Sweet Ruin (Immortals After Dark 16)

Until then, he would search the streets for the soothsayer. After he tracked this scent.

Another nymph asked him, “You wouldn’t hurt Nïxie, right?”

She’ll never feel a thing. He turned to smile at his bevy. His grin, he well knew, was as crooked as his morals, and held a hint of snide; females creamed when they saw it.

Another question for the ages.

“Hurt Nïx?” he scoffed. “I merely want to make a conquest. What male doesn’t want to lay a Valkyrie?”

He already had, of course. Huge disappointment. She’d clung afterward, and the pointed ears—such a feylike feature—had been a turnoff. He despised the fey, hating that his own ears were pointed as well. The nymphs had them too, but at least they were up for a good time with no strings attached.

Conquest was something the nymphs understood. The first one he’d pleasured tonight said, “Nïx might be out in the Quarter even now. At least until sunrise. Good luck!”

He left them sighing at his grin as he stormed from the courtyard. He needed to be scouring this city for his target. So why was he hurrying after the voyeur?

Out on the street, drunken pedestrians milled around him. Bleary-eyed females regarded him with desire.

Though half fey/half demon, he could pass for a—very large—human. His hair concealed his ears, and he’d etched runes into the bow and quiver he wore to camouflage them from mortal eyes.

Among the humans were other immortals. Most mistook him for a rough-around-the-edges fey—as long as he didn’t bare the fangs he’d inherited from his demon mother.

Though his sense of smell wasn’t nearly as keen as Darach’s, Rune was able to lock on the voyeur some distance ahead. His gaze zoomed in on a short black miniskirt and an impossibly hot ass.

Her thighs were shapely but taut. Made to close around a male’s waist. Or his pointed ears.

Not that a poisonous male like Rune could pleasure her in such a manner.

A long mane of dark brown curls swayed down her back, looking as silky as mink. Her cropped black tank top revealed a tiny waist. She wore combat boots, and she knew how to walk in them.

If her tits were as gravity-defying as that pert ass . . . As though on command, she turned back in his direction, giving him a view of the front.

First thought: I wish I could eat her up.

Her skin was the palest alabaster, her wide eyes hazel and heavily shaded with kohl. She had high cheekbones and a haunting airiness about her face. But her red lips were full and carnal.

She wore a strange necklace made of uneven hunks of metal. Appearing lost in thought, she rubbed one chunk across her chin.

His gaze dipped, and he nearly groaned. Those tits. They were generous; she was braless. Good girl. He watched those mounds rise and fall with her confident steps—a glorious sight.

Even better, her nipples were straining against her shirt. He’d bet his performance had caused that response.

He inhaled more deeply. Oh yes, he’d affected her. When he scented her arousal, his muscles tensed, his body strung tight as his bow.

Her navel was pierced, with a dainty chain dangling from a ring. He would nuzzle that. Without going farther south. If he tongued her, she’d know pleasure for an instant, then convulse with agony.

His bodily fluids were as toxic as his black blood. His fangs and claws as well.

The only thing he hated worse than the fey was his poison. If he killed another, it should be by his choice—not because of some anomaly of nature. . . .

He leaned against a lamppost, studying the female. Ghostly makeup, black clothes, combat boots. What did mortals term this style? Ah, she was a Goth. Why anyone would harken to that human age perplexed him.

But with ethereal looks like hers, she had to be an immortal. Perhaps another nymph? No, too edgy.

Maybe a succubus? If so, she would crave semen, which he couldn’t give, even if he weren’t poisonous. Still, not a deal killer. Rune had seduced his share of seed feeders, promising them a teeth-clattering ride. He’d always delivered.

Even those tarts had wanted more of him. After just one bedding, non-nymph females uniformly grew attached to him, becoming jealous and possessive.

Over his lifetime, thousands had sought monogamy from him. He shuddered. The concept was incomprehensible to him.

The voyeur possessed no secrets he wanted, and he risked her attachment. So why was he inhaling for more of her scent?

What is she? He had a healthy measure of fey curiosity in him, and it demanded an answer.

Only twenty feet separated them.

If she was a halfling like him, then had he never in all his years and travels scented her combination? That didn’t make sense.

Ten feet away. He moved to block her.

She raised her face, blinking in surprise.

“Hello, dove. Were you wanting to join the party in the courtyard, then?” He backed her to a wall, and, naturally, she let him. “The nymphs would’ve been happy to share me. And there’s plenty to go around.”

Her surprise faded. She craned her head up to cast him a measured look.

“You were watching, no?” The thought of those spellbinding eyes taking in his action hardened his cock even more. Would she deny it?

“I did watch.” His voyeur’s voice was sultry, with not an ounce of shame.

Phenomenal looks. Sexy voice. Would she have curved or pointed ears? He prayed for the former. “I know you enjoyed the show.”

“You know, huh?” She tilted her head, sending glossy curls cascading over one shoulder. “You were passable.”

The scent of her hair struck him like a blow. Meadowberries. They’d grown in the highlands of his home world, far above the sweltering fens he’d worked as a half-starved young slave. Their scent had tantalized him to distraction.