When Darkness Ends (Guardians of Eternity #12)(18)

“It will be my duty to provide at least six live heirs,” she muttered, revealing the truth that had been giving her nightmares since the engagement documents had been signed and her father had promised her future to a man who was little more than a cold, distant acquaintance.

“Duty?” Predictably he pounced on her revealing word. “Shouldn’t that be a pleasure?”

“I don’t know yet which it will be,” she muttered.

“You mean . . .” Something that might have been satisfaction flared through his eyes. “You haven’t slept together.”

Her blush deepened. “It’s forbidden until after we wed.”

His hands slid up the curve of her waist, halting a tantalizing inch from her breasts. A low groan rumbled in his throat.

“He must be a f*cking saint.”

Fallon’s mouth went dry. Her breasts were suddenly tingling, the nipples tight with a need she didn’t understand.

“Not really.” She grimaced. “Magnus is allowed to keep a harem.”

A hot, dangerous hunger blazed in the depths of his eyes as her voice came out as a low, husky whisper.

“And you?”

It was growing difficult to concentrate on the embarrassing conversation. She’d never had a man span her rib cage with his big hands, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Or look at her as if he was imagining her naked.

“I’m expected to remain pure until the wedding night,” she managed to rasp between dry lips.

A sound that was purely male was wrenched from Cyn’s throat as he leaned into her, his lips stroking a cool path of destruction over her cheek to the edge of her mouth. She barely dared to breathe as his intoxicating sensuality wrapped around her like a cloak.

“And you call me a barbarian,” he said, the tip of his fang lightly scraping her bottom lip. “I, at least, appreciate that a woman has the right to make her own choices.”

Her own choices . . .

The fog of desire was abruptly pierced by a familiar pain.

For God’s sake, did he think she wouldn’t give everything she possessed—her fortune, her palatial quarters in the palace, and even her position as princess—if it would mean she could gain control of her life?

If she could be truly free?

Her hands lifted to press against his chest. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

“Fallon—”

“I need bowls,” she abruptly interrupted.

He lifted his head, his brows arched. “Bowls?”

She gave another push against his massive chest. He was more than just invading her space. He was battering her with sensations that were as unfamiliar as they were unnerving.

“Yes.”

Perhaps sensing she’d reached the limit of her endurance, Cyn reluctantly loosened his hold and backed off the step.

“I will have food delivered.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking all broody again. “I assure you there’s no need for you to slave in the kitchen.”

As if she would know how to slave in a kitchen even if she wanted to.

“I need them to scry.”

He gave a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll take you there.”

“If you’ll just tell me where—”

With a blinding speed, Cyn was grasping her shoulders and sealing her mouth in a kiss that spoke of hunger and irritation and a smoldering frustration that was oddly echoed deep inside her.

Fallon was too shocked to immediately respond.

No doubt a good thing since she didn’t have a clue if she wanted to slap his face or melt into his arms.

Instead she whipped up a less than convincing appearance of outrage as he pulled away.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’ll let you know if I figure it out,” he growled, turning as if he intended to lead her to the kitchens. Then, without warning, he was whirling toward the front door, his fangs fully exposed. “Wait.”

Fallon clutched the banister, her heart halting. Had her father found her? Or worse . . . Magnus?

“What is it?”

“Gargoyle,” he snarled, the word barely leaving his lips before there was the sound of a small pop and a tiny creature with large fairy wings and stunted horns appeared in the middle of the foyer. “What the hell are you doing here?” Cyn demanded.

“Siljar sent me,” the gargoyle said, spreading his arms and grinning at the furious vampire. “Lucky you.”

Tonya had all sorts of reasons to be in a PMS mood as she switched on a lamp to battle the gathering shadows.

She was stuck in Chicago instead of taking care of the demon club that she managed for Viper. God only knew what disasters would be waiting for her when the Anasso allowed her to return.

She’d be lucky if the damned place was still standing without her to keep an eye on the volatile clientele who didn’t consider a party started until someone was bleeding.

And now she was seated at the massive desk in Styx’s library, staring at the mind-numbingly gorgeous Chatri prince who was strolling across the priceless carpet with enough arrogance to make her teeth ache.

A part of her wanted to grab the heavy crystal paperweight off the desk and toss it at his head. But a larger part of her wanted to rip off his black slacks and crisp white shirt and rub herself against his lean muscular body.