Chapter Eight

 

Ophelia circled the hormone den that was Quentin’s room. It was different than she’d expected. Her room growing up had been full of Old World artistry and furniture upholstered in fabric better suited for drapery. The gauzy canopy bed she’d been forced to sleep in still gave her nightmares.

The Segals had no problem keeping up with the times for their son. Quentin’s room could rival an electronics store. Xbox. Every iteration of Nintendo from the last forty years. Handheld gamers, consoles, and a screen that took up an entire wall. He didn’t have a room so much as a wing of the house. Half of the lower level was his, and one of the rooms was a movie theater.

No wonder Quentin rarely went out.

The first thing Ophelia noticed as she entered his bedroom was the tang of sulfur in the air. She’d almost missed it, but the farther in she went, the stronger it became. Especially by the bed.

She didn’t smell sex, but the outpouring of lust in the area suggested something had recently turned the boy on.

The underworld couldn’t get to him through his parents, so they used his nubile libido.

Ophelia would enjoy ripping the one responsible limb from limb.

But would Quentin’s mind be intact, or would he cross to the dark side and stay because he was too young to know better?

Bastian was searching the rest of the floor. Ophelia had sensed a question he wasn’t asking. His discomfort had started when she’d made the Synod comment. How he felt about that was obvious, but what she’d said was true.

Was it anything else?

And why’d she care?

As if her thoughts summoned him, he entered the room on soundless feet. His stealth was born of duty, a need to blend into the surroundings with the other possessions. She made no noise when she moved for an entirely different reason. Survival. Surveillance. Death.

“I think I have a clue.” Ophelia stared at the rumpled covers. The bed was made, but someone, or someones, had rolled across the top.

Bastian crossed to her and she gave him a few moments to read the area. She was interested to see what he came up with.

“Brimstone,” he said. “We need to find out who’s been in this room.”

“According to Quentin’s parents, all of his friends have. I haven’t noticed any security inside the house. The Segals felt secure here.”

Bastian circled the bed and crouched to look under it. “The Segals kept their work separate from their private life. I got the impression they didn’t want their clients around their kid.”

Her estimation of the Segals flew up several notches. “Quentin left with someone he trusted.” Misplaced trust. “Another kid?”

The magnitude of that idea took root. If the underworld had gotten that much access to kids, then they might actually get ahead. It didn’t matter that the Circle was now stocked with more than just single-minded purebreds. Second-tier demons could be as devious and blackhearted as their brethren.

It was one thing to decapitate or ash an adult vampire, especially one she might’ve despised for years, who had started dabbling in the occult. It was another to kill a kid. If the child was tricked into hosting, removing the demon would irrevocably damage the ability to bond, like when Grace had been possessed.

If the kid instead had outright bonded and they freed him, his ability to bond again would be trashed. Vampires mated for eternity, as much as they hated the concept.

Actually, that might be a selling point for someone so young. At that age, eternity with just one person might sound like perpetual torture.

Bastian straightened. He’d found nothing under the bed. “He could’ve gone with another kid, but from Antonia’s stories, I don’t think the blackness has infiltrated so far.” He lifted the sheets, his nostrils flaring to sense any clues. “They sound like normal young primes: full of themselves, exploring the offerings of life and the occasional rebellion. Antonia thought the way Quentin said his ‘out-of-this-world party’ comment was odd.”

Yeah, the girl was perceptive, and she hadn’t mentioned suspicions with any of her other friends. And she hadn’t attended the party. Had Quentin helped target Antonia?

Bastian scanned the room, then went for the door. He stepped into the hall and looked each direction. Then he shut the door.

Ophelia’s brows lifted.

He did another sweep of the room. “Do you think there’s another entrance in here? A secret door?”

He’d certainly hooked her. They both inspected the walls, checking the shelving and pictures for secret levers and passages that would offer another point of access to the boy.

Nothing.

Just in case they missed something, she kept her voice low. “The Segals are probably gone enough that Quentin could entertain without them knowing. I’m sure he has authority over the staff. It’s not like they’re gonna say he can’t have friends over, or verify the friends aren’t predators in disguise.”

“Or it was one of the staff.”

She stared at him. An answer so obvious she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it. Yet she’d grown up with staff. Her family had paid for obedience and subservience with either money or threats. She hadn’t escaped the attitude that their worlds were separate, though she knew better than most their blood all ran red.

“I guess we need to talk to Lora.” The burn of fury ignited in her veins. An attractive young maid who was seduced by the dark side in turn lures a young boy into giving up his soul.

Oh yes. Ophelia would have a nice long talk with Lora. And it might include fists and fangs.

Bastian was out the door first. Like her, he didn’t plan to ask the Segals for permission to question their staff. Like her, he probably thought the Segals would raze their manor if someone inside had something to do with their son’s disappearance.

They cleared Quentin’s wing of the manor and then entered into an elegant sitting area surrounded by doors. Madame Segal was perched on the settee. Master Segal cradled her in his embrace. Distraught parents.

Also a bad omen. Parents had a natural inclination to expect the worst when their kid was missing and rightfully so. They’d known Quentin wasn’t the type of kid to disappear with no word, and his absence had instantly stirred angst unlike any they’d experienced.

Quentin was in trouble.

Master Segal stayed where he was, but his gaze followed them as they strode by the sitting area. “You’ve found something.”

“Only suspicions,” Ophelia said, “but we need to talk to your staff.”

Master Segal gently extracted himself from his mate and rose. “We’ve already questioned them.”

Ophelia smiled grimly. “But we know what to ask.” And how.

Madame Segal was on her feet. “There are five on staff and they should all be around.”

The couple followed them.

Bastian led the way without needing to be told where to go. He went for the hallway with the well-tread floor that was the farthest away from the sleeping and entertaining spaces.

The Segals didn’t argue, so he must be correct.

“They will be preparing our end of night meal,” Master Segal said. “I have two cooks and the others will be setting up the dining room.”

“And your maid?” Bastian asked.

They hadn’t met any of the others yet, but Bastian sounded like Lora was their priority.

“She might be there, overseeing duties,” Master Segal said.

As the maid, Lora could go everywhere in the house and not be questioned as to how long she was gone. They found two people in the dining room setting china around the table and lining up silverware. One was a female who rivaled Betty in age, and the other was a male who was likely older than the Segals.

Pots and pans clanged from down a passageway. They followed the sounds to a large, modern kitchen. The two banging around were another male and female. The male hovering over a large stockpot was already graying, and the female chopping onions was probably older than Ophelia. A possible suspect, but unlikely. She didn’t move with the sensuous grace that could bespell a teenage boy, and she didn’t put Ophelia on insta-alert just by being in the same room.

All of them looked at Ophelia and Bastian with outright curiosity, but any concern coming from them was directed at the Segals themselves. The staff cared for their employers and in turn were also worried about Quentin Segal.

“Where’s Lora?” Master Segal barked.

The male stopped mid stir. “I haven’t seen her since she retrieved the water for the tea, Master.”

Master Segal spun and strode back to the dining room. “Lora?” he asked the other two.

“Haven’t seen her recently, Master,” the male said. “Perhaps she’s on the upper level.”

“What would she be doing up there?” Ophelia asked. The upper levels were more for show and rarely used. They needed little cleaning.

The older female didn’t pause as she folded napkins and placed one by each plate. “Oh, she’s got that new beau. I swear, she can’t go an hour without talking to him.”

Bastian glanced at Ophelia.

Master Segal was already on the move. The four of them flew upstairs.

A new beau. Was that the mysterious male they were looking for? Had they gotten to Lora and coerced her into a bond?

Ophelia’s heart thudded. What if the mysterious male was actually a second-tier demon who could walk the realm freely because of his bond to Lora?

Had Lora gotten to Quentin? Had she played on his emotions, and his lust, until he agreed to do whatever they needed him to?

Wait—they’d have smelled brimstone on her if she’d been in close proximity to a demon, especially if they were intimate.

Unless she doused the rest of the house in another scent to hide her own subterfuge. Lavender vanilla.

Fuck.

They combed the upper levels. Ophelia skidded into one room. Curtains billowed in a cold winter breeze. She clenched her jaw and stalked toward it. She inhaled deeply. The lavender vanilla was overpowering. She sucked in another breath. A barely detectable hint of sulfur. Whoever had been in this room wasn’t from the underworld, but they’d cavorted with a being who was.

Bastian raced in behind her. “She got out the window?”

“Looks that way.”

One thing was sure: Lora had left. She also hadn’t left the doors open accidentally when they’d first talked to the Segals. She’d been eavesdropping.

The female had gone after a young boy and now he was missing.

Ophelia fisted her hands. She spun on a heel and stormed back the way they’d come.

“Ophelia?” Bastian jogged after her.

If the Segals followed, she didn’t pay attention.

When Ophelia arrived, Bastian on her heels, the four employees were all in the dining room, murmuring amongst themselves.

“Did Lora come on to Quentin?”

Four pairs of surprised eyes landed on her. The younger woman covered her mouth as if horrified by the thought.

“Pardon?” The older female blinked, her rheumy gaze perplexed.

“Lora and Quentin. Anything inappropriate. Did any of you suspect something not quite right was going on?”

They stared at her.

“Tell me!” Ophelia would personally interrogate each one—and enjoy it—if they didn’t start talking.

The younger male raised his hand. This wasn’t a fucking schoolroom, but Ophelia restrained herself. As long as one of them told her something.

“I thought— I mean…” Guilt crossed his face. He might feel like he was throwing Lora under the bus, but that was the last thing he was doing. “When the master and madam were out of the house, I mean…” He swallowed. His eyes went wide as his employers rushed into the room.

“Anything you have might help us find young Quentin,” Bastian said softly.

The male nodded, and resolve infused his expression. “She’d unbutton a few extra buttons when they were gone. She was always bringing him extra treats.”

“Yes,” the older male said. “I made turnovers for breakfast one morning and she took a half dozen of them for the young master. I had to make another batch.”

“Oh dear.” The older female pressed her fingers to her temples. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice a thing. She was always such a hard worker that I never faulted her for any time she stole away.”

“I did.” The female cook snorted. “The attractive ones never have faults. I could barely get a day off for my own mating.”

“Really, Bea. That was a decade ago,” her male counterpart said.

“I got one day off,” Bea snapped. She spoke to Bastian. “As for Lora, she met someone. We haven’t seen so much as a selfie, which is unusual for her. She was always shoving selfies of her last boyfriend in our face before he dumped her because he was sleeping with his employer.”

“Who was that?” Bastian asked.

Bea shrugged. “I don’t remember his name. I tried to ignore her. But he was a foot waiter at the Caron manor.”

Ophelia glanced at Bastian. He failed to hide the surprise on his face, but at least his mouth wasn’t hanging open. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Gaston was banging Susanna and heard about a get-rich-quick scheme she’d learned from her foot waiter, and as for Lora—playing all sides? Or revenge at getting dumped? Didn’t matter. She needed to be stopped.

Bea sighed. “And yes, as for her catering to Master Quentin, I’ve been on the verge of saying something.”

“Why didn’t you?” Ophelia’s tone was hard. If Bea had said something, Quentin might still be here.

“Because it would’ve been me against Lora, and she can do no wrong in this house.” Bea dipped her head respectfully toward her employers, but her consternation toward her coworkers was clear.

Madame Segal stalked forward, her face tight with anger. “You suspected Lora was acting untoward with my son and yet you said nothing?”

The younger of the males replied without hesitation. “Would you have believed me? Or when the young master contradicted me, would I have been fired? Would my word have even stood up against Lora’s? I have three young of my own to feed and jobs aren’t plentiful.”

Madame Segal made a disgusted sound. “I should fire all of you.” She stormed out. Master Segal looked like he wanted to run after her, but he needed to stay and suss out clues of Quentin’s whereabouts.

Ophelia didn’t care what he chose to do. Daylight was approaching and her continuously crawling skin needed a breather from the haunting reminders of her past. She’d get every detail of Lora’s life out of these guys, and come sundown, she’d be back on the streets, hunting for the woman.

 

***

 

Bastian listened closely as the four vampires spilled details about Lora. The maid hadn’t wormed her way deep into their hearts, nor had she encouraged heavy animosity. Lora had been pleasant enough, but she’d done a few things to undermine each person she worked with. She’d definitely been the heart of the Segals’ home.

Lora had worked in the home of one of their former government members. After the government fell and her former employer walked into the light rather than face a life without immense power, his prestige had preceded him when she’d applied at the Segals.

The Segals hadn’t believed their good fortune when a quality employee with a formidable résumé applied to work in their home. It gave them a certain cachet with their counterparts.

Bastian knew of Lora’s former employers. The Gastons had been morbidly delighted to witness their downfall, as if they’d forgotten the way they’d prostrated themselves in the fallen family’s presence.

Perhaps that arrogance had imprinted itself onto Lora and she’d felt destined for bigger and better things. Or she was reeling from her breakup and wanted to get back at her ex in a big way. Either way, mission accomplished.

They finished their interrogation, then searched Lora’s room and found nothing. There had to be another place the maid did her dirty work. With dawn so near, Ophelia decided they’d start their search at Lora’s former place of employment. The place had apparently been up for sale since the death of its owners.

Antonia hadn’t been the only target. The underworld was cultivating prime children for hosts. Concern for Ophelia steeped his blood. Her features had grown pinched and her posture rigid since they’d discovered Lora’s treachery. It’d been a boon when talking to the rest of the Segals’ staff. Their fear of Ophelia had reached new heights by the time the interrogation was done. Her demeanor said Don’t fuck with me, and if I catch you lying, I will hold you down in full daylight myself and enjoy the burn.

He’d been next to her all night, but now that the questioning was done, she’d closed in on herself.

She handed him the car keys. “You take the car back. I have somewhere to go.” She wasn’t asking.

He accepted the keys. “Would you like company? Someone to talk to?”

She cast him a disgruntled look. “I’m a big girl. I think I will be okay.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.”

“I have for longer than you’ve been alive,” she snapped.

“My offer remains,” he said as he climbed into the sedan.

She gave him one last look, as if to question why he’d be willing to lend an ear in the first place.

Ophelia LeFevre. So strong no one realized how much weight she shouldered. She disappeared.

He sighed and threw the car in gear. The drive back was quiet. His thoughts bounced from Antonia to Quentin to Ophelia.

Finding his way back to the compound was easy enough. He parked the car and shut the garage door, but he didn’t get out.

His mind was a jumble. So many details to sort through and feelings to deal with.

His worry for Ophelia was paramount. He didn’t doubt she’d be okay. She’d close it all back inside and remove herself just a little more from the world around her.

Her own past had been unearthed by the occurrences of the last few days. His had also, though in a different way.

He missed how he’d grown up. He missed his parents.

Was his old home still standing?

Suddenly, the urge to check hit him. He had an hour before dawn.

No, he should stop in to see Antonia. But the girl was well cared for and she’d still be awake after sunrise. He’d never wanted to visit his childhood home as much as he did now. Right now.

While he’d been working, there’d been no time to visit the place he’d grown up in. The only time he’d been back was when he and Antonia were fleeing her father. The short stop had kindled a yearning inside him to return for a longer visit. His duty still demanded his attention, but what would one hour hurt?

He stepped outside and envisioned the trees that surrounded the small home he’d grown up in. No one would have built around the cabin; it was too rural. It’d ruin the night to appear in someone’s living area, especially if they were human. And if someone was living in his old house, then he’d be far enough away to not be seen.

Crisp winter air greeted him, carrying the fresh smells of the great outdoors. The scene around him was achingly familiar. A stark cabin in a clearing, surrounded by skeletal trees that had lost their leaves for the winter but were preparing to come to life in the spring. Only the wind rustling through bare branches made a sound. It was night and even the birds were asleep.

His breath puffed in front of him. The place was dark. No one lived here. No one had demolished his childhood home. Relief seeped in with the cold. No one had cared for it, either. Only the quality craftsmanship had saved it from falling into total disrepair.

The boots he wore would stand up to the cold, but there was no need to traipse through brittle wild grasses and twelve inches of snow. The cabin still looked sturdy enough and the wraparound porch was probably as solid as the day his father had built it.

He flashed onto it. His gaze swept the yard. Barren. Desolate. The clearing in the woods his father had made for the cabin was being encroached upon by young saplings. He couldn’t see beyond the mature trees, but a half mile away was a lake he used to swim in under the moonlight with other campers.

The trail to the beach had long filled in. His parents had kept it clear, wanting some distance between the campground by the lake and their cabin.

He inhaled. The subtle but pungent scent of mouse nests and critter dens filled his lungs. The cabin had been abandoned by humans and vampires alike, but it provided shelter for several other species.

A faint smile touched his lips, then his brows pulled together. The place was beyond any city’s limits but had no one cared for it during all this time?

A soft squeak carried through the gentle breeze. His brows knit together. That wasn’t an animal.

He pivoted, staying as silent as possible. The wind that had flowed against his back now hit him in the face. He was downwind of whatever had made the sound. A light floral scent wafted across him, but he shook his head. Since he’d met her, Ophelia was never far from his mind.

Unable to see around to the back of the cabin, he picked his steps down the length of the porch. Heel to toe, he took each step.

A frame came into view. An empty hammock swung in the breeze.

That hadn’t been there when he’d lived here. It was one of the newer styles of hammocks with a standalone frame.

A force plowed into his back, shoving him down. He landed with an oomph, barely breaking his fall in time with his hands. His head got shoved into the frigid planks, and a light weight settled on his back.

“Bastian?” The power holding his face down eased, but Ophelia’s knees were still in his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, not bothering to try rolling over. The warmth of her body seeped through him and he was reluctant to make her move. He was right where he needed to be.

“What are you doing here?” Tension from her vibrated through him.

“After the night’s events, I had a strong urge to visit my childhood home. How do you know about this place?”

“This was your home?” She popped off him but stayed kneeling next to him.

He rolled to his side to face her and propped his head on his hand. “Yes. Is the hammock yours?” The corner of his mouth lifted at the thought that she’d made herself at home in his home—what had used to be his home.

Indecision warred on her features. Was she embarrassed about being caught here?

“Were you and Antonia here the other night?”

He’d almost forgotten. He’d been bleeding, and his scent probably laced the snow. “I needed to get to a place Master Gaston didn’t know about. The cabin was the first thing I thought of.”

“I wondered if I was imagined things.” She shook her head. “Yes, I bought this property several years ago. It’s my spot.” She said it as if to make a point.

“Did anyone own it before you?” Why a cabin? She’d have a manor. And why had she bought it if she was going to let it fall down around her ears?

Her expression softened. Had she expected him to claim it was still his and fight her for it? “I found it when I was looking for a vacation home. The company I bought it from had sold the campground and tried renting the cabin, but it didn’t make enough money to cover the upkeep. Too far from the lake, he claimed. Someday I plan to fix it up, but for now I need the solitude.”

“It’s a good place for that,” he agreed. He couldn’t fault her for having a refuge. “Does anyone else know about it?”

She shook her head, her gaze assessing. It was like she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. People were going to try to hurt her or use her. To her, that was life.

“I should go and let you be then.” He sprang up.

She rose. The top of her head fell below his chin. “Why’d you come tonight of all nights?”

He hadn’t known until she’d appeared. Her presence here had called to him, but he’d make her uncomfortable if he admitted that. “I’ve always wanted to come back, but I’ve been too busy. Why’d you buy the property?”

“I wanted a place of my own.”

“You could’ve bought any house, any other cabin. Why here?”

She folded her arms. Her feet shifted until she looked like she was going to square off with him. “Because I found it.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Exactly. It spoke to you, didn’t it? Just like I suddenly had to visit when you were here sorting out your recent emotional upheaval.” He stepped closer to her until she had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. “Just like I can’t quit thinking about you. Just like I couldn’t maintain my standard distance and get to know you but had to taste you instead. I had to feel you.”

Her lips parted, and her gaze touched on his mouth. It burned like a brand. Every time she looked at him or touched him, she marked him in some way. Or was that wishful thinking?

“What are you trying to say?” she asked.

“I’m trying to say I think our meeting wasn’t coincidence.” I think we could be true mates. He couldn’t say the words. She’d only run.

She shook her head as her only denial. Until mates were officially bonded, the connection could be hazy. He’d hoped his would be crystal clear, but in Ophelia’s case, it might be best if it wasn’t. If she had time to warm up to the male. But was the male him?

“It’s okay if you don’t trust me yet. I will strive to earn it.” His fingers twitched to touch her, but he’d said his part.

“How do you do that? How do you know just what to say?” She charged him, pushing him back against the wall. Her arms twined around his neck and jerked him down.

The frigid winter air, the approaching dawn, it was all forgotten as his lips crashed against hers. She was in his arms and it struck him again how right it felt. Being with her, like this, made it clear why he’d kept all the other females at a distance. He’d been patient, and he’d built relationships, but only after he’d had to talk himself into it.

With Ophelia, he had to talk himself out of stripping her down and sinking into her welcoming heat. This was not going to be a repeat of last night. She deserved more from him.

But he had a little time yet. Tingling along his skin coincided with the rising sun, but he caressed her tongue with his, taking his time.

When her fingers curled into his shirt above his waistband, he gently broke them apart. He couldn’t carry it further even if he wanted to. With her prime blood, she could tolerate the weak rays of early daylight. He could not.

“I have to get into shelter.”

“We’re standing by a shelter.” The husky note to her voice zinged straight to his manhood. “We’ll flash back at twilight.”

Even twilight would be uncomfortable for him. His parents had lived on the wild side without a basement. Anything not cleared out would be musty and varmint-ridden. And it was winter.

“I want to be with you, but not like this. I don’t want our first time to be freezing cold and full of dust.” Especially if the dust was his ashes from hitting the sunlight.

“All right.” She turned away. “You go on back.”

She went from blazing hot to icy cold. Had he hurt her feelings, or was she afraid to get too close to him?

“We don’t have to do anything, Ophelia, but I’d like to go back with you and spend more time together.”

“And I’d like a good fuck.”

Her words punched him where he throbbed for her. His control of his body slipped, and his erection grew. “I can give you that, too.”

The only problem was that she’d want to leave it at that. He was strapping in for the long haul, and with Ophelia, it promised to be a bumpy ride. But he wanted more than one night with her.

Interest lit her dark gaze. “Promise?”

He’d break his back trying. “Yes.”

She grabbed his hand and they flashed back to the compound. Without a word, she led him through the halls. His place or hers?

They took a turn that must lead to her apartment. His pulse sped up. He never got a case of nerves on a date.

She let him into her place. He took a moment to get oriented. The compound was like a dormitory but with suites, and her place was a lot like his. Nothing adorned the walls, but a pale purple crocheted blanket hung over the back of her couch and a star-patterned lilac doily decorated her table. Small touches of home, but it was significant that she’d laid so much claim to the apartment.

Her wildflower scent surrounded him and sudden insecurity hit. She was used to fornicating. Fucking to fuck. Could he do this with nothing but the hope that they were meant to be together?

She unhooked her weapon belt and draped it across the counter. He did the same. She unhooked her shoulder holster and undid the knives strapped to her legs. He didn’t have that much, so he took his boots off instead.

She met his gaze, then yanked her shirt off.

His lungs froze.

A statuesque goddess in a petite package. A solid black bra cupped the round globes of her breasts. Her toned stomach rippled with abs that should be on the cover of a fitness magazine. Only he didn’t want anyone else to see them but him.

Dropping the shirt to the floor, she said, “Take your shirt off.”

It was okay with him if she took charge. He rolled his shirt out of his waistband and lifted it. Her gaze glued to his stomach.

His ego preened. He wasn’t a warrior, but his body had been honed from manual labor and continuous movement. The shirt came off and he tossed it by hers, liking how their clothing mingled on the floor.

Her gaze licked over his torso. The sexual tension in the air rose a few notches. He kept himself from adjusting his shaft to lessen the pressure of his pants.

It wouldn’t be long before it was freed.

Ophelia undid her pants and peeled them down. No underwear.

Now the constriction of his cock was too much. He did the same with his bottoms, but it was hard to keep his gaze on her.

When he was done, she’d also shucked her pants and boots. He was naked while her delectable parts were covered.

“Lovely isn’t a strong enough word for you,” he said, meaning every word.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She unhooked her bra and let it fall.

Oh god. He’d been about to swing her into his arms and find her bed so he could have the honor of unwrapping the rest of her curves. But now he faced high, rounded breasts peaked with pebbled dusky nipples and a strip of manicured curls covering her sex. He couldn’t move. The scent of her desire increased until he wanted to drown in her.

She crossed toward him and that he could blink was a miracle. Prying his gaze off her body was nearly impossible. As she approached, her eyes were on his shaft.

No. Not like this. Last time, he’d made her orgasm against a door and regretted it. This was their first real time and he wanted it to be about them. She wanted a good fuck, but it’d be sex with him and not some guy that could get her off.

He snagged her hand and flipped it over. Kissing her palm, he drew her toward him. It was hard to keep moving and not claim her mouth and body, but he propelled them toward her bedroom.

A lilac bedspread was the centerpiece, and the wall hangings were total Ophelia. She’d brought her love of sunrises and sunsets into her home, all done in soft shades of purple and orange. Part of him mourned not being able to ever watch one with her. But he could glow from pride that she was strong enough to withstand the vision.

Once they were by her bed and she was looking at him with one raised brow, he faced her.

“I could do nothing but look at you all day,” he murmured.

Her cheeks flushed. Had he embarrassed the formidable Ophelia? “Your body says otherwise.” She wrapped her hand around his shaft.

He groaned, and his head fell back. This wasn’t his plan, but her touch shorted his common sense.

She pumped, alternating her grip until his breath quickened.

“I wanted to—”

Her finger landed on his lips. He nipped at the tip, but another squeeze and he was lost.

She shoved him back. His bottom hit the bed and she knelt on the floor between his legs. He was helpless to watch as her lush lips wrapped around the tip of his shaft. A flick of her tongue made him jerk.

How could she feel so good?

Her hair was still bound in its plait down the back of her neck, and her narrow shoulders were wedged between his knees. The sight was erotic enough to push him over the edge.

He propped his hands behind him and reclined, giving himself over to her. Her need to control the situation wasn’t lost on him. His wishes would have to wait.

With another moan, he rocked his pelvis. Daring another peek at her, he gritted his teeth against his impending orgasm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasped.

Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks hollowed as she pleasured him. She fisted him at the base and her other hand cupped his balls. As if she knew he was watching, she scraped a fang along his sensitive skin.

He wasn’t strong enough. His climax hit, and he let it out with a roar, his pelvis jerking.

She didn’t release him, but milked his orgasm until he couldn’t think straight, until he collapsed onto his back.

“Ophelia,” he panted.

She prowled up his body. He was hers. He was so hers. She could do anything she wanted with him.

Despite the massive release, the sight of her climbing onto him, her lips puffy and wet from working him, delivered another supply of blood to his cock. He was hard and throbbing worse than before.

He planted his hands on her trim hips, astonished at the hard muscle underneath her silky skin.

Her wet heat wicked up his shaft and she hovered over him. There was no pretense, no other foreplay, just her pushing down onto him.

She spread her hands along his chest and watched herself sink onto him. Another way to put distance between them.

He tipped her chin, grateful that he was with it enough to do even that much. Her hot sex fisting around him was ecstasy, but he needed a deeper connection.

She lifted her gaze and seated herself completely on him. They stayed like that for one heartbeat. Then two.

Her eyelids drifted shut and she gave the sexiest moan.

Her walls flexed around his cock.

So good. He couldn’t remember getting rocked so thoroughly during the act.

“Ophelia. Look at me.” He refused to let her close herself off.

She didn’t listen but rocked up his length and back down. Up and down. Finally, she opened her eyes.

She was a fantasy he didn’t know he had.

Need raged in her topaz eyes. Her body undulated with a grace he’d never seen. Her tight sex was the most perfect fit, but most of all, she knew she was with him.

He skimmed his fingers up her rib cage, under her breasts. He palmed them, one in each hand. His abs tightened as he curled up, closing the distance between them.

“Bastian,” she gasped.

She was close. Her pace kicked up, and even though she’d just relieved him, he careened closer to another climax.

She cried out and slammed down harder. He tightened his grip.

“Ophelia. Let yourself go.”

Her attention latched on to him like he was air and she was starving for breath. “Bastian.”

“I’m with you, Ophelia.” Her ethereal beauty shimmered through the shadows. He curled up higher and wrapped his arms around her.

His face was buried in her chest as she rode out her peak. She bucked and shook in his arms, her head thrown back with her neck bared.

He could feed so easily, but this was her good fuck. He might be plain old Bastian, but he knew what she needed. And he’d provide it.

When she fell limp, he cradled her. He hadn’t tipped over his crest, but he wanted to make sure she was in it for more.

She lithely stretched her body, the pleasure of the move making him moan. “I saw you eyeing my vein. Are you hungry?”

Hell, yes. For all of her.

She canted her head back to the side and undulated her hips.

He was lost.

His fangs sunk into her neck. She jerked and cried his name. He could get addicted to his name on her lips during sex. Tensing to roll them over, he was met with her resistance. Giving up, he turned himself over to his needs.

His hips pumped as he drank her powerful blood. He was in her. She was flowing into him. Her release coated his cock. This moment between them was nearly perfect.

Releasing her neck, he licked over the puncture marks. He held her as he surged into her over and over again until his orgasm nailed him.

He roared her name and spilled into her, still murmuring her name.

When he was done, she didn’t collapse on him but rolled off to curl into him.

He tightened his arm around her. He’d never experienced sex that momentous. It was what he’d expect with his true mate. Could it be? Was she really his?

Ophelia patted his arm and pulled away. “That scratched the itch.” She rolled off the bed and sauntered into the bathroom.