Scorched

enough women to know how much Constance stood out.

Intense satisfaction rippled through his gut. She was his for the plucking. She had already asked for what he wanted to give her. There was nothing to stop him.

Except himself. Mac was frozen by the tender innocence of her face. His conquering impulses gentled. If he was going to make her his, there would be no victory without surrender. For that, more than brute lust had to come into play. He needed persuasion, too.

He leaned forward, one knee on the bed, and balanced himself above her. She was so small, he was going to have to be careful. Slowly, savoring the moment, he lowered himself, touching her lips with his. Her mouth was cool, slightly parted, showing the tips of her fangs. He found them even more erotic than before. He drew himself fully onto the bed, then kissed her again, harder. He propped himself on one hand now, using the other to slowly draw away the thin scarf she wore. The ends were tucked demurely between her breasts, a puritanical tease. The fabric slid away with a whisper that shivered along his nerves. The scarf smelled of her perfume.

“Constance,” he whispered in her ear. There was no response. The Undead rested deeply, falling into sleep so deep it was often mistaken for true death. He had no idea how long one would rest in a place that had no sun to hide from, but it could be a while.

Ah, well, that just gave him more time to play.

Skimming a finger along the top of her dress, he admired the whiteness of her skin, the soft way her breasts fell as she slept. The laces that held the front tightly closed tempted him. The tips were frayed, the ribbon soft from time and use. Carefully, he pulled one end, loosening the knot. As it gave, the lacing relaxed, the blue cloth parting to give a glimpse of more layers of clothing beneath. What he thought was a dress was actually a skirt and kind of jacket, petticoats and other cottony bits beneath, and then a stiff vest-thing that laced up the front. He guessed it was some type of corset, except it didn’t look like those he’d seen in men’s magazines.

How the hell could anyone move in all this stuff? Getting her out of it was going to take some determination, not to mention an engineering degree.

“Constance,” he whispered again, but louder.

Her eyes snapped open, her expression one of confusion deepening to desire and then absolute shock. “You came back!”

“I said I’d come back.”

She sat up, amazement filling her eyes. “What happened to you?”

Mac sealed her mouth with his before she could say another word. Her hands gripped his shoulders, trying to keep some distance between them. That wasn’t what he wanted. He worked the kiss, using every trick in his repertoire to prolong it, to make her forget whatever fear was slipping between them. Bit by bit, the tension in her fingers eased. He pushed her back down to the pillows.

Eventually, he let her break away. He left tiny kisses on her nose and eyes and brow before he retreated.

“It’s fortunate that I don’t need to breathe,” she said tartly, but her tone was shaken.

Her eyes had drifted shut, and now she opened them again. For a moment, she looked blind before she pulled him back into focus. Slowly, her brow furrowed, and she pushed him away, one hand against his chest.

This time, he let her.

Her head crooked back, trying to get a fuller view. Fear had faded to caution. “Conall Macmillan, what happened to you?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you like what you see?”

“By the sweet saints, what have you done?” Though she spoke barely above a whisper, her tone was whip- sharp. “And you’re burning up. Are you sick? What magic have you got yourself into?”

He thought he might have heard concern somewhere in there. He swallowed, the taste of her still clinging to his tongue. “It just happened. I feel fine.”

She raised herself up on her elbows, nearly bumping noses with him. Her gaze slowly slid down his front. She tensed, then flushed a faint, faint bloom of pink against her white, white skin. “I can see that.”

He couldn’t stop a grin as curiosity widened her eyes. He leaned forward, using his body to force her back to the bed again. He leaned on one elbow, supporting his head on his hand. He used the other hand to tug at the ribbon that held her jacket shut, quickly working it free.

She closed her hand over his, stilling his fingers. “You know you don’t smell the least bit human anymore? You smell other.”

Her words jolted Mac. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve changed through and through. You’re a demon now, no ‘half about it!”

The words stung, pulling his mood into darkness. Rolling away from her, he sat up. “I didn’t ask for what happened.”

Not human. He’d already lost his job, his relations, and his friends. It shouldn’t have made any difference. It was the last flicker of a dying bulb winking out, nothing more.

But he had prayed so hard for a road back.

Driven by the hot burn of emotion, his demon stirred, shadows sliding through his thoughts. He could sense the demon was adapting, deciding how it could use this new form, savoring its strength and gargantuan appetites. No, the only human part left in him was his reason and what remained of his conscience. The rest lay scattered like flotsam from a shipwreck.

Demons destroy.

Constance sat up behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her touch was tentative, but he could tell it was meant to comfort. “You didn’t want to hear that, did you?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.” She paused. “Why did you come?”

“I said I would.” Badge or no badge, I’m still the guy who helps people.

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again. I kept looking for Viktor and the guardsmen’s quarters.”

As he turned, her hands fell away from his shoulders. She was sitting on her heels, her black hair in a tumble around her, the laces of her clothes dangling free. His breath caught, swamped by the burning in his blood. “I said I would help you find Sylvius.”

“But that’s not the only reason you came back, is it?” she asked uneasily.

“No. I came here to take you.”

“What?”

Caveman alert! “Um. I mean, make love to you.” Look, bud, you can rule little Mac, but leave my mouth out of it.

Pale though she was, she turned even whiter; then red spots showed on her cheekbones. Fear, excitement, anger all chased through her eyes.

“You want me to lift my skirts for the likes of you?” She. tossed her hair back over her shoulder, her dark blue eyes narrowing. “Why should I want that? Your blood’s no good to me now. The smell of it doesn’t tempt me to bite nearly so much as before.”

It was more a challenge than an outright refusal.

“I have other uses.”

“And what might those be?” She crawled backward a foot. Her voice teased, but underneath he could hear a tremor of fear. It didn’t matter that she had kissed him back a moment ago. The balance between them had shifted.

The ancient pursuit of male and mate had been declared.

Chapter 15

His limbs heavy with need, Mac swung himself back onto the bed. “Come here and I’ll show you.” She was panting. Not that she normally needed air, but adrenaline was taking its toll. His stomach tightened, gripped by blazing heat. “Come here,” he repeated in a thick voice. He moved forward, prowling across the counterpane.