, until the wine’s frantic edge is blunted. She needs to be filled, stretched, claimed—to feel something solid and real chasing away the hollow, guilty ache. She needs my cock buried deep inside her, and she needs my release flooding her, a physical anchor in the storm of magic and emotion.
And I am going to give it to her.
Even though I know the cost. To take her like this, to join with her while her soul is laid so bare by the wine and her own heart… it will forge a connection. A partial Soul Bond—a tether from my essence to hers. It will make the thought of existing without her a phantom pain that never fades. My survival, my centuries of detached control, will become dependent on the warmth of this one, mortal woman.
It is the worst kind of tactical error—the most profound vulnerability I could possibly inflict on myself.
I find I don’t care.
For tonight, for her, I will make the sacrifice. I will have her just once, as she needs me to.
“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” I say, my voice a low rumble of desire. “Let me take the guilt away. Let me give you what you’re craving.”
I lay her back on the silk sheets of my bed, her long hair fanning out like a shadow. She whimpers, her hips lifting in a silent, beautiful plea.
“Look at you,” I breathe, kneeling between her spread thighs.
She is glistening, swollen, and utterly open for me. The scent of her—pure need, mixed with the floral notes of the wine—is an aphrodisiac more powerful than any magic.
“So wet for me already. So perfect. This pretty little pussy is begging for my mouth, isn’t it?”
She nods and moans softly, beyond words because her need has grown so great.