Reign of the Vampires by Rebekah R. Ganiere Page A

have a demonstration?” She looked down the long, narrow hallway.
    “Yes.” Neeman clenched his jaw. He walked without another word, though Danika felt he had several words inside he was bursting to unleash. Even when his anger or agitation was obvious, he bottled it up and shoved it down. Danika would love for him to unleash, if for no other reason than to see him lose himself for once. She doubted that he’d so much as raised his voice since he’d become a tracker.
    She and Neeman had tried to make things work for a decade. But in the end, his lack of emotion had been too much for her. She preferred a man with passion. Passion for her, money, something. Neeman’s training had stripped it all out of him. He was a good vampyr and a wonderful lover, not that she’d been with many males. But still, something had been missing.
    A door opened to a small waiting area with mirrored glass. She took her seat, above the training arena, trying to keep her face impassive and her heart in her chest. Mason stood in the middle of the arena floor. Neeman stared at her and again she thought he would say something, instead he ripped the door open, stepped through, and pounded out into the arena.
    She was a good twenty feet up. From her vantage point, she saw everything. Mason had a tight tank top on, making her breathing quicken. His torso and shoulders were a mass of golden-tanned muscles that tapered to his sculpted hips. The black pants he wore wrapped tight around his powerfully built thighs. As Mason stretched his arms above his head, the hint of a tattoo peeked over the neckline of his tank top.
    He turned, bent over, and stretched to his toes. The edges of two enormous, inky-black webbed wings stuck out the sides of his tank top. Even at her distance, what she saw of it had been masterfully done. Her breathing quickened as she wondered how big the wings were and how low they went. His round rear pulled his dark pants taut making a shiver skitter over her skin.
    What had she done? She covered her face. This was never going to work! Not if every minute she was with him, she wished he had his hands on her and her lips locked on his. She’d thought she could handle it. Though she’d fantasized about him these last two weeks she’d been sure that if she just saw him again that all those fantasies would disappear. She’d see that he was a mere human. And she’d be able to put her lust and hormones to rest and move on.
    But here she sat, staring at him through a piece of glass. And already her body tingled, her core ready to receive him. Her fangs descended into her mouth as he bent again, and she was once again faced with looking at his rear. This was bad, very bad. She was blood lusting after a human, and it was likely going to get her killed.
    * * * *
    Standing on the mat-covered arena training floor, Mason looked around and stretched. The walls surrounding the arena went straight up. He practiced his meditation while waiting. He controlled his breathing and focused on a single image, as Neeman taught him. Something that brought him peace, or at the very least an image of something that brought him pleasure. So Mason had picked a mountain top where he’d once been, topped with wild flowers and the sounds of birds in the trees. He still remembered the smell of the honeysuckle that grew nearby. But then she was there, in her black suit, her red hair flowing down her back in the sunlight, the pale face with the over-tired, bright, glowing blue eyes and full red lips.
    He envisioned her curvy body as she’d walked into his cell at the auction house: her black jacket tight on her slim waist and flared out over her round, supple hips, her toned legs under the black skirt, her calves and feet corseted into her black boots. The sight was almost more than he could take, and before he knew it, he wasn’t calming down, but heating up.
    The thoughts brought more images and sensations into his body. A stirring deep within gripped him, and