Sweet Ruin (Immortals After Dark 16)

Wait . . . “Did you say passable? I assure you that word has never been applied to my performance.” He watched in fascination as her lips curled. The bottom one had a little dip in the center he wanted to tongue. But never could.

“ ‘Performance.’ ” Her vivid eyes flashed. “Exactly how I’d describe it.”

Damn it, what was she? Then his brows drew together at her comment. Over the last several millennia, he might have consolidated his sexual . . . repertoire. His poison limited his options. But performance? “I get zero complaints.”

She shrugged, and her breasts bobbed in her tank. He’d licked his lips before he caught himself.

“You want my honest opinion?”

As if he cared what she thought! Yet his mouth was saying, “Tell me.”

“You showed hints of game at times, but nothing I’d strip for.”

Game? “Then you didn’t watch the scene I partook in.”

She gave him an exaggerated frown. “My honesty hurt your feelings. It wasn’t all bad. How about this: there’s a live-sex club right around the corner—I bet you could place in their amateur-night competition.”

He leaned in. “Ah, dove, if you’re the expert to my novice, I’d appreciate any hands-on instruction.”

“Here’s a tip. Maybe settle in enough to take off your boots. Or, hey, how ’bout removing your bow and arrows?”

“Sound advice, but I never know when I might need my weapons. Even when I fuck, I still listen for enemies.”

“You must have a lot of them. What kind?”

“All kinds. Untold numbers of them. In any case, I’m leery of removing my bow; it was a priceless gift.” Ages ago, Orion had loosed Darach into a foreign realm with scant guidance: Find the Darklight bow with a black moon and white sun etched above the hand grip. A week later, Darach had returned, wild-eyed, bow in hand. Orion had given it to Rune, saying, “Your new weapon, archer. . . .”

“Priceless?” The voyeur’s gaze flickered over his bow with a touch too much interest. “Sure would hate for it to get stolen.”

“Never.” Why had he bragged to her about his weapon? Information flowed to him, not from him.

He could talk for hours and never say a meaningful thing.

Yet something about her had made him boast? He’d taken prettier women. He’d had demigoddesses beneath him. Why did he find her so captivating?

Maybe her disdain toward you, Rune?

“Are you a good archer?” she asked.

“I’m the best in all the worlds.” Crowing again? Though it was true.

Initially, Rune had resisted taking up a weapon favored by the fey. Orion’s answer: Even when you’ll be more lethal with it than all of them combined?

“Worlds, is it? Where are you from?”

“Very, very far away.” He wondered what she’d think if he told her his primary home was in a dimension that moved. That he lived in a mystical castle filled with primordials and monsters.

“Who taught you to shoot?”

“I taught myself.” Determined to be worthy of Orion’s notice, Rune had practiced till his bowstring was stained black from his bleeding fingers.

“If your performance is gonna be predictable, at least you’re good at archery.” She nibbled that dip in her bottom lip, and his cock twitched in his pants.

She needed that mouth kissed until her vision went blurry. And he couldn’t be the male to do it! His hands fisted, and he grated, “You can talk all you like about my performance, but it got you wet. I can scent it.”

“You got a woodie; I got a wettie. Doesn’t mean mine was for yours.”

She was terse, borderline aggressive. I want her. “Are we going to do this or not? The courtyard awaits, and I’m on a clock.” He didn’t have time for this! His target might be roaming these very streets. “Or we can meet later.”

“No dice,” she told him. “I like a guy with passion. When you finished back there, I couldn’t tell if you’d gotten your nut or muffled a sneeze.”

His eyes narrowed. “I have to keep a rein on myself. I’m half demon/half fey, a dark fey through and through”—he pulled his hair back to reveal his pointed ear—“and if I lose control, I might harm partners.”

Though true, he was in no danger of losing control. There’s nothing within me to bridle. No fire to contain.

In any case, he’d learned to restrain himself for other reasons as well. He’d realized at an early age that the power dynamic shifted between bedmates when one surrendered to the throes.

Power was everything during fucking.

“You really can’t kiss?” she asked. “I heard them say you’re poisonous.”

He shrugged, as if this limitation were trifling. “To all but my own kind.” His first kill had been with a lethal kiss.

Reminded of his past, he gritted his fangs and shoved this female’s hand to his dick. “Anything you think you might miss? I’d make up for it with size.”

She gave him a light squeeze, then withdrew her hand—as if she’d deigned to acknowledge his cock, and only because he’d been gauche enough to put it out there. Her disdain could put the old fey queen’s to shame.

“Some cavemen carry big sticks. Doesn’t mean I want to get clubbed with one.”

Inner shake. “I have other tricks in my bag.” He was good with his hands. Once he retracted his poisonous claws, he could use his fingers to get a purr out of her. “Meet me back in the courtyard at midnight, and I’ll make you see stars.” He cast her his grin, awaiting the reaction he always garnered.