“A vampire slayer.”
They were nearing the yard. The clop of hooves grew louder, along with the babble of voices. Had people forgotten about her and the man with the pistol?
“Most slayers don’t attack innocent maidens.” He lowered her to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“Y-yes,” she said shakily. “I saved a child’s life. I brought him back from the dead. He saw me do it and thinks I’m a demon he should destroy.”
She heard voices—a group of women gossiping about the fallen child and the mysterious lady who had helped, who had been dragged away by some gentleman with a pistol.
They certainly hadn’t forgotten.
“That’s what you did when you touched Zayan—you tried to return mortal life to him?” He flashed a brief grin. “A naïve hope, love.” His arm on her elbow urged her forward.
The carriage was rumbling toward her. Where was Zayan?
Already inside?
“Why naïve?” she argued. Why was she trying to cross swords with Lukos? Why did she feel such a need to understand that she was willing to fight with a being who had transformed from wolf to man in front of her eyes? “You are without souls; you are the undead. I thought—”
“Our souls are not lost. They are not in limbo; they cannot be returned. Lucifer owns my soul, and I sold it willingly.”
Why? But men were willing to sell their souls—for power, for wealth, for sex, for revenge. . . . Miranda raced after Lukos and realized that he wasn’t holding her arm anymore, yet she was willingly pursuing him. “Am I a demon? You are one, so you should know, shouldn’t you?” Why was she doing this?
How could she trust his answer? But she couldn’t stop herself.
“Do you feel it in me? Am I evil?”
The wind snapped his long black hair around his face, and his cloak whipped about like large wings. “You are powerful, my lady. That is all I can sense about you.”
My lady. “Is that the truth? I can’t trust what you say.”
“Then why ask?” he growled. He took a long, loping stride, leaving her as the carriage rumbled to a stop. He sent magic to fling the door open wide. He turned back to her.
Should she run?
To what? She glanced back toward the stable and saw the gleam of golden hair—Mr. Ryder had hauled himself out of the mud and was in pursuit.
She bit her lip, hard, and tasted a wash of blood. A foolish thing to do in front of a vampire.
Lukos held out his hand. She took it. He had saved her life.
He had faced a slayer to do it. She was safest with him. Or was she? Or did she just not care what happened to her anymore?
And if what Ryder had said was true—she was damning those she saved—she was no different from a vampire.
She chose Lukos.
But as she jumped up into the carriage. Lukos threw in a powerful ball of purple light and suddenly the interior transformed before her eyes; it changed from a simple carriage into a lavishly sinful space. The seats became larger, and covered in white silk, mounded with ivory pillows. As she stared in astonishment, the purple lights suddenly raced under her skirts. They rushed up her legs as she shrieked in shock, then danced in wild circles between her thighs. Suddenly, the energy surrounded both her wet cunny and the astonishingly sensitive entrance to her derriere.
Lukos jumped into the carriage and slammed the door behind him.
“Stop this—” Oh goodness, it felt so incredibly good. She stood there, her hands braced against one of the seats as the magic lights beneath her skirts whirled and spiraled and teased her. Her legs were melting. She had to resist . . . she had to . . .
“Stop—”
But her voice died away. Why stop? She couldn’t remember why. There was Blackthorne . . . whom she had fallen in love with, but she couldn’t have him. She couldn’t marry him when she might be a demon, when her power might truly mean she was cursed—
Lukos was on his knees in front of her. “I saved your life, love, because I’ve felt a desire for you I’ve never felt for anyone before. I realized you were the reason I felt no sexual need when I fed—desire came in the instant I saw you.”
He began to lift her skirts, and she couldn’t stop him. Not with the magic teasing both her throbbing clitoris and her tingling bottom. She was rocking, feeling that same intense pleasure as she had when she’d tried to save Zayan.
“Let me make love to you, my angel,” Lukos growled.
Oh heavens. Heavens. Heavens. She couldn’t answer. She cried out. The lights had delved inside both her cunny and her rump, filling her and stretching her, and she’d burst—simply exploded—in pleasure.
“Good, sweet angel.” Lukos’s voice was hoarse with approval. “You’re coming.”