Demon from the Dark (Immortals After Dark #10)(20)

7




Malkom sprang forward, snatching the female’s ankle just as she dropped from the ledge. She screamed, was still screaming as he flung her up to safety.

She landed on her belly, clawing at the sand to get away from him, but he clutched her slim leg tight in his fist. Though she thrashed, she gained no ground.

Why was she resisting him? Confusion roiled. Why can she not recognize me as I have her?

Her scent was so feminine, so maddening to him. Lust assailed him as he raked his eyes over her back, her narrow waist, her flaring hips. Her body begged to be mated. At the thought of impregnating the female before him, his horns straightened even more, and his shaft pulsed in his trews.

But she surprised him with a mule kick that connected with his mouth, splitting his lip.

No, do not taste the blood . . . .

Against his will, his tongue flicked his lip. One hot drop made him even more crazed. All his vampire instincts rushed to the fore. His newly beating heart thundered, his chest heaving with breaths.

The instinctive drive to plant his seed—the seed she’d brought forth—was overwhelming him. He’d produced it for her, but he couldn’t lose it until he was inside her. The throbbing pressure turned to pain.

Cannot fight this!

When she kicked out again, he planted himself betwixt her thighs, capturing her wrists behind her back with one of his hands. As she flailed, the remains of her skirt rode up her hips, baring . . . a sight such as he’d never seen before.

Her undergarments were gone. In their place, she had a thin band of shining silk that encircled her hips, then dipped between the curves of her shapely backside.

Astonished, he beheld this vision with his body shuddering and his cock about to explode.

She still resisted beneath him. And some part of him wanted to release her, to not do this thing he seemed driven to do.

To not use her as he had been used.

But her thrashing goaded the vampire within, made him want to pin her down, made him desperate to drink her. His demonic instinct clamored for him to come inside her body, to mark her neck and claim her as his own.

Both natures commanded him to take her neck.

When she reared back in her struggles, her mane of hair tangled in the brush, baring her neck to him. Beneath the strange collar she wore, the skin was pale and smooth, ready to glove his throbbing fangs.

Never had he bitten another. Reminded of this, rage scorched him inside. A remembered rage. How hard the Viceroy had tried to make him drink.

Now Malkom knew that the long-dead vampire would win. Because there was no way to stop this.

The pain, the frenzy. In Demonish, he rasped, “Forgive me.” Then he dropped his body over hers, his head descending to low on her neck. Into her creamy skin, he plunged his fangs.

“Unh . . .” He groaned against her as his lids slid closed. Her rich blood streamed into his mouth, even before he sucked her.

Euphoria lit within him with each scorching drop.

Soon the pressure in his cock couldn’t be denied. Unable to control himself, he ground it against her backside. The intensity, the mindlessness . . . so much f*cking pleasure. A single thrust had him coming spontaneously, roaring with his release, snarling yells against her skin. He bucked against her over and over until the pressure receded at last.

Spent, stunned, he collapsed atop her, reluctantly relinquishing his bite. Though he hadn’t released his seed, the orgasm had been mind-boggling. And her searing blood continued to dance in his veins. Satisfaction overwhelmed him until he moaned with it.

That had been only the beginning. At last, he’d know a woman. Soon his shaft would be buried in her secret flesh, pumping his seed deep inside her wetness. At the thought, he hardened at once.

Before, he’d been so frenzied that he’d been unable to wait. Now he would claim her slowly.

When he raised up to tell her as much, she struggled beneath him again. He eased his grip so she could twist around to face him. She stared at him with hatred, her vivid green eyes glinting.

Did she still not understand that she was his female? He captured one of her hands and shoved her palm against his chest, over the heart she alone had brought back to life. “Minde jart.”

But she cried out in pain. Only then did he realize he’d broken her wrist in the struggle.

He jerked away from her. She was an immortal of some kind—he sensed this. But she was no demoness, and now he’d hurt her with his unnatural strength.

Abomination, his mind whispered.

She rose unsteadily, looking at him as the Trothans had—with revulsion.

When she began backing away, he said, “Alton, ara.” Come, female. But she didn’t speak Demonish.

Damn it, ’twas not safe for her out here. In this plane lived a thousand different threats, beasts as well as other demon fugitives. He ran his hand over his face, then tried to communicate in Latin.

In a low voice, she replied in Anglish. He’d heard her talking earlier but hadn’t accepted that she spoke that cursed off-plane language. The one I learned as a boy from my master, his urgent mutterings in my ear . . . .

The one the Viceroy had tried to force Malkom to speak. Desperate for one less trait to share with the vampires, Malkom had tortured himself to forget that language forever.

How the Viceroy would have relished that Malkom’s female spoke it!

“Alton!” Once more, he ordered her to come to him.