Page 32 of Vampire's Choice

His wings were strong and sure, his chest muscles flexing in small movements beneath her, the adjustments he was making to hold them there. His feathers fluttered against her forearms. She wanted to let go of his belt, reach out and stroke them, turn around and face him. Wrap her legs around his body. See how he would respond to her disobedience. She wanted to fight, needed to fight him.

But she was flying. She’d always wanted to fly. On the island, she ran up trees, leaped over things. But that was different. She envied the birds their wings, the freedom it gave them to just fly away.

She shared that with him.

“It’s a lie. There’s always someone fast enough to catch up.”

His tone was curiously flat. He turned them and dove. She sucked in a breath as he swept down toward the trees. He banked so close above the canopies, the leaves brushed her knees. When he shot back up, she laughed in delight. Her mind cut loose, soaring like her body.

It reminded her of a story her mother had told her, when Mal had taught Elisa how to ride a bicycle. Elisa’s eyes had sparkled as she put her arms out to her sides. “It was like I was flying.”

The freedom. The weightlessness. A different way of traveling through the world. A different sensation, especially when provided by a male who’d captured her interest.

Merc rotated them back to that diagonal angle where she rested against his body, then stroked her throat, making her lift her chin. She propped her head on his shoulder. His hand slid down her stomach, deft fingers unhooking her belt then slipping the button of her jeans before they moved beneath.

Arousal surged, combining with the exhilaration of flight.

He explored the folds of her swelling sex, light strokes over her clit, firmer circles on the labia, finding the moisture between them and spreading it over her tissues, making her slicker.

She felt that sexual miasma he could use, a weapon with an irresistible promise.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t use it. Let me feel it the way you want me to feel it.”

He stilled, so abruptly they lost altitude. When his muscles and wings flexed, bringing them back up, she knew she’d stepped over a dangerous line with him, though she didn’t know what had caused it. He ignored her request, that energy winding itself around her, tightening. She bucked, moaned as he stroked her with such devastating gentleness, even as the arousal yanked her in the direction he demanded she go.

Violence was more terrifying when it was iced with gentleness.

Her loose hair mixed with his feathers, black on black, with glimpses of the lightning bolt white. She clutched his belt, so aware of the heated muscle of his abdomen against her knuckles, but the rest of her was limp under his incubus compulsion. Her head was too heavy to lift. All of her wanted to just give herself over to him. Let the power of the desire he was drawing from her take over.

“Submit to me,” he said. “Let me have you.”

No. Not like this. But she couldn’t get the rest of her to comply.

“You responded to the Master in Marcellus,” he rumbled in her ear. “You are a submission slut. You don’t care who the Master is. Just that he is willing to hold your leash.”

Nothing like a male acting like a bastard to shock her will with a Taser.

She fought to the top of that tidal wave of pure lust and rode it, rotating her hips against him. “Sounds like that pisses you off,” she rasped through taut lips. “Why would you care? I’m just a meal. Sex demon.”

His hand closed on her throat again, and she shifted with him. It covered her movement, her hand leaving his belt to reach the knife holstered at her hip, hooked to the loosened waistband of her jeans. Before his grip started to constrict, she’d drawn the blade and brought it down, stabbing him in the thigh.

He ripped the knife from her grasp and tossed it away. Damn it, she loved that knife. But she had bigger problems. Merc let her go, shoving her out into the open air.

Fucking hell. This time, they were much higher off the ground. As her body hurtled downward, she knew this was going to hurt like hell. She only had a few seconds to orient herself in the way that would break the least bones. They’d heal up, but it would take time, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be in any shape to meet Marcellus when he’d told her to.

Goddamn asshole. Now he was a liar, too. Or maybe not. She wouldn’t put it past him to deposit her broken and bloody body on Marcellus’s doorstep, just to say he’d honored his promise.

The ground rushed up at her, and she tucked, hoping she could roll and remove some impact from her more vulnerable skull and spine.

Merc caught her inches from the ground, hard hands scooping her under the arms. Her body jerked, full body whiplash. When the weight hit her still sore shoulder, she couldn’t bite back the cry of pain. She didn’t care. That was just physical crap.

She squirmed, fought, tried to unhook herself from his hold. When he refused to let go, she swung herself out and tried to bring her legs over, planning a double-soled smash to his smug face. Or to crush his head between her knees. He shook her like a rag doll until she stopped trying to fight. Even after that, he held her long enough to prove she couldn’t get loose without his say-so. Then he dropped her again.

This time she was only a couple feet off the ground. She whirled toward him, her second knife in hand. He knocked that away, too, and had her against him. Her top knot had come unpinned during their fight, so he seized a handful of her loosened hair. His expression was one of cold menace, the black blood eyes giving off heat like molten coal. The silver was in full-on heat lightning mode.

“Is that what pissed you off enough to be mean to me?” she spat, not caring to give him time to say anything. “Can’t arouse a woman without using your magic? You’re just a vibrator. You need to be plugged into your power to work.”

Merc’s lips curled away from his fangs. She knew—she knew—she was about to die. Clara had warned her to be cautious. So had Charlie.

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