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  “When I’m with a man, I’m all in, but the relationships never seem to last. With Ian, I’d always seduce him to stay longer with me than he should. It was wrong.”

  “So you do blame yourself.”

  “How could I not feel guilty because of what happened? Maybe if Ian had been there at the time, he could have prevented the massacre. However, that’s something we’ll never know. But I promise you, I didn’t enthrall him. My only excuse can be that I was out-of-my-mind in love with him.”

  Vojalie leaned back in her chair. “Well, you definitely have a complicated relationship with Ian. But I would strongly encourage you to stick close to him at least for the next few nights. I know this is all new to you, but Stone’s reaction will be the first of many. And once it’s known you’re a blood rose, there are some mastyrs, anxious for more power, who will do whatever they can to trap you into a bond. Are you aware this is a possibility?”

  Regan nodded. “I believe that’s what happened to Samantha. A mastyr named Ry was after her and almost succeeded in forcing a bond.”

  “Yes, he did. And he was also aligned with Margetta. So, I urge you to keep these difficult facts in front of you as a reminder how serious this situation is, especially for you.”

  Regan knew Vojalie was right. “I’ll do as you’ve said. My earliest thoughts were more a primal reaction, to put as much distance between myself and Ian as I could.”

  She heard footsteps down the hall and a moment later, Ian appeared in the doorway. His bruises looked better. He had a concerned frown between his brows as he met her gaze. “Thought we should talk.”

  She nodded. “We should.” She rose from the sofa and crossed to him.

  To Vojalie, Ian said, “Your husband is pouring out two glasses of a very fine cognac for you both. He said he refuses to return to Merhaine until you’ve had a drink with him. Shall I send him in?”

  Vojalie rolled her eyes. “That man. He takes every opportunity to flirt.”

  “You are so right, my dearest love.” Carrying a brandy snifter in each hand, Davido pushed past Ian. “You will love this, my most darling sweetheart. The very finest brandy. Ian said he’s been keeping it just for us.”

  Regan watched the couple for a moment. They’d been together a long time, but Davido still treated his woman as though they were dating. She’d always admired them as a couple.

  When Davido handed the snifter to his wife, she leaned forward and tilted her face to him. Davido caught her chin with his now free hand and Regan could sense a brief telepathic exchange. He then kissed Vojalie and sat down in the companion wing-back chair. He was only five-three and his feet didn’t hit the floor, not in a chair designed for Guard-sized bodies.

  But was anyone as comfortable in his skin as Davido, or Vojalie for that matter?

  “Regan?” Ian drew her attention away from the couple now clinking glasses and smiling tenderly at each other.

  As she turned and moved into the hall, he closed the door to the library. In a low voice, he murmured, “Thought we should give them some alone time.”

  “Right.” She glanced up at him, nervous suddenly. “Ian, Vojalie thinks I should stay here, with you.”

  He looked down at her, scowling. “Not sure we have much of a choice given the situation. Stone left. I sent him to Ben at the Communication Center.”

  “But you don’t want me here.”

  “I don’t want a lot of things. I don’t want that Margetta abducted you from your home or held you for a month, or that you’re a blood rose. And I definitely wish I hadn’t battled Stone because I’m beat up as all hell. But Stone did make a suggestion and I think we should do it.”

  He led her into the living room but didn’t gesture for her to sit. Instead, he stood facing her, his ringed fingers gathered into fists and planted on his hips. He’d taken off his Guard coat but now wore a black tank, exposing a large part of the broad tattoo that covered his chest and parts of his arms and shoulders. The figure of a hawk in flight hadn’t existed when they’d dated.

  But it did now.

  Her breathing hitched. She’d always felt this way around Ian, like she could stumble and fall so easily and in more ways than one.

  She dragged her attention away from his chest and back to his eyes. This was unfortunate because his nostrils flared after which his eyes dropped to half-mast. “See something you want?” His deep forest-fern scent flowed over her in heavy waves.

  She drew close and grabbed his tank t-shirt with one hand and pulled it into a knot. “Always. And that’s a big part of this problem. You shouldn’t be built like every woman’s darkest fantasy.”

  He slid his hands over her hips then down her bottom, squeezing. “Is that what I am to you? A dark fantasy?”

  “Yeah, except this isn’t a fantasy, is it? This is you, in the flesh, in front of me.”

  Though she could feel his resistance, he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.

  Heat, then fire.

  Pressure, then a demanding tongue.

  She released his shirt to slide her arm around his neck. He used his hands on her bottom to press her against him, no doubt so she could feel the hard length of him, feel what she’d missed all this time.

  Ian, she pathed.

  Regan, came back to her, a low resonance through her mind. I’ve missed you, missed this.

  I know. Me, too.

  He drew back and settled his forehead against hers. He was breathing hard. She was no different.

  A rhythmic thumping came from the direction of the library. Regan pulled away from Ian, her eyes wide. She felt a blush climb her cheeks. “Is that what I think it is?” she whispered.

  “Yeah. The troll is getting it on—”

  Regan finished the sentence. “With his wife.”

  “Yup.”

  “How do they do it? Did you see how he is with her? He should write a book on how to love a woman.”

  “I’d read it. Your gender is mostly a mystery to me, to most men.”

  A high-pitched squeal forced Regan’s hands to her lips and when a trollish groan followed, Ian shook his head, laughing softly.

  “What do we do now?” Regan asked.

  “I don’t know. Wait till they come out, I guess.”

  Regan chuckled. “I didn’t mean about Vojalie and Davido. I meant about us.”

  He turned back to her, frowning. “You need to stay here in Camberlaune. It was stupid to think I could let you take off. I’d be worried about you the whole time because if some other mastyr ever got hold of you, some bastard without a conscience, you could end up in a bonded relationship that could hurt you forever. And I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself. Maybe I have issues with what happened a long time ago, but I don’t have a problem with you sticking close, not until all of this is settled.

  “Besides, you know the lay-out of Margetta’s fortress and encampment. None of the rest of us do. You’re the logical person to answer all the questions any of us will have.

  “And Stone reminded me about something Mastyr Malik had shared with us. When he was battling the Invictus in his realm, he’d asked Zane to come in for support. When Zane reacted to Willow in the same way Stone recently responded to you, Malik used a small portion of Willow’s blood and painted streaks up both arms. Zane said it made a huge difference in his ability to withstand the pull toward Willow.”

  “That’s right,” Regan said. “I remember hearing something about that.”

  Ian offered a half-smile. “I have no doubt Malik made sure Zane stayed away from Willow, but it really helped. What do you say? Will you mark me with your blood?”

  Regan knew she’d just stumbled into really dangerous territory. Everything about the situation warned her to keep her distance but here he was suggesting she mark him to help keep other mastyrs away. It was bad enough she’d already agreed to stick close to him until they had everything figured out. But the giving of her blood in such an earthy cavewoman sort of way, had warning
bells clanging loudly inside her head.

  “Ian, is it really necessary? Can’t we just make sure that I’m not around other unbonded mastyrs?”

  He might have answered, but Davido called to him. Regan shifted to look past Ian and saw that Vojalie stood beside her man. The troll was grinning ear to ear and a warm blush suffused his wife’s face.

  Vojalie held his arm, her eyes full of affection as she looked down at him.

  Davido called out. “We must be going, Ian. Thank you for the cognac.” His smile broadened when he looked at Regan. “And I suggest you indulge your interest in the mastyr. Life is very short, even for us long-lived types. Make the most of every opportunity.”

  And with the extraordinary power the troll possessed, the couple simply vanished.

  “With so much ability between them,” Regan said, “why don’t they battle alongside us?”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing, and I’ve asked Davido to intervene with Margetta, but he refuses. He said he made war for the first thousand years of his life, but promised himself never again. I guess if you’ve served that long as a warrior, it’s enough, no matter how many centuries you added to your belt after.”

  He glanced behind him. “Listen, are you hungry? My housekeeper always keeps soup and some of her homemade bread stocked in my refrigerator.”

  At the suggestion, she put a hand to her stomach. “I’m starved, so yes, I’d love some.”

  He gestured with his hand for her to precede him. She led the way across the foyer to his great room, an open area of his house encompassing a north view of the mountains.

  He directed her to sit at the island bar, where earlier he’d served her coffee, then moved easily from the pots and pans, to the fridge, and back. He was comfortable in the kitchen and Regan couldn’t help but smile. Ian had been a bachelor a long time, but when she’d dated him, he wouldn’t have spent a second building a fire and setting up the spit to roast some meat. He’d had staff back then to take care of him and he’d made use of them.

  Though he had a housekeeper now, apparently he no longer minded doing some of the cooking.

  “Did you make the coffee, too?”

  “Sure.” He chuckled softly. “I know what you’re thinking. I remember how you went into the woods yourself so long ago and collected firewood. It pissed you off that I ordered my servants to the task.”

  She smiled. “I was perfectly capable of scouring your land for some deadfall. And so were you.”

  “You even started bringing your axe to my house.” The vegetable beef soup was heating in a pot on the stove and already smelled heavenly. Ian leaned on the island marble, his smile warm as he held her gaze.

  “I’m a resourceful person,” she said, “though I will confess it’s much easier now with food grown in bulk and shipped to markets, with electricity and how about the microwave?”

  Ian grinned. “One of my favorite things. That and cell phones. I mean, not everyone can communicate telepathically and I can reach any of my Guardsmen at any time. What did we do without all our gadgets?”

  She shrugged but smiled. “We headed into the forest. Do you remember the time you brought down a buck?”

  “Of course. Used my bow and arrow.”

  “You shared it with the village, too, the one at the base of the Rim near the Peralin River. Pikon, I think, at least that’s what I remember. You know, I swear that’s when I fell in love with you.”

  His brows rose. “Because I gave away venison I’d never be able to use?”

  “You could have dried it. You didn’t have to share.”

  He sighed, his gaze shifting past her but not appearing to land on anything particular. “I suppose, but it was a rough winter that year and some of the families had it hard. How could I not have shared? What kind of mastyr would that have made me?”

  He turned back to his soup and using a wooden spoon, stirred slowly. He already had thick slices of bread all buttered and toasting in the oven.

  Her gaze became fixed to the back of his head. Vojalie wasn’t entirely right that Regan didn’t know Ian. She knew he was generous and self-sacrificing as most vampire Guardsmen were.

  Her heart got that swollen feeling again. She leaned her elbow on the cool marble, and dropped her chin into her hand. She had to repress a heavy sigh. She was close to mooning after the man all over again.

  “I’ll do it, Ian, the protective blood streaks. I think it’s the smart thing to do. Maybe I can’t be bound to you right now, but I know we’ll be better off if we follow Mastyr Malik’s lead.”

  Afterward stacking up the toasted sour dough on a plate, he ladled soup into two bowls. He met her gaze. “That means a lot to me.”

  She wished he wasn’t so damn handsome. Just looking at him sent desire skyrocketing.

  He brought a bowl around for her as well as a spoon and napkin. “Dig in,” he said. “I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Ian could hardly taste the soup. For some reason, the jasmine-lime scent Regan carried as a blood rose had invaded the kitchen, though he didn’t know why. The problem was his cock loved it, couldn’t get enough, and wouldn’t settle down especially knowing she’d be opening a vein soon to create the protective streaks on his arms. He almost groaned at the thought.

  He dipped his spoon in the soup but didn’t dare look at Regan. And it didn’t help at all that she kept making her cooing sounds because she was enjoying her food. She might have a well-developed spiritual side and spent most of her time teaching in her fae retreat, but she was also extremely sensual.

  She loved life, loved good food, and she adored sex.

  He took a big bite of sour dough bread, hoping the flavors would mitigate her exquisite scent.

  No such luck.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Not even a little.”

  She chuckled. “This soup is to die for. My compliments to your housekeeper. And the bread, well, what can I say … heaven.”

  “She’ll appreciate your compliments.”

  When the meal was over, he did a quick clean-up of dishes. Regan brought the empty bowls, plates and spoons to him, but remained very quiet.

  Glancing at her, he thought he understood why because he was feeling the same thing. He’d be piercing her vein soon and given the reality she was a blood rose, besides her seductive scent and their past history, sharp desire ran through him.

  The heightened color on her cheeks as well as her flowery-lime scent spoke its own tale.

  By the time he hung up his dish towel, he felt like a kid on a first date.

  He caught her hand in his. “How about we get this over with before one of us explodes.”

  She giggled. “I feel ridiculous, Ian, like I’m sixteen. I’m so nervous and we’re not even doing anything.”

  He leaned close and spoke against her ear. “No, I’m just going to pierce the veins of your wrist. That’s all.” He rubbed his nose against her cheek, then pressed his lips to hers very gently.

  When she pulled back, he stared into glimmering, doe eyes. “Where do you want to do this?” she asked.

  “Out on the walkway if you’re game. I want to feel the fresh air flowing off the mountain.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  They had this in common, a love of the outdoors. Civilized life had a lot to offer, no question about that. But give him a full night spent in one of the Nine Realms’ many beautiful forests, and he was a happy man.

  Of course, the last time he’d hiked for a few hours with Regan had been one of the happiest of his life. The rest, all which had happened at Raven’s Overlook, he wouldn’t think about right now.

  Instead, he took her hand and led her through the living room to the sliding glass door and out onto the walkway overlooking Dark Gorge.

  The air was fresh and cool, even chilly. But he felt hot from stem to stern and he knew it was because of Regan. His drive toward her had his sex ramped up, no question about th
at. Yet, this felt like more, like a new kind of power had begun to flow through him, a steady vibration of energy and heat, making him glad he wore only the tank right now, and not the Guard coat. He was warm enough as it was with the leather pants and thigh boots. The cool winter air helped as well.

  Even Regan didn’t seem cold as she leaned against the sturdy wood railing and settled her gaze on the forested cliff opposite. It was early December now, not quite winter, but his elevation was low enough he rarely saw snow at his cliffside home. But the mountains were capped permanently now at least until mid-March, even April, depending on how cold the season would prove to be.

  He moved next to her, then gently took her wrist in hand.

  She met his gaze, hers as direct as ever. “You can feed as well if you need sustenance. You know I’m willing.”

  He nodded, but his chest tightened as he looked down at her. What he really wanted to do was take the vein at her throat. But the thought of drinking from her neck hardened an already stiff arousal. At least the leathers kept him snug and not too exposed, but he had it bad.

  He caught her chin and kissed her again, another soft touch of his lips to hers. “Thank you. And I’ll take you up on your offer.”

  She shifted to make reaching her wrist a simple thing. He lifted her slender arm until he had the right angle above the collection of veins at the base of her palm. His fangs descended and his breathing took another difficult turn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this worked up before a bite.

  He didn’t strike, yet. Instead, he took a long look at the night sky in a complete three-sixty to make sure there were no Invictus around.

  Seeing nothing to mar the view of the stars, he reverted his attention to her arm. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head and with a helluva lot of practice, struck to the right depth. Forming a seal over the punctures, he began to suck.

  But the long groan that left Regan’s mouth did little to mitigate his other growing problem.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Regan had fed plenty of vampires over the course of her centuries of living. And she’d fed Ian when they’d dated. But it had never been like this.