Sweet Ruin (Immortals After Dark 16)

She never had. But then, she’d never taken blood “straight from the flesh.”

Now she only wanted to do it again! To have skin closing around her aching fangs. To feel muscles working beneath her claws as she secured her prey.

From her spot in a lamppost, she noticed a handsome blond stumbling along the street with his friends, each wearing a graduation cap. They were trashed, and their shirts all read the same thing, but she couldn’t decipher the words.

Maybe they were graduating from Tulane. Since arriving in New Orleans, she’d often visited the campus. She’d watched students reading, as if that talent was no big deal.

The blond tripped over his own feet, and his hand shot out to the lamppost she occupied. His attractive fingers grasped it right above her tits. Well, hello there.

His skin was smooth, his teeth white. What would it be like to drink him? Would she gain memories of college parties and classes?

She tapped her tongue to a fang, but it remained dormant. Her heart sank. She could not imagine drinking this male. Nor any of his friends.

Besides, even in ghost form she could smell the Axe.

She sighed. She tried to tell herself she was full. If she got hungry enough . . . But she knew the truth: nothing could compare to Rune’s black blood. How could she ever go back to the bags in her refrigerator?

Rune, that bastard, had ruined her. Rune was ruin.

How fitting. It’d be his new name. She hissed in his direction, making the blond jerk back.

In drunkenish, he said, “Dihyaguyz hearat? Pose histat me.” With shrugs, they lurched on.

Closing in on the courtyard, Rune scrubbed a hand over his face, seeming to curse the rising sun.

ELEVEN

Josephine had disappeared. He’d scoured the streets for both her and Nïx, expanding his search into the heart of the city, but he’d never caught scent of either.

Maybe his tracking had grown rusty since the last Accession. Wallowing in nymph flesh could do that to a male.

He tried to recall his last marathon session at a covey or pleasure den, yet all he kept seeing was Josephine’s haughty smile.

He knew what was happening. Female vampires were notoriously hypnotic, as entrancing as succubae. It was a survival mechanism, a hunting tool—because both species depended on the bodies of other beings for sustenance.

Tonight he’d been used for food. He should be outraged, but replaying her bite got his cock so hard he feared for his trews.

Those nymphs were right; he had lost his ever-loving mind.

No, no, Josephine had mesmerized him. And with her thong in his pocket—a constant reminder of her scent, her arousal—he was primed for her. In time, he’d shake this.

He’d stop thinking about taking her lips.

Because he could take them. Dear gods, he finally could without killing. An added bonus: he’d never craved a female’s kiss more than Josephine’s—and that had been before he’d known he could have it.

Dawn neared. Nïx was rumored to go out only at night. The light would drive the vampire to ground. He would find neither today.

Though Josephine could have traced anywhere in the universe, she’d be back.

He reached into his pocket. Beside her ripped thong was the necklace he’d stolen, the one she’d been touching to her lip when he’d first come upon her. He pulled it out, turning it in his hands. He’d taken the necklace for turnabout—his fingers were just as sticky as hers—but also because he’d suspected the piece would have meaning.

Those bits of metal were spent bullets.

Oh, yes, she’d be back. He had the bait; how to trap her? Evidently, his hold wouldn’t be enough.

When Rune had set out from Tenebrous, he’d outfitted himself to kill a Valkyrie, not to keep a vampire. He had no traceproof manacles with him, nor in his sanctuary at Tortua.

The nymphs had told him of a Lore shop in town. If he found a pair of cuffs there, he’d lure the vampire close with the necklace, then snare her.

Once she was his captive, he would do all the forbidden things he’d fantasized about.

Clawing, sucking, tonguing.

Kissing.

One of his most heated fantasies was the simplest: to take a woman’s mouth and make her moan—with pleasure instead of pain.

The last time he’d tasted another’s lips had been a kiss of death. Whenever he pictured kissing, he recalled that night.

Rune yearned for a kiss to erase his last.

Earlier, when one of the nymphs had forgotten herself and sought his lips, he’d grown sickened to remember, but he’d kept fucking. . . .

He pocketed the necklace, his fingers drawn to Josephine’s silk thong as if magnetized. With his other hand, he traced her bite mark, almost healed.

For all he knew, Nïx had dispatched the vampire as a spy. The Møriør’s weaknesses were few, but they could be exploited by a clever strategist. Just as Orion did to his enemies.

Rune stroked the silk again. Tonight he’d come harder than he ever had, and yet touching her panties had his balls so blue every footfall pained him. Maybe he should release some of the pressure, so he could think.

A pair of water nymphs at dawn would do the trick. He headed toward the courtyard. He’d just entered when the nymphs strolled in right behind him.

Exactly what he needed, a palate cleanser! A blonde and a redhead—ideal for getting past a brunette. He thought the blonde was named Dew, the redhead Brook. They looked well-tumbled.

What would Josephine look like when well-pleasured? He hadn’t seen to her at all, as she’d pointed out. But she moaned lustily enough when feeding from me!

He pulled his collar over his bite mark. “Did you two rush through your other trysts to meet me?” Of course they had.