breath cool on the wet, swollen tip. Her teeth ached, yearning to bite, but she held back, fighting for control. He took her other breast, giving it the same treatment. Talia gasped, praying for strength. She wanted to pleasure him as a woman before she took him as a vampire, but he sure wasn’t making it easy.
“Bed,” she groaned.
Instead, he pressed between her thighs, rubbing against her. She squirmed, feeling her readiness in the sweet ache teasing her core.
“I burn for you,” he whispered, his lips intimate against her ear. “Let me lose myself inside you.”
Talia was beyond putting words into sentences. “Okay.”
He picked her up by the waist, holding her close to his body with no more than the strength of his arms, and delicately kissed her mouth. “I will take you.”
The phrase sounded oddly formal, but it got lost in the chaos of sensations storming through her. He carried her to the bed, setting her down as carefully as if she were glass. Talia rolled over, crawling across its wide expanse, making room for him to join her.
Without warning, he caught her by the back of the neck, one hand big enough to immobilize her. She was caught on her hands and knees, vulnerable and exposed. A moment later, she felt the rough stubble of his cheek along her backbone, stroking against the sensitive curve of her back. She trembled, a little spooked to be held so still, unable to see his face or what he would do next. It gave new meaning to feeling naked.
His hand began to work her, stroking the soft, vulnerable places, questing inside to test her slickness. A shudder passed through her, and then again, and again. Automatically, she adjusted her knees, finding a better position to take more of him, to offer more of herself.
And then she felt the tip of his sex at her opening, sliding inside, spreading her farther and farther. Oh, God! The position, the sheer size of him offered a whole new range of sensations. She thought she’d split apart at the same time she wanted more and more right there.
“Lore,” she begged, feeling a trembling in her arms. She dug her fingers into the sheets, doing her best to steady herself. “I need you now.”
The grip on the back of her neck tightened, and he thrust again, driving deeper. A cry tore from her, tears filling her eyes.
He thrust again. Tension spiraled through her, pushing her toward orgasm. She tried to speak, to offer words, but they came out as strangled sounds. Tears slid out from beneath her eyelids. He was still moving inside her, sending her insides into explosions of bliss—again, and again. Sweat trickled down her ribs, slicked the places he was touching her. The moisture felt cool, another set of fingers tickling her in secret places.
It was too much. Talia felt like she was going to melt, or smoke, or start sending out sparks of frantic energy. She twisted, trying to bite, but her teeth snapped on air. He held her harder, forcing her head still while he had his way.
A mix of frustration and sheer animal pleasure rolled through her. He was picking up speed, pushing faster and faster. Each collision of their bodies drove Talia further from reason. Her mind blanked, losing contact with sight, sound, every sense but touch. Rapid shocks of pleasure pulsed through her. “Oh, God, Lore!”
He thrust one last time, filling her with heat and wetness. Her body started to let go, but her teeth ached so hard, she thought they would crack. Suddenly she smelled him close, right in front of her. She opened her eyes, tears blurring her vision. He was offering his wrist. She grabbed it with one hand, pulling it to her mouth, and bit down.
Hot tangy blood filled her mouth. Lore shuddered as her venom released, slowly, slowly collapsing to the mattress as if slain. She let him go, panting, her body still pinging with aftershocks of pleasure. After a long shudder, he stretched his massive body, bones cracking. Talia lay down beside him, running a hand over his chest, feeling a moment of intense possessiveness.
He pulled her close, bringing her face so close to his, their noses touched. His eyes were hazed by the venom, his smile a little dreamy. “That was my way, now we do it yours.”
“Wait,” she said, making herself face up to at least a little piece of the inevitable. “What are we doing?”
“Do you want me to draw you a picture?”
She shook her head. “I said that wrong.”
He kissed her forehead, gently this time. “Don’t worry about the future. Hellhounds are loyal unto death, and they always return to their mates once they are reborn. I will always come back to you. Is that what you wanted to know?”
Talia’s chest ached with his simple, certain words. “You’ve got this all figured out.” But what about the fact that I’m not one of you? What about the children?
“I’ve thought about it.” Lore raised an eyebrow, nothing left of the venom stupor in his expression. “Would you wait for me? Hellhounds are long-lived, but the good part is you get a fresh new lover every century.”
Talia spluttered with shocked laughter. “But you wouldn’t remember me!”
“We do. We remember the scent of our loved ones.” He pulled her close, covering her with his warmth. “Now stop talking. Everything’s fine.”
“Only every century?” she said petulantly.
He chuckled. “I adore you.”
And he proved it to her, one gentle touch at a time.
Talia willfully ignored everything else.
Chapter 35
Saturday, January 1, 10:30 a.m.
The Castle
Lore left the Castle, heading toward Osan Mina’s. He’d talked to Caravelli on the phone, officially ending his term as acting sheriff. The nonhuman community was shaken, but still in one piece. He’d done his duty. Now he needed to debrief the hounds. With luck he’d be back in bed with Talia before she woke, but just in case he’d left word with Mac that he would be in Spookytown.
His mood was half jubilant, half belligerent. He had been Alpha for seven years, and in that time, he’d freed his people, built a place for them in Fairview, raised their status among the nonhumans, and given them economic independence. He was ready to take a mate, and he had found her. He would have Talia, and no myth would stop him.
He was going to prepare his pack to accept his bride.
Or else.
Maybe not the best attitude for the occasion, but it had been a hard few days. Lore felt pared down to essentials, with no spare energy to give an inch.
The row housing along Spookytown’s streets looked almost pretty in the snow and sunlight. The houses where the hellhounds lived were well loved, the walks shoveled, pups playing in the yards. True, none had been born since his mother had passed, but could that not be coincidence? Could not all the wars and struggle they had suffered be the reason why the females had not come into season?
Even if that were true, would the pack ever believe it? The Elders liked to have their way. Tradition to Lore was comfort and continuity. To them it was an end in itself.
But he needed this one thing. He needed to break with custom this one time.
He needed a miracle.
“Madhyor!”
Lore wheeled to see Helver sprinting down the street toward him, arms and legs pumping. A dozen yards behind him, Grash thundered in hot pursuit, clods of snow kicking up with every stride. Lore got the fleeting impression that something was wrong with Helver’s face.
The young hound threw himself at Lore’s feet, prostrating himself on the ground. “Help me, Madhyor!”
Grash skidded to a halt. Neither he nor Helver were wearing coats. Grash’s coveralls were coated in
