It was ten o’clock, the night was unseasonably warm, and a soft, nocturnal breeze swept gently through the canyon as Saxson Olaru strolled leisurely beside Kyla in their rose garden, answering curious questions about Dark Moon Vale, describing the various species of roses, and occasionally taking her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

He was doing his best to be both a friend and a confidant.

To make her feel at home.

To give their Blood Moon the effort it deserved.

As they approached a particularly exquisite arrangement of baby-blue Suntory roses, a feat that took fourteen years of experimentation by Japanese and Australian researchers to create—they’d implanted the gene that led to the synthesis of blue pigment into Delphinidin pansies—he felt a curious tingling at the base of his spine. It traveled upward, along the vertebrae, until it radiated across his thoracic, then cervical regions, and he suddenly jolted.

It was no longer a faint, buzzing tingle, but a shock so intense that he gasped from the pain.

Kyla immediately turned to face him, her dark-brown eyes flashing with concern. “Saxson?” she whispered hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard the second voice.

A faint, garbled sound that was so obscure and faded, he had no chance in hell of placing it. It sounded like a far, distant static crossing a radio wave, like something one might have heard over an old transistor radio.

But there was music...that song!

The one he had heard in Phoenix.

And then there was that dim, indistinct voice, ringing again, practically humming inside of his ears: “Saxson, can you hear me? It’s Kiera.”

He rocked on his heels and staggered to the side.

That voice—that name—it cut through him like a knife.

He closed his eyes and sent his senses seeking, trying to lock onto the telepathic bandwidth, but it was closed as quickly as it had opened.

Saxson, can you hear me?

It’s Kiera.

Every instinct in his primal, vampiric body surged with an influx of adrenaline—his protective instincts shifted into overdrive, and his territorial nature came alive.

A deep, primal snarl reverberated in his throat, and he suddenly felt restless and desperate.

Shocked.

Reeling.

And lost.

He suddenly felt inexorably lost.

“Saxson!” It was Kyla this time, bracing her hands on his biceps and trying uselessly to shake him. “What’s happening?” Her voice was laced with panic.

He stared into her seeking eyes, trying to anchor his body—and his mind—in the present space and time, trying to lock onto her presence. “I don’t know,” he said ominously, angling his head to the side, trying desperately to hear that voice…one more time. “I heard something,” he muttered.

Kyla frowned. “What do you mean?” She glanced over her shoulder and surveyed the greenhouse, as if the two of them might be in danger.

“No,” he croaked, registering her angst. “Not in the greenhouse—not outside. I heard something…in my head.”

At this, she appeared momentarily taken aback. “You mean, like voices?”

He bit down on his lip, trying to make more sense of it. And then he studied his destiny’s expression with more scrutiny than he had ever applied before. He took in all her features, her stance, and her demeanor, and then he absently scanned her inner left wrist, tracing every line of the enigmatic markings—the brand of Lord Cetus—Saxson’s visible claim. His tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip, and he frowned. “Who is Kiera?”

Kyla’s face turned ashen as she quickly shook her head. “What? I…I don’t know what you mean.”

He steadied himself and rephrased the question. “Have you ever heard the name Kiera?”

Kyla’s expression grew inscrutable. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe at some point in my life, I have. But no, I don’t know anyone personally by that name.” Her eyes softened as she regained her composure. “Is that what you heard? A name?”

Saxson rubbed the bridge of his nose as if assuaging a headache. “I…I’m not quite sure. I think I heard—”

Kyla rose to the tips of her toes, cupped his cheeks in her hands, and gently massaged his jaw with her thumbs. “You’re under too much stress,” she whispered. “I didn’t hear anything.” She glanced around the greenhouse, scanning every corner, as if to check for enemies. “There’s no one here but us.” And then she smiled, ever so faintly. “A vampire and his destiny.”

His eyes locked onto hers, and she held his gaze like a temptress, willing him to delve deeper, to come closer. “Saxson,” she whispered huskily. “Let me take away your stress.” She drew an instinctive circle in the center of his chest, right over his heart…seductively. “Let me ease your anxious mind—you’ve done so much for me.” She looked down, shyly, and her high cheekbones blushed. “And I know what I said in the past, but I’ve changed my mind.” At that, she took a calculated step back, smiled like a vixen, and looped her thumbs beneath the dual thin straps of her tank top, sliding them off her shoulders, along with the straps of her bra.

She didn’t stop there…

She moved her hands lower, to the waistband of her leggings, and shoved them over her hips. Stepping out of the pale-green bottoms, she allowed her tank top and bra to follow suit, and stood brazenly—half-naked—before him, in a pair of V-shaped lace panties and slippers. “I think,” she whispered cautiously, “if you reject me now, I’ll die. I don’t think I could come back from that.” Her complexion reflected the stark vulnerability in her posture—and her words—and her bare breasts rose and fell with each insecure hitch in her breath.

Her eyes searched his, almost desperately, beneath long, liquid lashes.

Saxson fought to catch his breath.

She was a vision, to be certain, but his mind was still reeling.

His heart still felt like it was…breaking.

His soul was so confused.

Yet and still, the woman the celestial gods had chosen as his destiny was standing before him: naked, vulnerable, and unguarded. Asking him—no, entreating him—to take her to his bed. She was completely defenseless and totally exposed, and he was just gawking at her like a passive observer.

He pushed all other thoughts out of his mind as he reached for Kyla’s hand and gently tugged her forward, folding her into his arms. He slipped his fingers into her hair, pressed a kiss against her throat, and slowly trailed upward, along the slope of her neck, lingering along her jawline, until his mouth finally sought hers and he answered her pleading with a passionate kiss, putting all her doubts to rest.

She gasped, and shivered, and kissed him back with unfettered, wild abandon.

He lifted her into his arms. “Not here,” he breathed huskily, gazing down into her eyes. For reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he did not want to take her here—not in that sacred rose garden. Despite the fact that he had built it for her, it somehow felt like treason.

Commanding his body to respond to his female, he let his aboriginal instincts take over…

Saxson knew how to please a woman, how to make her cry out with pleasure.

And like a robot, one that had been programmed well, he placed one instinctive foot after the other: strolling out of the greenhouse, climbing the cliffside staircase, and heading for his bedroom.

* * *

Kyla clung to Saxson’s shoulders, shocked by how good it felt to be in his arms, praying that her distraction had worked.

Who is Kiera?

What the hell?

And how was that even possible?

She forcefully shoved the thoughts out of her mind—she could not ponder that question right now. She needed to pour 110 percent of her energy into deepening their fragile connection, taking Saxson Olaru into her body, and hopefully claiming his soul.

Kyla needed to make the vampire hers, and she needed to do it convincingly.

As he laid her down, ever so gently, on his king-sized bed, she shimmied up toward the headboard while casually glancing down…toward his groin…down toward his thighs…relieved to see the throbbing erection pressing against his jeans.

At least he found her attractive.

At least his body saw its mate.

She gasped, yet again, at his perceived length and girth, then refocused her attention on seduction. “Are you surprised that I’m ready?” she whispered in a half-teasing, half-come-hither voice, her breaths growing shallow with need.

There was nothing pretend about it.

He smiled, but he didn’t answer, and God give her strength, but when he removed his shirt, exposing that divine, rock-hard chest, she felt every nerve ending in her body come alive. When he toggled his thumb over the top button of his jeans, sliding the clasp out of the seam, she almost quivered with fear and excitement.

There was no way she could accommodate that…thickness.

Let alone withstand his immortal power.

She was not his true destiny, after all, and heaven forbid, what if he instinctively figured it out, realized that she didn’t have a womb…somehow felt her hollow center?

She gulped.

Not now, Kyla. Keep him focused on having an orgasm. You can do this. He will not try to get you pregnant—he hasn’t converted you yet—and he won’t be thinking anything…if you do your job right. He knows you’re still human; he knows that he has to be careful…

She reached for the vampire and shut her eyes.