My pulse throbbed in my veins, adrenaline spiking at his description of me. I couldn’t speak.

“Write my name,” he commanded softly.

My gaze sharpened on his in the mirror. I shook my head. The thing about this type of magic was that it didn’t always obey your will. It wasn’t just energy that poured onto the page, but emotions. A Conduit was most closely related to Auras, the magic wanting to escape and heal with power and heart and soul. Sometimes, my magic cut loose from me, spilling more than I intended.

“Please, Isadora,” he begged, his brow furrowing in a pained expression. “Write my name.”

I couldn’t deny him, no matter how afraid I was of what he might discover. I pulled a blank piece of the thick parchment from the drawer and tore off a strip at the top. Sitting up straight and leaning closer to the desk, I lifted my quill pen from the inkwell and tapped it on the edge to release any loose drops from the nib.

After a concentrated inhale and exhale, I put the nib to paper and looped a flourishing D with an extravagant tail, my heart pounding hard, my magic pulsing harder. I didn’t think of any one thing at all as I scrawled the rest of his first name with purposeful loops and curves, not daring to write the second, my hand already shaking. I set the quill pen in the inkwell and picked up the paper, blowing to dry the ink, noticing the pale glow of my skin, my magic pumping hard enough to shine.

Sweat broke out on the nape of my neck. I was afraid of what he’d pull from the parchment. He was a Stygorn after all. What could his senses read? But it was just his name. Not much to go on. I hoped.

“Here you go,” I tried to say lightly, passing him the paper, then turned back to the mirror.

Pressing my hands between my bare knees to keep them still, I watched his reflection as he held the torn piece of paper. I couldn’t see his eyes, his head bent as he stared down, his long hair hiding his face, but his shoulders started to rise and fall. His chest heaved deep breaths, and he was so quiet as he swept his index finger over his inked name. Almost with reverence.

With his head still down, he stood, folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he moved behind me, one hand sweeping lightly to my throat, his fingers curling gently, the other hand cupping the round edge of my shoulder. When he finally looked at me in the reflection, I gasped. His eyes were pure silver, vibrant and flickering eerily by the candlelight. When he spoke, I saw the distinct flash of fangs.

“Isadora. Have you thought of my request?” His voice was husky silk.

I glanced down at the note and his charts, my body singing with every touch and brush of his fingers along my collarbone. “Yes.”

He slid his hands to my spaghetti straps and pulled them down off my shoulders, baring my breasts.

“What’s your answer?”

I held his gaze, not looking at my naked torso. This was almost unbearably bold for me. Vulnerable. Still, I sat with my back straight, my chin high. “My answer is yes.”

A scintillating wave of heat crossed his expression. Pure male and feral and predatory.

“Stand up, Isadora,” he commanded softly.

When I did, he knocked the stool out of the way onto its side, his hands gliding over my hips, pushing my nightie down. It dropped to the floor. He stood inches behind me, his body heat soaking into my back and thighs. He hooked his thumbs into the sides of my black lace panties and shoved them down, letting them fall to the floor as well.

By now, I was breathing fast, but remained perfectly still, wound so tight my body thrummed with need. He dipped his mouth to the curve of my shoulder and throat, keeping his gaze on me in the mirror.

“Look at you,” he whispered against my skin, licking then placing a sucking bite hard enough to leave a mark.

I moaned then reached back and curled my fingers into the sides of his jeans, needing something to hold onto, to sink my nails into.

“So goddamn beautiful.”

Then his focus was on the line of my neck. He cupped my breast, rolling his thumb over the tight tip. His other hand slid across my stomach, the sight of his brown skin against my pale torso so stark and lovely I bit back another moan. He dipped lower, gliding his middle finger along my cleft. I tried not to be too embarrassed by how wet I was. His strangled groan told me he was pleased with the discovery as he dipped inside me. He pulled out again to slide between my folds, driving me utterly insane.

He was so masculine but gentle, fierce but careful, intense but attentive, sure and purposeful with every brush of his hands, mouth, and tongue. I was melting into a pool of lust and need and willing female.

“Devraj,” I begged, body trembling.

Still, he moved with such concentrated focus, brushing his nose up my throat to my ear where he growled, “I’m going to fuck you right here, love.”

I nodded, totally done with words.

“Put your hands on the wall.”

I must not have moved quickly enough. He reached down and circled my wrists with his long-fingered hands then placed my palms on either side of the oval mirror.

“Keep them there,” he breathed heavily into my hair above my ear.

The distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants tore through the silence, only muffled by my labored breathing. I felt so exposed, so open, so raw, and he wasn’t even inside me yet.

Anchoring me with one hand wrapped on my hip, he slid his cock through my wet folds, teasing twice before thrusting in deep.

“Ah.” I pushed against the wall, bowing my spine to take more of him in.

His responsive groan had my sex quickening already, seeking that pleasurable high only he could give me. I watched him in the mirror as he stared down where our bodies joined before his eyes slid closed with pained intensity. The sensation of him filling me up with nothing between us was almost too much, setting my entire body on fire.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered, loving the way he felt as he pumped so hard, so deep.

He caught my gaze again, then hauled me up against him, one arm wrapped across my chest, mounding my breast on the opposite side. His other hand dipped between my legs, circling my swollen clit, his dark hair mingling with my blond as he nipped my neck. I covered his hand over my breast, a need to have him deeper, closer, an undeniable desire gripping me with a wild force.

“Bite me,” I demanded.

He froze, stopped pumping, his vampire eyes catching mine in the reflection. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, Devraj.”

He started to shake his head, wanting to deny me. Deny us. I wasn’t having it. My body wanted all of him. I reached back with the hand not covering his possessive hold on my breast and fisted it in his hair, pulling him closer.

Tilting my head to the side, offering my throat, I ordered more gruffly, “Bite me. I want you to.” I caught his preternatural gaze in the mirror. “I want you.”

There was a split second of hesitation where I watched his control snap like a taut leash. His eyes flashed bright, pure silver. On an agonized groan, he opened his mouth, fangs flashing as he sank into me with sharp teeth, pumping deeper inside me with his cock. I gave a little whimpered cry as the pain in my neck immediately morphed into unparalleled pleasure.

I slurred his name as he bent me forward more, his mouth sucking my throat, his hands clenching my hips as he drove inside me deeper and deeper. I wasn’t paralyzed, but I sort of was. I could no longer move. His toxin filled me with such ecstasy, his body even more. His feral grunts and groans marked me with the pleasure he felt, but all I could do was lean into his embrace, my hand in his hair holding him to my neck. Then I arched my spine so he could go deeper inside me. He took what I offered, gripping my hips as he pumped with sensual thrusts, moaning against my throat.

When my orgasm came, it threw me so high my body locked as I choked out a cry and held him hard, feeling him pulse inside me on an aching moan. I didn’t know I could faint from coming so hard, but I did.

I woke under my covers, naked. Devraj lay atop my bedspread, propped up on one elbow, combing my hair across my pillow, his brow furrowed with concern. His eyes were no longer silver, but they were still fully dilated, his adrenaline running high.

“Wow,” I whispered, smiling.

He clenched his jaw. “Are you okay?”

I laughed. “I passed out from pleasure, Devraj. I’m pretty okay.”

“I was afraid.” He stopped and licked his lips. “I was afraid I hurt you.”

“How?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s just never been like that for me.”

I remembered that he’d told me he’d never bitten a woman while having sex. Actually, it was fully on my mind when I’d begged him to bite me. He’d said he’d only do that with someone dear to him.

“Do you regret it?” I asked softly.

“Not for one second.” He stared intently, fingers still working my hair. “It’s just never tasted that good. Been that good. Ever.”

Exhaling deeply with the heavy emotion swelling in my chest, I whispered, “Same for me.” I slid a hand along his jaw, his scruff tickling my palm.

His mouth tilted into a half-smile. “Maybe we’re blood-mates.”

“What?”

“The legends about vampires finding a pleasure mate in sex and blood-letting.”

I shook my head. “I don’t keep up with vampire legends.”

He grinned wider, leaning down to sweep an airy kiss over my lips. He whispered, “Allegedly, there is only one for every vampire. One who sets his blood and soul on fire when he drinks from her. When he comes inside her. As some have told it, the experience chains her to him as well.”

I closed my eyes and received his kisses indolently, still spent from before. He teased me with his mouth. And his words.

“So basically, they’re soulmates.”

“Mmm.” Another lazy kiss, nibble of my bottom lip. “For a vampire, the blood is tied to the soul.” A slow trace with his tongue, his piercing flicking my bottom lip lightly. “So I suppose so.” Then he lifted up, mahogany eyes capturing mine. “Would it be so bad?”