Taken By Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #7.25)(3)

“I mean, what are you doing in London?”

“I should think it obvious. ’Tis hunting season.”

Her brows pulled together. “You are mistaken, my lord, hunting season ended weeks ago.”

His fingers lifted to trace the tender curve of her neck, his mouth watering.

“That all depends on the prey.”

She shivered, pressing against the railing in a futile attempt to escape his lingering touch.

“So you are here for the Marriage Mart?”

“I am.”

“You have developed a taste for tender young debutantes?” she mocked. “I thought you preferred a more well-seasoned meal.”

His lips twitched at the bite in her tone. “There is no need for you to be jealous of my…”

“Harem?”

“Companions.” His fingers lingered at the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, his senses drowning in the scent of peaches. “You need only say the word and there would be no others.”

“How many times must I tell you that I will never be a vampire’s blood-whore?” she rasped, her eyes flashing with fury.

Victor laughed. “Such crude language from such beautiful lips. Does it help you to deny your body’s hunger for my touch to pretend I am a monster?”

“There is no pretense. You are a monster.”

His lips twisted. He could hardly deny her claim.

He was a ruthless predator who killed without mercy and was willing to use whatever violence necessary to maintain control of his clan.

That did not mean, however, that he was incapable of appreciating a woman who stirred his most primitive needs. His gaze lowered to the soft thrust of her br**sts, a shudder shaking through his body as the heat of her wrapped around him.

No. It was more than mere appreciation.

Having her in his bed, tasting the potent power of her blood…it was rapidly becoming a necessity.

He groaned, his fingers following the enticing line of her bodice, his body hard with need.

“And yet your heart thunders and your knees tremble when I am near,” he husked. “You cannot hide your reaction to me.”

She trembled. “Disgust.”

“Desire.” He lowered his head, his lips brushing over her bare shoulder. “It perfumes the very air.”

“My lord, stop this at once,” she demanded, even as her hands lifted to clutch at his shoulders.

It had been like this from the beginning.

Two years ago Juliet had walked into a London ballroom on the arm of Lord Hawthorne and every other woman had faded to meaningless shadows. Victor had known in that moment he had to have her. And it had not taken his heightened senses to know she was equally aroused.

Not that she was willing to admit as much.

No, for her own inexplicable reason, she was determined to keep him at a distance.

He growled as his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, hauling her hard against his body.

“Come into the gardens with me.”

“If it is time for your dinner then I suggest you find one of your concubines to slake your hunger.”

“I do not hunger for my dinner.” His lips traced a path down her collarbone before skimming up the curve of her throat. “Such exquisite skin.”

He felt her tremble in need, her hands pressed against his shoulders. “And I do not share my body any more readily than my blood.”

Pulling back, Victor regarded her with a brooding gaze. “I traveled to Venice to put you from my mind, but it was an impossible task. You haunt me, little one, and that is unacceptable.”

“What is unacceptable? The fact that I am the one woman capable of resisting your seduction, or the knowledge that you could make a fortune if only I would cooperate?”

It was a familiar accusation.

Juliet’s ability to sense the magical properties of objects, as well as people, was a rare talent that would be priceless to any vampire, and Victor had never hidden his desire for such a power. Why should he? Never again would he have to fear an enemy attempting to plot his early demise with a hidden spell. Or even accidentally stumbling into a trap. Juliet would always be able to warn him of the looming danger.

And, of course, there was the indisputable knowledge that her talent was worth a fortune.

The black-market trade for magical artifacts was a profitable, cutthroat business that kept any number of demons and humans living in luxury. Including the mage, Lord Hawthorne.

Bastard.

He caught and held her accusing gaze. “My wealth is more than sufficient, although I have never made it secret that I covet your talent. A vampire’s one weakness has always been magic. With you at my side I would be all but invincible.”

Her chin tilted. “Which is only one of many reasons that I will never allow myself to be bound to you.”

He narrowed his gaze in sudden annoyance. “And yet you willingly offer yourself to Hawthorne. An arrogant ass—”

“You should recognize an arrogant ass easily enough. You need only look in a mirror,” she rudely interrupted, her chin stuck at a stubborn angle. “Ah, but wait. You have no reflection, do you, vampire?”

“And a mage,” Victor hissed, ignoring her insult.

“My mother was a witch.”

“An unfortunate circumstance I am willing to overlook.”