Page 4 of Wanted 3

It took me a moment to register what he held in his hand.

When it clicked, I screamed.

The Count held a severed head, dripping blood onto the recently mopped kitchen floor.

And it wasn’t just anyone’s head.

It was Don’s, his eyes still open, but empty of all life.

"You killed him?" I asked in a cracked whisper.

The Count eyed me, his handsome face an impassive mask. "This is who I am.” He paused, and then dropped his voice to an even lower rumble to ask, “Who are you, Kassandra?"

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Icovered my mouth with my hands to stop from screaming even as I asked myself the same question.Who was I?

The answer snapped together in sharp relief as I stared at the decapitated head of the man who had tortured me for so long. And with each passing moment, the urge to scream faded away.

Who was I? I knew the answer to that. I really did. I stepped forward, only stopping before the Count when I was less than two feet away.

"I am a woman who can handle your darkness," I said, locking a fierce gaze with his. "That is, if you can handle mine."

At my response, a wealth of raw, naked emotion played over the Count’s face. Desire. Delight. And so many more.

He didn’t move as I took Don’s head from his grasp.

The hair felt greasy in my hands and the head weighed more than I’d imagined. I lifted it up, enough to stare into the dead eyes. Finally. It was over. I’d never have to hear his voice or deal with his sick cruelty ever again.

Relief bubbled inside me, along with years of pent anger. I’d suffered so much because of Don. I’d lived in such fear. Furious, I spat on his face and then tossed the head to the side, watching it roll along the tile until it thudded against a cabinet and came to a stop.

The Count lifted a cool brow, and then, he pulled me to him, and bending his head down, claimed my mouth with his own. I tasted blood on his tongue. Whose, I didn’t know, nor did I care. I just let him sweep me away.

He kissed me with a rough possession, a kiss as fierce and dangerous as the man itself—well, not a man, but a vampire. The only kind of creature who could really match me, accept me as I was.

His tongue danced over mine, drawing me into his world in a kind of kiss that invited me to stay, and I kissed him back with everything I had until I felt like I would burst.

God, I belonged with him.

I ran my hands over his hard-muscled chest and then wanting to feel his skin against mine, pulled his shirt free enough to slip my hands beneath.

He moaned into my mouth as I ran my palms up his spine, marveling in the soft, satiny coolness that covered muscle as hard as rock.

He answered my exploration with one of his own, sliding his hands down over my hips to cup my ass and pull me, sharply, against him.

He was hard. I arched against him, wanting more this time.

“Stay with me,” he groaned, thrusting his hips forward to meet me.

“Forever,” I promised in a whisper.

He blanched at my response, and for a sick moment, I thought he’d pull away, that I’d ruined the heat sizzling between us. Forever? Why was that such a trigger word?

I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him desperately, letting him feel the need inside me. I kissed him with everything I had.

He relaxed and gathered me back in his arms, this time, holding me gently, as if I might break. Then, he hefted me onto the granite island, the difference in height allowing him to bury his face against my throat.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back as he kissed the line of my collarbone, making his way to the vein on my neck.

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