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  Lenorre didn’t bother to unbutton my jeans. She caught the two folds of material and jerked, dragging them down in an achingly slow manner. The line of my black satin panties showed against my pale skin. She lowered her head, planting kisses across the jagged slant of my hipbone.

  “Are you afraid?” she asked.

  “If saying I’m afraid will get your mouth between my legs, then yes, I’m afraid, very afraid.”

  Lenorre’s laugh vibrated against me, caused my spine to bow. She licked a slow path across the top of my underwear, sealing a kiss against my skin. The muscles in my stomach contracted, rigid against the pleasure. She placed those small kisses on the lower half of my body until her hands slid up over my hips, across my ribs.

  “Lenorre,” I moaned. “Please…”

  “Please what?” Her words were muffled against my thigh.

  “Make love to me.”

  “We will get to that, my love.” The lilt in her voice told me she was amused. Her velvet tongue slid across my thigh.

  “Are you laughing at me?” I groaned, frustrated and desperate.

  She slid her fingers across the hollow between my thigh and groin, then slipped two of them effortlessly beneath the damp satin that covered my crotch. The edge of one finger brushed my clit, and I gasped again, but it didn’t stop there. She teased my opening, stroking back and forth, making the muscles low in my body contract, making me wetter than I already was. But I didn’t need to be any wetter. I was ready.

  “Lenorre!” I said, somewhere between a pant and a growl. I dug my hands into the comforter on the bed as I yelled, “Please!”

  She did what I wanted her to. She gradually, oh so gradually, eased two fingers inside of me.

  “More,” I begged. “Lenorre.” I moaned as her fingers glided over a very pleasurable spot. “I need more.” My hips rose as her long, slender fingers hit the back of my cervix. Caught between pleasure and pain, I didn’t want her to stop.

  Need. I was a throbbing, pulsing, aching thing filled only with need. I needed her, my entire body trembled with need, but this, this was too slow, and too small a taste of what she was capable of doing to me. I craved chaos and oblivion, while she gave me order and acute awareness. Desire burned between my legs. Lenorre fanned that flame, made it burn brighter, more painful as she drove her fingers in and out of me. Each stroke was excruciatingly slow, making the fire stretch and grow until I felt as if it would consume me. My body ached for release.

  “So wet.”

  My muscles contracted. She hit that spot inside me and slowly began to withdraw.

  “Lenorre,” I pleaded, holding myself on my elbows. My vision blurred around the edges. In a move too quick for me to register she tore the satin underwear away with an angry hiss. She put our faces dangerously close, keeping her hand between my legs.

  “Kassandra.” Without warning she shoved her fingers inside of me. This time, there was no order, no teasing, no careful restraint. She simply fucked me with supernatural strength. Her lips were hot where they met mine, and wet, like she had just licked them. Her mouth was unyielding, with nothing chaste or gentle about it. I opened to her, spreading my legs wider, slipping my hand under her gown. I cupped her breasts and her nipples stiffened like tiny darts. Distantly, in some part of my mind I managed to hear the wooden posts of the canopy hitting the wall.

  I drove my nails into her and Lenorre broke the kiss, rearing back with a hiss that revealed her fangs. I tugged at her clothes trying to pull them from between our bodies. It took me a moment to realize that Lenorre was bracing herself with her knees, and the gown was stuck under her.

  The only way to get the dress up was to tear it, so I lowered my shields and focused on the wolf, calling her. Her warm energy pressed against the inside of my skin like soft fur. I wasn’t aiming for a full shift. What I offered her was a peek through a door with a chain and lock. Control is strength. If you can’t control your beast, it will control you. Some days, it’s an internal battle for dominance. How much the wolf fights depends on how badly she wants out. If she wants to investigate or munch on something in the immediate surroundings, it’s a little more difficult to sway her. Fortunately, Lenorre wouldn’t show up on the wolf’s radar as food. The wolf craved life, a fresh kill, not the undead.

  Energy spilled down my arm, into my hands. I gazed at her through the eyes of the wolf.

  Lenorre spared a glance between our bodies. When she raised her face, the look she gave was challenging.

  I got a better hold of the gown, digging claws into it. Her laugh thrummed through me when she saw my transformed hands and she pushed against me, forcing my hips to meet her thrusts.

  She buried her face in the bend of my neck. “I had no idea just how untamed you are.”

  My claws tore through the velvet and it gave way. The side of her dress slipped off to expose a long line of flesh from ankle to torso. Though she might not have been wearing a bra, her dark lace underwear stood out over her body like a cloud trying to obscure the moon. I grabbed a fistful of the material at her shoulders, tearing it away. I snaked my arm between our bodies, grasping her underwear. The underwear tore more easily than the dress.

  All the while, her fingers never ceased their rhythm.

  “I may be a vampire,” she said calmly, “but I cannot expend this much energy without feeding soon.”

  She shoved her fingers deep inside me, curling them, pressing into my deepest corners.

  When I had enough breath to speak, I said, “Problem.”

  Lenorre began flicking her fingers over that spot as I writhed beneath her. “Yes?”

  “I…” I had to grab on to something. My claws pierced the mattress as my spine bowed. “Can’t do... Ah, fuck!”

  Lenorre’s voice was a hell of a lot more even than mine. “You can’t do what?” she asked, obviously amused again.

  I wrapped my legs around her as she sat back on her knees, keeping the new rhythm she’d found. She slid a hand beneath my ass, raising my lower body off the bed. At this angle, her fingers went deeper. I’d never gotten off on penetration. I’d enjoyed a woman’s fingers inside of me, but no woman had ever made it feel quite so mind-numbingly pleasurable.

  Lenorre read my body and my hips bucked against her hand.

  “Kassandra,” she said, and I fought against my fluttering eyelashes to look at her. Her fingers flicked again, and this time I had to close my eyes to keep them from rolling. Lenorre laughed as I jerked helplessly. “Save your breath,” I felt the heat of her breath against my clit, “you will need it.”

  She covered me with her mouth, sucking lightly at first, and when that awarded her with a moan, she sucked harder. Her fangs pierced that sensitive skin, and I was too taken with the pleasure to care. The tip of her tongue glided over my clit, as fast as her fingers had inside of me. The orgasm wasn’t gradual. It didn’t build and slowly spill over. It pierced me and tore a ragged half-moan half-scream from my mouth.

  Lenorre didn’t let me catch my breath. She pushed me further, into the abyss of pleasure so wondrous, it hurt to feel it. My claws convulsed in the mattress. I hadn’t let the shift take me over completely, but I hadn’t exactly pushed the beast out of my hands and eyes. My canines lengthened, sharpened, and I could no longer hold her at bay. She intended to take her chance to get out.

  There were sounds, sounds of destruction as my claws tore sheet and mattress, springs popping, and the sounds of a woman’s screams caught somewhere between ecstasy and agony.

  A part of me understood whose screams they were, understood I was the one screaming, but I no longer cared. The orgasm stripped away all my precious control. I tried to cling to the fragments of it, but it was too late. I tried to hold the wolf at bay, tried to shove her back into her invisible crate somewhere inside of me. She’d found the weak spot, discovered the door in my shields that the orgasm had opened further. She shoved her furred body against that door, fighting with everything she had, wiggling and squirming in he
r frenzy to get out and run amok.

  The wolf burst from my skin and the darkness swallowed me.

  Chapter Six

  Voices woke me and I started pushing away the last fogs of sleep.

  “How long has she been out?” It was Rosalin’s voice.

  “She has been asleep for nearly nine hours.” I’d recognize Lenorre’s honeyed voice anywhere.

  A woman’s voice I didn’t recognize asked, “Did you bite her?”

  Lenorre’s voice was empty. “Yes.”

  “Has this ever happened to you?” Rosalin asked, and I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

  “No,” Lenorre said, “but I heard rumors of it when I was with my old mistress.”

  Mistress? I was growing more curious. I kept my breath slow and even, pretending to be asleep. Call it a hunch, but I had a feeling I’d get more from their conversation that way.

  “Rumors?” The woman’s voice sounded familiar, but I still couldn’t place it or picture the face that went with it.

  The back of my thigh itched with a tickling sensation that you can ignore at first, but then it grows until you can’t do anything but scratch it. I held my breath, which was a bad idea.

  The room was suddenly quiet. I thought about trying to pretend I was sleeping again but figured I’d already blown my cover. Rosalin and Lenorre had most likely already heard the glitch in my breathing. What the hell. I scratched my thigh and rolled over.

  Rosalin was sitting on the couch. Lenorre met my gaze from the armchair, and not too far from her, Zaphara sat with long legs crossed at the ankles. At nearly six feet, Lenorre was tall. Zaphara stood even a couple of inches taller than Lenorre. The first time I had met her, she’d been encircled in Lenorre’s arms. The two had been necking. I might’ve been jealous except that necking by vampire standards is very different from human standards. If a vampire wanted to neck with someone, they didn’t necessarily want to have a hot and steamy make-out session.

  Of course, the biting could be erotic and sensual. But generally, when a vampire wants to neck, blood will often be drawn.

  The idea of Lenorre’s mouth on Zaphara didn’t really sit well with me.

  Zaphara’s gaze was beautiful and alien. An air about her screamed, “Not human.” I just couldn’t figure out what the hell she was. Her eyes were the color of amethyst and shone in the dimly lit room. The hair that she normally let loose to fall past her waist was pulled back at the nape of her neck in a low ponytail. I could never tell if her hair color was natural or if she had a really good dye job. When the light reflected off the glossy tresses, I realized they were purple-black. With her hair drawn back, the pale triangle of her face stood out to perfection. It brought out the delicate curve of her jaw and her model-high cheekbones. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but something I couldn’t peg about Zaphara made her seem a heck of a lot older.

  “How long have you been awake?” Rosalin asked.

  “Long enough to be confused.”

  “How do you feel?” Lenorre asked.

  “Like I need coffee.” I shoved my arm under the pillow, unable to remember falling asleep on Lenorre’s side of the bed. “When did you wake?”

  Rosalin and Zaphara glanced at one another. Lenorre remained silent.

  “What?” I asked.

  Rosalin stood from the couch. “Where’s your cell phone?”

  “In my jeans, I think. Why?”

  She glanced around the room. “Okay, where are your jeans?”

  I sat up and glanced at the floor, finding my jeans in a crumpled heap. “What do I need my cell for?” I asked. I turned to find Rosalin’s eyes fixed somewhere below my face.

  “Shit.” I grabbed a handful of black sheet and used it to cover my chest. “Thanks for telling me.” Why did I feel like I was always accidentally giving Rosalin a free show?

  “I did.” She grinned, baring her perfectly white teeth. “I looked, didn’t I?”

  “What do I need my cell for?” I asked again. I dug out my phone, keeping the sheet pinned to my chest. How had I not realized I was naked? In fact, where were my clothes?

  “What time is it, Kassandra?” Zaphara asked.

  I opened the phone. “Three. Wait, I slept until three in the morning? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Kassandra, look again,” Lenorre said. This time I noticed the little PM by the time.

  “You’re awake?” It was part question, part statement.

  Lenorre leaned back in her seat. “So it seems.”

  “Why are you awake? You’re supposed to die at dawn.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You said something about a mistress and rumor.”

  Lenorre’s face was emotionless. “Every vampire has a creator.”

  “Yeah, but you called her a mistress.” I managed to make the words sound empty and focused on controlling my facial expressions. I succeeded. Most cops and investigators are good at having a blank expression.

  “She is my creator,” Lenorre explained. “Mistress is what she wished to be called. It is what she was to me, once.”

  “Is?” I questioned. “As in, she’s still alive or, well, undead?”

  She nodded.

  I spoke my thoughts out loud. “I guess it’s better than her Ladyship.”

  “Far better,” Lenorre said.

  “So, why are you awake? What do the words Mistress and rumor have to do with it?”

  “You weren’t this coherent when I woke you that one time…” Rosalin said.

  I gave her an irritated look. When we had first met, Lenorre sent Rosalin home with me. She’d snuck into my room and woke me up. I was pretty sure she’d woken me on Lenorre’s orders, as Lenorre had planned a big, spiffy date. I had to choose between going or not going and pissing off a Countess vampire. Guess which option I chose?

  I responded to Rosalin’s statement with, “Apparently, I got nine hours of sleep.”

  “As I was saying before you woke,” Lenorre changed the subject before either Rosalin or I could say anything else, “I had heard a rumor when I was still in my creator’s care that some days she was able to escape death at dawn.”

  “How is that possible?” I asked.

  Zaphara’s expression was detached when she said, “Powerful food.”

  “Indeed,” Lenorre said, “powerful food.”

  “I am not food,” I said. “Stop, both of you. Use a word other than food.”

  “Dessert?” Rosalin asked with a giggle.

  “Ha, ha, fuzzy butt, very funny.”

  “Fuzzy butt?” Rosalin burst into laughter. “Oh, you’re cute when you throw childish insults at me.”

  I glared at her.

  Lenorre said, “Rosalin,” and Rosalin closed her yap. I knew I was being childish, but I had to smirk at the now-silent werewolf.

  “As I was saying,” Lenorre continued, “my mistress was able to escape death by drinking the blood of one who was powerful enough to offer such sustenance.”

  “The question is,” Zaphara looked at me, and something in her gaze made me want to squirm uncomfortably, “is Kassandra that powerful?” She seemed to be talking more to herself than anyone else in the room. No one answered, and neither Rosalin nor Lenorre attempted to stop her when she began to walk toward me. She moved in a predatory way, using all her height. The pants Zaphara wore were so tight I could see the play of muscles beneath them. If the room hadn’t been carpeted, I might’ve heard the clacking of her heels, but as it was, her boots were quiet. Why was that suddenly very unnerving?

  Zaphara reached out to touch me and I recoiled. Though I didn’t know what she was, I didn’t want her to touch me. Somewhere inside, the wolf agreed, pacing back and forth. I closed my eyes. Calm. Calm was a good idea.

  “Are you afraid of me?” she asked.

  “I don’t like strangers touching me.”

  “Am I that strange to you, little one?”

  I didn’t like being called “little one.�
� It made me feel like a child.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Her laugh was rich and throaty, and so abrupt I actually jumped. What the hell was she? I felt my eyes widen as she reached out to touch me again. Though I resisted the urge to slap her hand away, I couldn’t stifle my low rumble.

  When I growled, Zaphara hesitated, and a wary look slipped through her eyes. “I do not want to hurt you.”

  “Then, what do you want?”

  “A taste.”

  “A taste of what?” My voice was beginning to fall into the huskier, deeper tone of the wolf.

  “Your power. I promise I won’t bite, though, from what I have heard, you enjoy that.”

  “You don’t know what I enjoy.”

  “One can take a guess.”

  “No, you’re being presumptuous.”

  A look of amusement flashed through her amethyst eyes. “Maybe.” She reached for me again. This time when I tried to move out of reach I was too slow. Zaphara showed me that she had been polite during her first two attempts. She caught my arm, digging her fingers into my skin hard enough to bruise. If I hadn’t been a werewolf, it might’ve. She pulled me roughly toward her.

  “I told you I won’t bite,” she murmured. A shudder rippled through her body and through the fingers that were digging into my skin. “But now I’m tempted to.”

  Before I could frame a reply, Zaphara pressed her mouth against mine. I brought my arms up to push her away and the air was suddenly warm, so warm, like the glow of the sun kissing my skin. The magic hit me, and I forgot why I had been trying to break free of her hold. Her lips that had seemed harsh were soft and yielding. Her breath filled my mouth, like autumn wind unadulterated by pollutants. Fresh, like the air might’ve been a million years ago. The wolf and I turned our faces into the warm pulse of Zaphara’s power.

  The heat of that metaphysical sun intensified, suddenly too hot, threatening to burn the skin, and then it changed… Stillness.

  Her power slammed into me, crushing the breath from my lungs. The smell of fresh dirt and decaying leaves filled my senses. Ice. The harshness of winter pierced me. I screamed against her mouth and the wolf howled with me, alarmed and angry.