one’s dying tonight.”
Perhaps Kristoff would only flail his skin from his back. Wroth removed the shirt, hoping. For the first time in his life, he had his wife waiting for him and for the first time he truly cared if he lived or died.
“Toss it on the table.”
Frowning, he did. The elders’ eyes widened, their hands going white on the table. Kristoff had scented Myst’s blood, and now the others did as wel.
“And what was it like, Wroth?” Murdoch asked, his voice hoarse.
Wroth didn’t answer. Then Kristoff raised his eyebrow in a silent order.
After a moment, Wroth grated, “There is no description strong enough.”
“And how did she feel about your bite?” Kristoff asked.
He didn’t want them to know how she reacted to that, how it had made her come with an intensity that had staggered him.
Kristoff’s stare was unflinching. “You resist answering your king on the heels of confessing to our most reviled crime?”
This was his Bride they spoke of. He wanted to lie, to say he wasn’t sure, didn’t know, and he couldn’t. Answering this wouldn’t be breaking his vow to her, and if Kristoff ordered him kiled, he couldn’t protect Myst from Ivo. Though it disgusted him, he bit out, “She found extreme pleasure from it.”
Kristoff appeared pleased. Or even relieved. “Do you think I should forgive Wroth his transgression? For which one of us could have resisted the temptation when she was our Bride and her exquisite blood caled?”
Wroth hid his shocked expression. Kristoff would’ve normaly caled for him to be chained in an open field until the sun burned him to ash.
“Continue as you were, but if your eyes turn, know that we wil destroy you.” He was stil staring at the shredded garment marked by a Valkyrie’s blood.
Wroth recovered enough to say, “I was coming to Oblak tonight to tel you that Ivo was spotted in New Orleans. He’s looking for someone—and I suspect it could be Myst. I need to—”
“We’l take care of it,” Murdoch interrupted sharply. “For God’s sake, you stay here and…enjoy…everything.”
“Find out as much as you can from her.” Kristoff eyed him shrewdly as he stood to leave. “And you wil tel us if the memories folow the blood.”
A short, quick nod. As Wroth left the room, stunned from the events, he heard Kristoff say, “Now which one of you wil volunteer to accompany Murdoch to New
Orleans where this coven ful of Valkyrie is located?” Wroth heard every chair scrape the floor as they shot to their feet.
Like a cat licking her wounds, Myst sat in the large bath, replaying the fight.
Since she’d puled her punches, she wondered if she could’ve won, wondered if she’d truly been bested. But then she flexed the fingers of the fist he’d caught. They were sore. They were not broken. He’d held back as wel.
She sighed, unable to work up the outrage that should be exploding within her or even concern over the possible threat downstairs. Wroth would take care of it. He was strong. She shrugged, her mind easily returning to tonight’s stunning developments. Now her sisters knew her chain was gone and that she’d been claimed by a vampire.
What they couldn’t know was how much she’d loved it. His bite had turned her inside out, made her toes curl. Even now she shivered to think of it, knowing something was woefuly wrong with her for craving it. It might be twisted, but she yearned for him to do it to her again. And again.
In addition to that, Wroth had taken her as no other had before. Though she acted as if she’d had tons of lovers, she’d actualy had only a couple of steady partners.
She’d dated a wonderful warlock for centuries, but it was long-distance—in those days, it took a half a year to reach each other—and they’d parted ways amicably. She’d only slept with two others, both long-term, and they’d been fun and enjoyable. But she’d seen a lot, and knew a lot, and she knew Wroth moved
Perhaps Kristoff would only flail his skin from his back. Wroth removed the shirt, hoping. For the first time in his life, he had his wife waiting for him and for the first time he truly cared if he lived or died.
“Toss it on the table.”
Frowning, he did. The elders’ eyes widened, their hands going white on the table. Kristoff had scented Myst’s blood, and now the others did as wel.
“And what was it like, Wroth?” Murdoch asked, his voice hoarse.
Wroth didn’t answer. Then Kristoff raised his eyebrow in a silent order.
After a moment, Wroth grated, “There is no description strong enough.”
“And how did she feel about your bite?” Kristoff asked.
He didn’t want them to know how she reacted to that, how it had made her come with an intensity that had staggered him.
Kristoff’s stare was unflinching. “You resist answering your king on the heels of confessing to our most reviled crime?”
This was his Bride they spoke of. He wanted to lie, to say he wasn’t sure, didn’t know, and he couldn’t. Answering this wouldn’t be breaking his vow to her, and if Kristoff ordered him kiled, he couldn’t protect Myst from Ivo. Though it disgusted him, he bit out, “She found extreme pleasure from it.”
Kristoff appeared pleased. Or even relieved. “Do you think I should forgive Wroth his transgression? For which one of us could have resisted the temptation when she was our Bride and her exquisite blood caled?”
Wroth hid his shocked expression. Kristoff would’ve normaly caled for him to be chained in an open field until the sun burned him to ash.
“Continue as you were, but if your eyes turn, know that we wil destroy you.” He was stil staring at the shredded garment marked by a Valkyrie’s blood.
Wroth recovered enough to say, “I was coming to Oblak tonight to tel you that Ivo was spotted in New Orleans. He’s looking for someone—and I suspect it could be Myst. I need to—”
“We’l take care of it,” Murdoch interrupted sharply. “For God’s sake, you stay here and…enjoy…everything.”
“Find out as much as you can from her.” Kristoff eyed him shrewdly as he stood to leave. “And you wil tel us if the memories folow the blood.”
A short, quick nod. As Wroth left the room, stunned from the events, he heard Kristoff say, “Now which one of you wil volunteer to accompany Murdoch to New
Orleans where this coven ful of Valkyrie is located?” Wroth heard every chair scrape the floor as they shot to their feet.
Like a cat licking her wounds, Myst sat in the large bath, replaying the fight.
Since she’d puled her punches, she wondered if she could’ve won, wondered if she’d truly been bested. But then she flexed the fingers of the fist he’d caught. They were sore. They were not broken. He’d held back as wel.
She sighed, unable to work up the outrage that should be exploding within her or even concern over the possible threat downstairs. Wroth would take care of it. He was strong. She shrugged, her mind easily returning to tonight’s stunning developments. Now her sisters knew her chain was gone and that she’d been claimed by a vampire.
What they couldn’t know was how much she’d loved it. His bite had turned her inside out, made her toes curl. Even now she shivered to think of it, knowing something was woefuly wrong with her for craving it. It might be twisted, but she yearned for him to do it to her again. And again.
In addition to that, Wroth had taken her as no other had before. Though she acted as if she’d had tons of lovers, she’d actualy had only a couple of steady partners.
She’d dated a wonderful warlock for centuries, but it was long-distance—in those days, it took a half a year to reach each other—and they’d parted ways amicably. She’d only slept with two others, both long-term, and they’d been fun and enjoyable. But she’d seen a lot, and knew a lot, and she knew Wroth moved
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