Forever Bound Series 1-4(74)

He’d returned to the pack just one year before and found them under attack. An attack that had come from within. Men, women—they’d been brutally killed. The pack had dwindled down to just six—six—werewolves.

There would be no more deaths in the O’Connell pack. But the pack…oh, yes, the pack would have its vengeance.

His gaze turned back to the woman. Hello, vengeance.

She didn’t stir.

“Go outside,” Jamie ordered again.

This time, Sean obeyed. Jamie heard the shuffle of Sean’s boots over the dusty floor and the creak of the old door as it slid closed.

Then he was alone with the prey that he’d sought for the last six months. The instrument of his revenge.

He raised his right hand, and his claws slashed across his left wrist. Blood welled, dripped. Clenching his teeth, Jamie put his hand over the woman’s mouth and he waited.

The seconds ticked by as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

And nothing happened.

Jamie lifted his hand. Blood had smeared over her lips. He leaned toward her. His index finger pushed lightly inside her mouth as he searched for the fangs that should have been there.

Only they weren’t. The woman had perfectly normal, human teeth. No fangs.

He pulled back. The wound he’d made on his wrist throbbed with a dull ache, but he ignored it. Pain didn’t matter. Never had, to him. Frowning, he put his hand on her chest. He didn’t feel a heartbeat. Despite what humans believed, the hearts of vampires actually did beat.

Only her heart was ominously still.

His back teeth ground together. “Maybe you are dead,” he gritted out.

The Blood Queen had been under a spell for the last fifteen years. A spell, a curse, same damn thing to him.

The blood of a werewolf had put her under—that blood had frozen her body and locked the spell’s magic in place.

And the blood of a werewolf was supposed to wake her. Only she wasn’t waking up.

Hell. So much for his big, secret weapon. Jamie would just have to find another way to destroy Latham and—

She had golden eyes. Dark, deep golden eyes.

“I’m not…dead,” she said, her voice a husky purr that actually seemed to roll through him, “but you…are.” And her hand flashed up. The woman was strong—far stronger than he’d expected—and she grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him toward her.

Then her mouth, her very sharp teeth, bit into his throat.

Instead of being afraid, Jamie smiled and let the Blood Queen taste him.

Drink up, baby. It’s your funeral. Because with every drop of blood that she took in these first moments, she was just locking herself to him ever more deeply. Bonding them, body to body, blood to blood, until there would be no escape. Not for either of them.

His claws dug into the sheets as he held his body perfectly still.

Revenge would sure be one bloody bitch.

Latham, get ready to die.

***

Don’t kill him.

The whisper slid through the shattered remains of Iona’s mind. His blood was in her mouth, flowing like rich bliss over her tongue. His hot, strong body was against hers, and…

Her heart was beating. Hard, pounding beats that seemed to tremble through her. She could feel and hear every single beat.

Her teeth pressed into him. She was probably hurting this man, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She was starving. Had been starving, for so very long.

Pull back. Don’t kill.

But it was so hard to keep her control.

Her heart beat was growing faster. She could feel the power of his blood sliding through her body. Giving her strength when before there had been only weakness. There’d been…nothing.

“I think that’s enough.” His voice was low, deep, and tinged with the faintest brush of an Irish accent.

She ignored his words. Iona hadn’t enjoyed her fill of him yet and—

“I said…enough.” His hands, big, powerful, caught her shoulders and shoved her away. Her back hit the wooden headboard of the bed, and she blinked up at him.

“If you drain me, then this little deal isn’t going to work.”

She licked her lips and still tasted him. Maybe it was because she’d gone without blood for so long, but the man—he’d tasted incredible. Fresh. Wild. Spicy.

She’d like more.

When Iona tried to lunge forward, his hands just tightened around her shoulders, and he kept her pinned against the bed’s headboard. “Not so fast, baby.”

Baby? Her eyes narrowed and she actually managed to focus and look up at his face.

Hard angles. Brutal cheekbones. A sharp nose. Lips that were…sexy.

Her breath whispered out.

There were faint scars on his left cheek. Old. Little ridges that raised the flesh and gave him a tough, dangerous appearance.

She’d always enjoyed danger.

Until that lust for danger sent me to hell.

His hair was dark, even darker than her own. Light drifted through the window on the far right. Light. Actual light! And with that light, she saw only pure black in his hair. His eyes—a sharp, intense green—were a bright contrast to that thick darkness.

“You settlin’ down?” he demanded and that faint Irish burr rolled beneath his words. Some might not have even noticed that slight accent.