Page 4 of Blood Slumberm

He opened his mouth wider against her skin. Oh gods. He was about to do it. He was going to bite her now. She braced herself for pain.

But it was pleasure-pain that broke her skin and pierced her neck and drove deep inside her. A cry tore out of her, and she stiffened against him.

Then he sucked, and she gasped at the air. The aching draw at her throat seemed to pull at the very core of her, waking long-forgotten things. Her nipples peaked, brushing his chest through the fabric of her tunica.

He dragged hard at her vein. Warmth spread through her, and the rhythm of his sips began to throb low in her body. For the first time, she understood the tales of Hesperine seduction.

Ohgods. This was not part of the plan.

Celandine braced her palm on his chest and pulled her distaff closer. But then he buried his hand in her hair, and sensation cascaded over her scalp. His next swallow sent another rush of warmth pooling between her legs.

She felt more in this moment than she had in ten long years.

Another of his limbs came awake. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him with a fierce, possessive hold. And she remembered how it felt to be desired.

He didn’t want her. All he wanted was her blood. But why shouldn’t she take what she wanted from him while he was at it?

Her grip slackened on her distaff. She barely heard it thump onto the carpet. She clutched his powerful shoulders to brace herself, now against the waves of pleasure building inside her.

She squeezed her thighs together. He had barely touched her, but her underlinens were already soaked. How could he do this to her with nothing but a bite?

Panting, she gave in to the urge to move and arched against him. Yes. Oh, yes. She dug her nails into his shoulders, riding the edge. Her plan could wait. The rest of the world could go up in flames. Nothing mattered right now except release.

Deep, gratifying spasms broke through her at last, and her jaw dropped. He growled against her throat. She felt that sound to her curling toes. He kept a tight hold on her shuddering body and worked her vein, pulling her into the next wave of ecstasy, and the next.

When she was spent, she lay still against him, trying to breathe. His fangs slipped out of her, and curse him, even that movement sent pleasure sliding through her. He was pulling back. Turning her face to his. Her blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She swallowed hard.

His long lashes rose. His deep brown eyes focused on her.

“Who are you?” His gravelly voice sent shivers rippling out from where their chests touched.

“Celandine.” She spoke it aloud to another person for the first time in years. Her real name, the one they had taken from her when she had entered the temple. The one she still knew herself by.

“Celandine.” He said her name as if savoring the most exquisite delicacy on his tongue. His gaze swept over her, and the spell lights struck his reflective eyes. They glowed bright gold. Within the fallen prince, she saw a starving predator.

Troi had thought her blood a dream. But his eyes were open, and she remained.

He had dreamt of waking before. How many times had he opened his eyes in one nightmare to find himself in another? How many years had he spent waking and waking through endless layers of figments, still trapped in his Slumber?

Now he held life in his arms, her heart pounding against his, the taste of her climax on his tongue.

Celandine was real. He was awake.

He tightened his grip on the thick waves of her dark hair and licked a smear of blood from her neck. The musk of desire clung to her amber skin. He should turn her over and keep her under him until they were both glutted.

Her pulse pattered faster against his tongue. A salty scent overtook the fragrance of her lust. Fear.

That shocked Troi fully awake, and he instantly let her go.

She scooted cautiously away from him, straightening her tunica with great dignity. When he made no move to pursue her, she snatched a staff off the floor and sat with her gaunt frame propped against the footboard, the sharp end of her stick between them.

She carried a mage of Chera’s distaff, and yet she had thrown herself into a Hesperine’s bed with no regard for chastity or the consequences of consorting with a heretic like him. He knew her name, but who was Celandine in truth?

He pushed himself up, keeping the bedclothes gathered around his waist with one hand. The arm supporting his weight trembled. He fell back against his pillows, already exhausted from the effort of achieving a sitting position. As memories overwhelmed him, his head spun.

Someone had finally come for him. Not a party of powerful Hesperines. One mortal woman.

A beautiful, half-clothed one who both desired and feared him. The thin fabric of her tunica clung to her nipples, and he could smell how wet she was. And yet wariness sharpened her aristocratic features. Now he saw the strands of silver at her temples and the dark circles under her large brown eyes. As he gazed into her soul, her emotions washed over him.

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