Page 27 of Princess Claimed

Phil strides to the side of the room and slams his fists against the wall. A painting crashes to the floor.

“Careful,” Flame says. “That’s a Monet.”

Phil growls, telling Flame just how much he cares about the painting. If Phil doesn’t calm down, Freetown will be pinpointed as an earthquake epicenter.

Crusher strides toward me. “How sure are you about this possession theory?”

I shake my head. I’ve never been able to lie to Crusher. Never wanted to. “I’m not sure about anything. But if a demon was keeping Rasputin alive for a hundred years, if it let him take the shape of Mariano and then Timur…”

Worry flashes in Crusher’s eyes. Then determination. “What will it take for you to be certain?”

“More research,” I answer.

“Where?”

“The archives.”

“In Romania?” Crusher rakes his hand through his hair. “I guess we could take her to the vampiric palace. She’ll be safe there.”

I shake my head. “Not those archives.” If we take her there, we’ll never see her again, and we’d likely end up in prison. “There’s a library in Manhattan. Under the Met. And I haven’t even searched DEFTA’s collection yet.”

Crusher nods, stiffly. “Okay,” he says. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Chapter

Fourteen

Ana

While the men talk, I pace the bedroom, going back and forth dozens of times, hundreds. I’ve never felt so alive, or so cooped up. My nerves and muscles are dancing under my skin—happy, energized, and eager to let loose.

In spite of Rasputin—maybe because of what he almost did to me, I want to live. I want to have fun. And the feeding and spectacular sex since I came back here only scraped the surface of what I’m eager to experience. Coming so close to death, made me long to really live.

Or is it the effect of Crusher’s and Flame’s blood?

Feeding from Timur all those years, I had no complaints, and my vampiric powers grew, but now that I’ve fed from these brothers, I sense a profound difference inside me, like I’ve absorbed some of their immense power, and it feels so right. Like my body was waiting a century to consume their blood.

Not to mention absorbing their seed. Crusher, Flame and Blade have all spilled their seed inside me now, two of them today, and while my body’s immediate reaction was obvious—impacting both my energy and my desire—I swear I can still feel the rush of it surging through my blood stream, like the men are now part of me. Permanently.

Crusher knocks on my door. His breathing rate and scent tell me it’s him.

“Just a second,” I call out.

I don the first item of clothing I grab from the armoire, the red dress I got at the exchange, then turn toward the door. “Come in.”

Crusher enters. He stops short and air fills his lungs as his eyes drink me in. Witnessing his reaction fuels another kind of power inside me. My title and privilege gave me self-assurance all my life, but my new-found ability to wield my sexuality is potent.

“I would like to speak with you.” Crusher bows his head slightly.

“Sure.” I smooth the front of the dress, even though the garment is too form fitting to wrinkle.

He gestures toward the two chairs sitting in the corner of the bedroom, and I smile before walking slowly toward one. Crusher picks up the cushion from the other chair and places it on his lap as he sits, his body filling every millimeter of the space.

“What’s up?” I ask. I didn’t listen to a word while the men were talking outside my room. I asked them for privacy, so granting them theirs was the least I could do.

“First.” Crusher licks his lips and shifts on the chair. “I would like to offer a sincere apology for my personal actions.”

I draw my legs up and to the side, leaning against the arm of the chair that’s closest to his. “Why do you need to apologize?”

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