On the Hunt

Her eyes were heavy, and she wanted to sleep. Was even drifting off, content for the first time in years, when his voice roused her.



"Did I take you from someone you loved, the night I bonded us?" he asked gruffly.



Was that what had been bothering him? She forced her lids to remain open. "Yes. No. I don't know. I thought I loved him at the time, and I thought he loved me, but he ran pretty quickly when I could no longer put out."



"Poor, stupid bastard. The running, though, is what has saved his life."



She chuckled. "Did I take you from anyone?"



"No one special." His fingers stroked her back.



"Good. Because I brought my gun, and I'm not afraid to use it."



"As I have seen." His fingers lowered to her ass and spread, squeezing. "I must admit, I like my woman jealous."



She liked when he called her his woman. She liked this. Being snuggled against his side, listening to his heart pound, rubbing her knee up his legs, feeling his shaft harden again.



"Stay," he said, suddenly serious. "With me."



Hearing the words—he wanted her the way she wanted him!—caused relief to bloom. "For one week, I'm all yours."



His grip tightened. "Stay longer."



God, she liked the sound of that purring, commanding voice. The needy ache sprang back to life, joining her relief, and she rubbed against him like a cat. "We don't even know if we're compatible."



He rolled her to her back, his weight nearly crushing her. "We're compatible."



"Here." Would she ever get enough of him? She arched against him, breasts pressing against his chest. "But what about out there?"



His nostrils flared. "In the palace?"



"In . . . life." Her legs wrapped around him, ankles locking on his lower back.



He considered her for a moment, pushing all of his weight between her thighs and holding her steady. "We will take this week, then, and see how we get along. But you aren't leaving. And you can't tell anyone what you are."



"Why can't I tell anyone? And will you please get inside me? Unless you need that recovery time?"



"That's the second time you've asked if I need recovery time. How you wound me. You, I always want." His cock twitched against her, slid inside her, and his pupils expanded. "Just don't tell anyone what you are. Please."



Yes! "Thank you." There was something he wasn't telling her, but she didn't have time to reason it out. He was inside her, but he wasn't moving. "I won't tell. Now thrust!"



"Lusty wench. But let's see if I can finally sate you."



He spent the rest of the night trying.



Chapter Nine



Vasili held a sleeping Rose tight against his body, breathing her in, savoring her warmth, her softness. He hadn't pleasured a female in two years, but he'd never slept near one. He'd never trusted his lovers enough to be near him during his vulnerable sleeping hours, and besides that, he hadn't wanted to promote a familiarity he hadn't—and would never—feel.



Attachments weren't something he formed.



Until now.



He'd had Rose in his bedroom, and rather than strip her as he'd planned, he'd found himself scared. For her. She'd met with other Walkers. That was what he'd always wanted. That was why he'd bonded them. For information. But the thought of her with other Walkers, so far away from him, him unable to protect her . . . He'd wanted to roar. And then, when she'd mentioned she had left her bag outside where his army roamed, searching for the dead, true panic had set in. If they found the bag, they would know a Walker was nearby. And they'd seen her, so of course they would know she was that Walker. They wouldn't simply think she'd been living in the woods, seen the fight, and decided to help, as he had planned to encourage them.



He'd found her bag in Grigori's possession. His favored guard had been livid with him, though the Monstrea had admitted he'd known what she was the moment he'd seen her at the ball.



You have to kill her, Grigori had said. Otherwise your people will revolt.



Vasili had been terrified of just that, which was why he'd rushed back to Rose, to guard her. One look, though, and he'd had to bind her to him sexually. He'd had to have her, to reaffirm that she was here, she was his, and to prove to her that they belonged together. Forever.



He loved her.



His world might be dark, but she was his light. She amused him, challenged him, fought for him, delighted him. Pleased him. Oh, did she please him. He had never enjoyed a woman the way he enjoyed her. Her taste was addictive, her long, slender body the perfect fit to his bigger, harder one. She wasn't shy or coy, but gave herself fully.



She'd ruined him for anyone else, and it had nothing to do with their blood bond and everything to do with her smile, her stubbornness, her wit, her playfulness, her lustiness. Perfect. Fit.



Now he had one week to convince her to stay with him. Because he couldn't live without her.



Wouldn't live without her. The risk from the other Walkers, the risk from his own people, he would figure out, deal with. Somehow, some way. But he would have to do so without alerting Rose. If she discovered how much his people hated her kind, she would be hurt and afraid, and would possibly leave.



That, he couldn't allow.



Only two days into her stay, Rose realized she could live with Vasili forever. Sex anytime she craved it—and she craved it often. Vasili ensured she was fed, and the food was divine. He dressed her in lavish gowns, like the ones she'd seen at the party. He made her laugh, touched her often, even when he didn't realize he was doing it. If she neared, he wound his arm around her waist. If she placed her head on his shoulder, he petted her hair and urged her into his lap.



They rarely left his rooms, but when they did, he had rules for her. No speaking in English, and no mentioning the word Walker. The only dark spot on her happiness was that Vasili refused to explain why. Yeah, he'd told her the Walkers were dangerous. But why were they dangerous—



besides what Nick and others might be planning? What had been done in the past?



Anytime she asked, Vasili changed the subject.



But now he'd been called away by his brother. Why, she didn't know. But he'd left her sleeping in bed. Or so he'd thought. Rose hopped up, quickly bathed, and dressed in a violet gown to match his eyes.



She left the chamber and strode along the halls, down the winding stairs, and into the dining room. The few times they'd roused from bed, this was where he'd taken her, and she'd memorized the path. Someone was always in here, she'd noted. Maybe because there was a long wooden table always piled high with food. Like an all-day buffet.



The walls here were the same as those in the ball room: swirling gold circles surrounding windows that looked into the dark, rainy ever-night. The royal colors must be burgundy and gold, because those colors were everywhere: tapestries, carpets, furniture.



Today, there was only one occupant. One of the Monstrea, as Vasili had told her they were called. Grigori was his name. She wasn't afraid of him. He might look like a demon, but his love for Vasili was proved every time he spoke with his king.



"Has Jasha picked a bride?" she asked as she filled her plate. She was careful to pronounce her words slowly, just right.



"Greer died in battle the other night." His tone was gruff. "The rush for the alliance has ended."



"Poor princesses." To have lost their father to violence. "But Jasha still intends to wed one?"



"Yes."



That was good. "Who?"



"The redhead." Eye twitch.



Interesting. "Want her for yourself, do you?"



Silence.



She'd take that as a yes.



"Enough talk of unimportant issues. What are your intentions toward the king, female?"



"Dishonorable," she said with a grin, and claimed the seat across from him.



His claws scraped at the table. "You mean to kill him?"



Don't provoke the beast, idiot. "Hardly. I lo—like him." She loved the man—she had to, since she was willing to give up everything for him—but Vasili hadn't said the words to her, so she wouldn't say the words to him or anyone else. Another game, she thought with a secret smile. The first one to crack would be teasingly tortured forever.



"I know what you are, you know. I remembered the talk about you from that night, so long ago. I wasn't there, but I heard. You were thought to be a spy."



"So?" She popped a grape into her mouth, the sweet juice running down her throat. She'd learned that they had greenhouses and other places that were able to grow the fruits from her world.



Those fiery eyes widened. "So?" he whispered darkly. "You are no spy. Twice I have seen you dressed in pants, and your language is rough. You appear out of nowhere, and no one has ever heard of you. You are a Walker, and you're going to get him killed."



Her brow scrunched. "What are you talking about?"



"Your kind is hated here. Slaughtered."



Answers. He offered answers. All she had to do was ask and finally, she'd have them, but just then she wasn't sure she wanted them. still, the first question rushed from her mouth: "Why is my kind hated?"



"You once destroyed our royal family. Vasili's family. His parents, his siblings. He watched, bound, helplessly waiting his turn. They even held a gun to his father's head and made the man choose which of the girls, Vasili's sisters, would die first. And die they did. Every one of them."



"Not me," she said brokenly, tears springing to her eyes. Poor Vasili, losing practically everyone he loved in a single night. But now she understood why he had refused to answer her questions while she'd held a gun on him. He must have been reminded of that night.



God, the fact that he hadn't killed her astonished her.



"Not you, no. You are too young. But those like you. My people couldn't help all those years ago because you went after us first. Explosions everywhere. So many fires. Innocents, children. All gone in a single night."