Lover Unbound

When John regained consciousness, he had a raging fever: His skin was made of flames, his blood a lava flow, his bone marrow the furnace that drove it all. Desperate to get cool, he rolled over and went to pull off his clothes, except he had no shirt on, no pants. He was naked as he writhed.



"Take my wrist." The female voice came from above and to the left, and he tilted his head toward the sound, sweat running like tears down his face. Or maybe he was crying?



Hurts, he mouthed.



"Your grace, take my wrist. The scoring is done."



Something pressed against his lips and wet them with wine, rich wine. Instinct rose like a beast. The fire was, in fact, a hunger, and what was being offered was the sustenance he needed. He grabbed at what turned out to be an arm, opened wide, and drank in hard sucks.



God... The taste was of the earth and of life, heady and potent and addicting. The world began to twirl, a dancer en pointe, a carnival ride, a whirlpool without end. In the midst of the spinning he swallowed with desperation, knowing without being told that what was going down his throat was the only antidote to dying.



The feeding lasted for days and nights, whole weeks passing. Or was it the blink of an eye? He was surprised that there was an end to it after all¡ªwouldn't have been shocked to learn that the rest of his life would be passed at the wrist that had been given to him.



He loosened his sucking hold and opened his eyes.



Layla, the blond Chosen, was sitting beside him on his bed, her robe white as sunlight to his tender eyes. Over in the corner Wrath was standing with Beth, the two of them wrapped in each other's arms, looking concerned.



The change. His change.



He lifted up his hands and signed like a drunk, Is this it?



Wrath shook his head. "Not yet, it's coming."



Coming?



"Take some deep breaths," the king said. "You're going to need them. And listen, we're right here, okay? We're not going to leave you."



Shit, that was right. The transition was a two-parter, wasn't it. And the hard part was yet to come. To combat his fear, he reminded himself that Blay had made it through. So had Qhuinn.



So had all the Brothers.



So had his sister.



He met Beth's dark blue eyes, and from out of nowhere a hazy vision came to him. He was in a club... in a Goth club with... Tohrment. No, he was watching Tohr with someone, a big male, a Brother-sized male, whose face John could not see.



John frowned, wondering why in the world his brain would cough up something like that. And then he heard the stranger speak:



She's my daughter, Tohr.



She's a half-breed, D. And you know how he feels about humans. Tohrment shook his head. My great-great-grandmother was one, and you don't see me yakking that up around him.



They were talking about Beth, weren't they... which meant the stranger with the blurred features was John's father. Darius.



John strained to get the vision in focus for a single look into his dad's face, praying for clarity as Darius lifted his hand to catch a waitress's eye before pointing at his empty bottle of beer and Tohrment's nearly dry glass.



I'm not going to let another of my children die, he said. Not if there's a possibility I can save her. And anyway, there's no telling whether she'll even go through the change. She could end up living a happy life, never knowing about my side. It's happened before.



Had their father even known about him? John wondered. Probably not, given that John had been born in a bus stop bathroom and left for dead: A male who cared so much for his daughter would have cared for a son as well.



The vision started to fade, and the harder John tried to hold on to it, the faster it disintegrated. Just before it disappeared he looked at Tohr's face. The military haircut and the strong bones and the clearsighted eyes made John's chest ache. So too did the way Tohr stared across the table at the male sitting with him. They were close. Best friends, it seemed.



How wonderful it would have been, John thought, to have had both of them in his life¡ª



The pain that hit was cosmic, a big bang that splintered John apart and sent his molecules spinning from his core. All thought, all reasoning was lost, and he had no choice but to submit. Opening his mouth, he screamed without making a sound.



Jane could not believe she was looking into the face of a vampire and praying that he'd have sex with her. And yet at the same time she'd never been so sure of something in her life.



"Close your eyes," V said.



"Because you're going to kiss me for real?" Please, God, let that be the case.



V reached up and ran his ungloved hand down her face. His palm was warm and broad and smelled of dark spice. "Sleep, Jane."



She frowned. "I want to do it awake."



"No."



"Why?"



"Safer that way."



"Wait, you mean you could get me pregnant?" And what about STDs?



"It's been known to happen with humans on occasion, but you aren't ovulating. I'd smell it. As for transmittable diseases, I don't carry any, and you couldn't give me any, but none of that's the point. It's safer for me to take you when you're not awake."



"Says who?"



He shifted on the bed, impatient, restless. Sexed. "Sleep's the only way it can happen."



Man, just her luck he was determined to be a gentleman. The bastard.



Jane pulled back and got to her feet. "Fantasies don't interest me. If you don't want us to be together for real, then let's not go there at all."



He pulled part of the duvet over his hips, covering an erection that was straining against his flannels. "I don't want to hurt you."



She shot him a glare that was part sexual frustration, part Gertrude Stein. "I'm tougher than I look. And to be honest, the whole male-driven, I'm-looking-out-for-your-best-interests bullshit gives me the scratch."



She turned away with her chin up, but then realized there was nowhere really to go. Way to make an exit.



Confronted with an utter lack of alternatives, she went into the bathroom. As she paced between the shower and the sink, she felt like a horse in a stall¡ª



With no warning at all she was tackled from behind, pushed face-first into the wall and held in place by a rock-hard body twice the size of her own. Her gasp was first one of shock, then one of sex as she felt V grind into her ass.



"I tried to tell you no," he growled as his hand buried itself in her hair and locked on, pulling her head back. As she cried out she ran wet between her legs. "Tried to be nice."



"Oh... God¡ª"



"Praying's not going to help. Too late for that, Jane." There was regret in his voice¡ªas well as erotic inevitability. "I gave you a chance to have it on your terms. Now we'll do this on mine."



She wanted this, She wanted him. "Please¡ª"



"Shh." He cranked her head to the side with a twist of his wrist, exposing her throat. "When I want you to beg, I'll tell you." His tongue was warm and wet as it rode up her neck. "Now ask me what I'm going to do to you."



She opened her mouth, but could only pant.



He tightened the hold on her hair. "Ask me. Say, 'what are you going to do to me?' "



She swallowed. "What... what are you going to do to me?"



He wheeled her to one side, all the while keeping his hips tight to her ass. "You see that sink, Jane?"



"Yes..." Holy shit, she was going to orgasm¡ª



"I'm going to bend you over that sink and make you hold on to the sides. Then I'm going to pull your pants off."



Oh, Jesus ...



"Ask me what's next, Jane." He licked up her throat again, then clamped what she knew was a fang onto her earlobe. There was a delicious lick of pain, followed by another rush of heat between her legs.



"What's... next?" she breathed.



"I'm going to get on my knees." His head went down and he nipped her collarbone. "Say to me now, 'And then what, V.' "



She nearly sobbed, so aroused her legs started to fail her. "And then what?"



He tugged on her hair. "You forgot the last part."



What was the last part¡ªwhat was the last... "V."



"No, you start over. From the beginning." He pushed his arousal into her, a hard ridge that clearly wanted in her now. "Start over, and do it right this time."



From out of nowhere an orgasm came bearing down on her, the momentum carried forward by the rasp of his voice in her¡ª



"Oh, no, you don't." He backed off from her body. "You don't come now. When I say you can, you will. Not before."



Disoriented and aching, she sagged as the need to release receded.



"Now say the words I want to hear."



What were they? "And then what... V?"



"I'm going to get on my knees, run my hands up the backs of your thighs, and spread you open for my tongue."



That orgasm rushed back at her, making her legs tremble.



"No," he said in a growl. "Not now. And only when I say."



He maneuvered her to the sink and did exactly what he'd told her he would. He bent her over, planted her hands on either side of the basin, and commanded, "Hold on."



She tightened her hands up good and hard.



He used both his palms on her, running them up under her shirt, cupping her breasts. Then they were down over her stomach and around to her hips.



He yanked her pants down with one sharp pull. "Oh... fuck. This is what I want." His leather-clad hand gripped her ass and massaged it. "Lift this leg."



She did, and her yoga sweats disappeared off her foot. Her thighs were pushed apart and... yes, his hands, one gloved, one not, coasted upward. Her core was running hot and needy as she felt herself bared to him.



"Jane..." he whispered reverently.



There was no prelude, no easing into what he did to her. It was his mouth. Her core. Two sets of lips meeting. His fingers dug into her cheeks and kept her in place as he went to work, and she totally lost track of what was his tongue or his goateed chin or his mouth. She could feel herself being penetrated between lapping drags, hear the sounds of flesh on flesh, knew the mastery he had over her.



"Come for me," he demanded against her core. "Right now."



The orgasm arrived in a devastating blast that had her bucking against the sink until one of her hands slipped off. She was saved from falling only because V's arm shot out and gave her something to grab onto.



His mouth released her, and he kissed both her cheeks, then slid his palm up her spine as she drooped onto her arms. "I'm going to come inside you now."



The sound of his pajamas being wrenched down was louder than her breath, and the first brush of his erection against the top of her hips nearly made her lose it all over again.



"I want this," he said in a guttural voice. "God... I want this."



He entered in a single hard thrust that brought his hips right to her backside, and though she was the one absorbing the tremendous girth of him, he was the one who cried out. With no pause whatsoever, he started to pump in her, leveraging her at the hips, moving her forward and back to meet his thrusts. With her mouth open, her eyes open, her ears eating up the delicious sounds of the sex, she braced herself against the sink and another orgasm rolled her over. As she came again, her hair was flopping into her face, her head bobbing, their bodies smacking against each other.



It was like nothing she'd ever known. It was sex to the millionth power.



And then she felt his gloved palm grip her shoulder. As he pulled her upright, he kept riding her hard, in and out, in and out. His hand moved up her throat, locked onto her chin, and tilted her head back.



"Mine," he growled, pounding into her.



And then he bit her.