Supernatural. Part 9

"Don't be afraid," he whispered.

"I'm not." She framed his face with both hands and looked deeply into his eyes. "I want this more than anything."

Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her entire body quivered with antic.i.p.ation as his mouth touched her lips. Even though she'd just had a world-cla.s.s climax, she raised her hips, seeking his possession.

"Shh," he murmured. "Almost." Outwardly, he was calm, in control, but the slight tremor in his voice gave him away. He was as affected by this as she was.

She opened up to him . . . her mouth, her legs, her entire being. Tenderly, carefully, his tongue breached her lips, stroking, penetrating and retreating. She became lost in the rhythm, so lost that she barely noticed the head of his p.e.n.i.s pus.h.i.+ng past her entrance.

"So . . . tight . . ." His voice was gravelly, strained, and she knew he was struggling for control. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not even close." Grabbing onto his powerful shoulders, she dug her nails in, loving the way it made him hiss with approval and push deeper inside her.

"The s.h.i.+ft . . ." He buried his face in her neck and shuddered, his big body heaving, as though the effort to remain motionless was killing him.

"It broke my hymen." His p.e.n.i.s twitched inside her, hitting something sensitive that made her pant. "Please, Nate. Now."

His hips punched forward, seating him all the way inside her. She gasped at the sensation of being so full and stretched, but it definitely wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Just the opposite, and as he began to move, slowly at first, and then with more urgency, erotic energy lapped at her, the waves growing larger, building with every thrust.

She arched into him, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist to ride his rhythm. He lifted his head to watch her through slitted lids, the blue of his eyes glowing behind them. In the dancing light from the fire, his hard-cut muscles bunched and flexed, the taut layers rolling beneath perfect skin.

This was so beautiful, more so than she'd ever imagined. Even his weight was wonderful, a counter to her femininity that made her feel so protected.

The speed of his thrusts increased, and his body trembled. Ah . . . yes. Right . . . there. Throwing her head back, she gasped at the sudden, hot ecstasy that coiled in her core. He made a desperate sound deep in his chest, sending a surge of pa.s.sion roaring through her. She ground against him with an untamed urgency he seemed to call forth from her with sinful ease.

Her o.r.g.a.s.m hovered close, searingly hot, and when he lowered his mouth to her throat, the tips of his fangs resting on her skin, she practically begged him to bite her. Eidolon had ordered him to feed, after all.

"Thank you," he rasped, but instead of a bite, he swirled his tongue over her vein. "Oh, G.o.ds, Lena . . . we were . . . made for each other."

She believed it with all her heart. They fit together perfectly, and she wanted to do a lot more fitting together. Often.

Finally, he sank his teeth into her flesh. Heat swamped her, a fever of pleasure that blistered her skin and set fire to her insides. The climax swept her up and away, so she could feel only Nate. His release was as powerful as hers, if the way he pounded into her with hard, uncontrolled bursts was any indication. It went on long enough for her to come again, her hips coming off the rug and his name coming off her lips.

Abruptly, he sagged on top of her, though he s.h.i.+fted his weight to prevent her from taking it all. She would have, gladly. But this was good, too. He was still inside her, and she got to stroke his muscular back and thank him without saying a word.

After a moment, he rolled onto his side and adjusted her so they were facing each other, bathed in the warm glow of the fire. He touched her face, his thumb brus.h.i.+ng over her cheekbone in lazy, soothing strokes. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not even close."

Possessive eyes focused on her. "Work for me."

Whoa. Okay. Not words she'd expected to hear. "What? You mean like, at Thirst?"

"It's mine now. That was the deal with Fade. Thirst, Gladius, it's all mine."

An anvil dropped onto her chest. "Gladius."

He smiled. "Dismantling it will be the first thing I do. But I've put a lot of work into the club. It's a decent place, and I want you there. I want you in charge of the medic station."

She couldn't deny that the offer was tempting. To have autonomy . . . something for herself . . . it was what she'd always wanted. But she owed Underworld General so much, and with the way the underworld was spinning out of control, they couldn't afford to lose her.

"I have a job already," she sighed.

"You don't have to choose. Work at UG, but oversee the medic station and personnel at Thirst. You can hire your colleagues at the hospital to fill in or moonlight. You can use Thirst for training. I don't care. It would be yours to do what you want with it."

Closing her eyes, she thanked whoever was listening that she'd found this male. The canine instincts she hadn't even known she possessed had somehow sensed that behind his hard outer sh.e.l.l there'd been a caring, loving vampire in there even when he was being a jerk. And now she understood the reason he'd been such a b.a.s.t.a.r.d at times.

But that didn't mean she was going to let him walk all over her.

"Well?" He swept his lips tenderly over hers. "What do you say?"

She opened her eyes. "I'll do it, but on one condition."

He c.o.c.ked a black eyebrow. "And that would be?"

"I don't work for you. I work with you. The medic stuff will be entirely mine."

"Woman," he said, pressing a series of kisses along her jaw, "you can have anything you want. I owe you."

"For what?" She tilted her head to give him better access, because that felt so . . . d.a.m.ned . . . good.

"For saving my life." His voice lowered to a husky, mesmerizing purr, and against her hip, she felt his shaft stir. "For giving me life. I was dead before. You brought me back, Nurse Lena."

She s.h.i.+fted so she could nuzzle his ear. "You did the same for me. So where do we go from here?"

"If you'll have me, all the way."

"To the end?"

He pushed up on his elbows and rolled to mount her. As she accepted him into her body, he locked gazes with her, his eyes glittering with pa.s.sion and promise. "To the end."

Dear Reader, I can't tell you how awesome it has been to be included in a project with some of my favorite authors. I hope you enjoyed my story, and if so, you can find more books set in Nate and Lena's world in my Demonica and Lords of Deliverance series. In the Lords of Deliverance series, which focuses on the Four Hors.e.m.e.n of the Apocalypse, you'll learn more about Nate's daywalker status and his sire.

The books are, in reading order:.

Demonica series:.

Pleasure Unbound.

Desire Unchained.

Pa.s.sion Unleashed.

Ecstasy Unveiled.

Sin Undone.

Lords of Deliverance series:.

Eternal Rider.

Immortal Rider (coming Winter, 2011).

Happy reading!.

Larissa Ione.

Darkness Eternal.

ALEXANDRA IVY.

Chapter 1.

London, England.

Uriel had very specific plans for the upcoming evening.

First up, dinner in bed with a luscious, golden-haired fairy who tasted like champagne and boasted skills that could make a vampire howl like a d.a.m.ned werewolf. Even without a full moon.

Next on the agenda, a round of sparring with the latest batch of foundlings that had arrived in London. In the past few years Victor, the clan chief of Great Britain, had inst.i.tuted a law that demanded all recently created vampires must spend at least the first decade of life being trained at his lair. And since Uriel was second in command, as well as Victor's best warrior, it meant it was his duty to oversee their fighting lessons.

And if there was time left before dawn, he intended to meet with the soldiers who had recently returned from their hunt in northern England.

Since rumors of the return of the Sylvermyst had spread through the demon world, Victor had sent out nightly patrols to search for the evil cousins of the fey. It aggravated the h.e.l.l out of Uriel that he wasn't allowed to take his place in the chase.

Unfortunately when he'd accepted his position as Victor's right hand man, he had given up his place in the field. Now he was stuck plotting strategy, drawing up scout rotations, and researching the history of the Sylvermyst in the ma.s.sive library beneath Victor's lair on the outskirts of London.

He was also on call 24/7 to his chief.

Which was why he was headed through the vast labyrinth of hallways, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt, instead of lying naked on his bed with a beautiful fairy doing bad, bad things to his eager, eager body.

Climbing the marble staircase and strolling down the crimson carpeted hallway, Uriel ignored the priceless Greek statues and pictures that lined the walls and the explosion of gilt that framed the arched windows.

He understood Victor's need for a gaudy display of wealth and power, but d.a.m.n. A man could get a brain cramp from such an overexposure of frou-frou.

Especially those idiotic frescos that were painted on the lofted ceiling.

Uriel grimaced. The images of angels with fiery swords defending a gaggle of humans against a horde of demons might be some sort of priceless work of art, but to Uriel it was a never ending source of annoyance.

He was a brutal killer and a ruthless enemy to those who would threaten his clan. But for all his grim reputation, he was cursed with finely carved features and a halo of curls that perfectly matched his light brown eyes.

As beautiful as a fallen angel . . .

He'd heard those words a thousand times over the past four centuries.

Sometimes they were a sigh on a woman's lips. And sometimes a mocking taunt from his brothers.

They always managed to make him want to hit something.

Really, really hard.

Stepping into the vast library, Uriel halted in the middle of the fancy-a.s.s carpet and watched as Victor lifted himself from behind the heavy walnut desk and crossed toward a matching sideboard.

He wasn't the hulking brute that most people expected of a clan chief. Actually, dressed in a silk s.h.i.+rt and black slacks he looked every inch the English aristocrat with his elegantly carved features and glossy black hair pulled into a neat braid. But a closer inspection revealed the hard muscles beneath the designer clothing and the promise of death that lurked in the pale silver eyes rimmed with black.

Victor was a predator.

Pure and simple.

"Uriel, join me," the ancient vampire commanded, turning from the sideboard to press a small gla.s.s of amber spirits in his hand. "Salud."

The aged cognac slid down Uriel's throat as smooth as honey. Liquid fire.

"Martell," Uriel breathed with a lift of his brow, easily recognizing the expensive liquor. "I'm afraid to ask."

Victor leaned against the sideboard, his arms folded over his chest.

"Excuse me?"

"You only break out the good stuff when you want something. Usually something that includes blood, death, and/or mayhem."

"Is that any way to speak to your beloved clan chief ?"

Uriel snorted. "I will agree that you're my clan chief."