Velvet Cataclysm (Princes of the Underground 1)

Christina couldn’t help it. She was fascinated by his singular male beauty. He wore only a pair of black leather pants that looked like they’d been tailor-made for his long legs and narrow hips. His bare feet padded across the carpet. His lean, muscular torso was a work of art, just like Saint’s was. Smooth, golden skin covered rippling, sleek muscle. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the narrow path of light brown hair that ran down his flat abdomen into low-riding, supple leather.

She forced her eyes away from the compelling sight and looked into his face.

“Saint will find me.”

Teslar paused in his pacing and for a tense moment, just stared at her. If she had to describe the expression on his face, she would have called it slain. She pushed up slowly with her arms, cautious of her aching head, but also wary of Teslar’s strange manner.

“You don’t need Saint. I can make you love me, Christina,” he said hoarsely.

She paused in pushing herself into a sitting position, not liking the feeling of lying on the floor while this dark angel towered over her.

“With your ascendancy, you mean?” Her voice sounded level, but her anxiety ratcheted up several levels at his threat. Saint had implied that she could throw off his ascendancy if she chose, but what if her ability to do so related to her and Saint’s deep connection? What if what Teslar said was true?

She shivered.

“Is that what you want, Teslar? Another slave for your army? Another sex-doll for your couch?” she taunted, her mouth twisting into distaste.

“No.”

She paused, surprised by the passion in his deep voice. It was impossible not to be affected by the pain and anguish she sensed exuding from him.

“Then why did you bring me here? To draw Saint into your trap so that you can kill him?”

Maybe she was an idiot, but Teslar looked genuinely confused by her questions. She felt pretty damned perplexed herself when he ran his hand t

hrough his lustrous, burnished hair, pulling at it as he grimaced in frustration.

“How can you ask why I brought you here? Don’t you have any idea what you look like in my eyes?” he asked incredulously. He began to pace again, like a graceful, trapped beast. “You might as well ask why someone wants love.”

“Please,” Christina muttered sarcastically, forcing herself with difficulty not to be moved by Teslar’s supposed anguish. The man could act, she’d give him that. “There are some words you should try to avoid altogether when you’re on the stage, Teslar, and love is one of them. Really brings the audience out of the experience with a crash, if you know what I mean.”

He stopped abruptly. She stilled an effort to cover her breasts when he glanced down with those hot, soulful eyes. Heat rose to the surface of her skin, but her nipples pulled tight beneath her T-shirt as though she were cold.

Her body’s betraying reaction to a sociopathic killer infuriated her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Teslar said quietly. His weighty stare returned to her face. “It’s true that I hunt humans, Christina, but it’s in my genetic make-up to do so. Not just mine, Saint’s as well. We feed off humans, true. But in doing so, we’re only acting out our nature. I don’t suppose you blame a lion for its hunger for flesh?”

“No,” Christina replied coldly. “But a lion is an animal, incapable of higher thought. You, on the other hand, know precisely what you’re doing when you cultivate fear in your victims. You don’t need to kill as you do. Saint has found a way to survive without resorting to murder.”

His facial muscles clenched in pain and he resumed pacing again. A groan vibrated in his throat.

“It hurts when you say his name, Christina.”

“Do you think I care if it hurts?” she demanded. She glanced around the chamber, her irritation rising as her fear diminished. She knew it was foolish not to be scared of Teslar, but his behavior reminded her more of an angst-ridden teenager than a crazed killer at that moment. “Why don’t you let me go?”

His glance was beseeching. Christina swallowed, unable to break his stare. She suddenly became hyperaware of her body—of her throbbing heart, of the blood that rushed through her flesh. A hot, achy sensation pulsed between her thighs.

She blinked and looked away from Teslar’s beautiful eyes.

“Stop it, you bastard.”

She wished he’d move, wished he’d resume his agitated pacing. Instead, she saw from the corner of her eyes that he remained as still as a statue. She felt his gaze like a touch on her averted cheek.

“I’m not what you think,” Teslar spoke quietly. “If you love Saint, then you must love me. Saint and I are part of the same whole, Stina.”

She leapt up from the carpet. “Don’t you dare call me that name. Do you hear me?”

His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Slowly, he raised his hands. For the first time, Christina noticed that the palms were reddened. A few blisters had risen to the surface.