into the rough, whiskered angle of his jaw.
She let her eyes flicker open. “Mac?”
His hand was on her arm, solid, warm, and heavy. His dark eyes were laughing, as if he were playing the most wonderful joke. “The Avatar said the only thing that matters is the joy that gives me life. Who knew she meant it literally?”
Constance felt her mouth drift open. He was laughing. A sudden hot wave of emotion erupted. “What do you think you’re doing to me?” She jumped to her feet, nearly bumping his chin. “Do you think this is a jest?”
He fell back a step, his eyes round and wide at her temper. For a moment, she saw the boy he must have been. He opened and closed his mouth, obviously groping for something to say. “I came back from the dead for you, sweetheart.”
Constance burst into tears. “You could have told me you were going to do that!”
“Oh, it was just a setback,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I would have called, but y’know, reception sucks in here.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she muttered into his chest, absolutely dizzy with the wonderful, warm feel of him. He wasn’t too hot. Just toasty-right, warming her through and through.
He hugged her. “It’s a long story, but I’ll be here to tell it.”
She sniffed. “You died and it was my fault.”
He chuckled, looking over the top of her head. “How do you figure that?”
She pushed him away. “I set Atreus free. And then he killed you. And then he fell.”
He sobered. “It wasn’t your fault that he was crazy, and letting him go might well have saved us all. I think his magic thunderbolt gave a helluva boost to the Avatar’s spell, plus it did stop the battle.”
Constance put her hand to his cheek. “How are you here? I saw ...”
“I made a deal with the Castle. I’m part of it now. I gained a lot of control over my powers, and I, uh ...” He paused. “I got a job here. I mean, I can come and go, but this is it for me. I’m home.”
“Like the guardsmen?”
“No, I’m better off than they are by a long shot.”
“A job?”
Mac shrugged. “Kind of part-cop, part-gamekeeper, part-troubleshooter. The Avatar needs a go-to guy to keep the place running. Someone to do the day-to-day work.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“Strange as this sounds, I think it might be my dream job.”
She lowered her head, her hands still wrapped in the thick fabric of his sweater. “Was that the only reason you came back?”
She could hear the smile in his words. “Why do you think? I love you. Besides, you brought me back to life with a kiss. After something like that, a guy’s gotta stick around.”
Constance looked up into his face, touching his cheek, his arm, his hair, convincing herself he was there. He didn’t move, just let her reassure her senses, a trace of demon red in his dark, laughing eyes.
Finally, he reached down, scooping her up in his arms.
“I noticed something about being dead,” he announced, striding across the room.
“What?”
“It made me want to make sure I’m alive. Good thing the bed’s still in one piece.”
She grabbed his arm as he set her on the bed. “How can you? There’s a dragon. There are still hounds trying to find the door, and guardsmen and ... nobody knows you’re here!”
He shed his jacket, crawling onto the soft bed at the same time. “Y’know, with the new job and all, I think this might be the last peace and quiet I get for a while.”
“Hmm.” Constance reached up, linking her arms around his neck. “And so I get a part of you before the rest of the Castle gets their chance?”
“Sweetheart, all my parts are yours.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss that left her aching in all the right places.
“I love you, Mac.”
“Good.” He slid his hand under her sweater, finding the soft mound of her breast. He squeezed it gently, bringing a groan to her throat. “Because I’m going to need you with me for a long, long time.”
She reached up, running her fingers down his strong neck, down to the hollow of his throat. “I’m here. Always.”
“Good.” With a single, liquid movement, he pulled off his sweater, the muscles of his stomach and chest bunching as he moved.
“Saints above,” Constance breathed.
Mac stopped, letting the sweater fall. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Yes, it is.”
He looked down, frowning. “What the hell?”
Constance sat up, her fingers hesitating as she touched the sworls of blue that covered his skin. “The Castle has marked you.”
His only response was a hiss of breath. “Well, it said it would find a way to deal with the heat.”
The designs that marked his skin were different from the guardsmen’s tattoos. More elaborate, more striking. He was covered in flames, twined like the intricate designs of the Celtic heritage he shared with Constance. She touched her tongue to the knot work, tracing its line around his nipple, her fangs skimming over the tender nub. He shuddered, rising to his knees. She moved with him, undulating against his hard, broad body.
“Too many clothes,” he rasped.
She popped the catch of her bra, letting it slide from her shoulders with a shrug. The look on his face made her smile.
It might have been a slightly evil smile. He hurriedly began unbuttoning his jeans.
Mac was a masterwork. The tattoos flowed thickly over his skin, parting like waves around his manhood. Constance traced them down his arms and legs, making each one her own with tongue and teeth. She explored each complex line down to the arches of his feet, the broad bones of his wrists, where each flame finally wound back on itself, lost in its own maze.
There were surprises in the design, touches of red and green and yellow, little treasures to discover. The pattern roamed over his strong calves, up the backs of his thighs, and over the mounds of his hard, muscular buttocks. Then it spread out, fanning from his waist over the expanse of his shoulders.
They took their time, shedding what was left of their clothes slowly, enjoying the luxury of the soft bed admidst the chaos of the room. Constance thought of an island or a magic carpet or a ship, safe and warm and theirs.
She mapped him utterly, finding the secrets of each knot and circle, and then he rolled her over, impatient for conquest. He pinned her wrists.
“I want it all,” he murmured. “I want all of you.”
His mouth was on her breasts, demanding, pulling, laving her to swollen, aching peaks. She hooked her legs around him, feeling his heat against the tender skin of her thighs. She wanted that heat inside, driving her to a scorching, explosive release. Making her feel alive.
She needed it. Now.
But he claimed her a piece at a time, her lips, her eyes, her shoulders, her navel, ensuring each surrender before the final assault. She squirmed, breaking beneath her desire, her fangs aching for his flesh, but he wouldn’t let her bite.
When Mac finally did take her, he filled everything, demanded everything. She could keep nothing back against the urgent, pushing thrusts. Waves of contractions gripped her, drawing him deeper, breaking her apart until she spun away into nothing.
He finally let go with a roar.
And then she used her teeth, mounting him and lapping up the elixir of his spicy blood like an exotic treat. When the venom hit him, the cycle began—deliciously—again.
Mac made her vampire powers absolutely worth the price. “We aren’t ever going to grow old,” said Mac
