Page 25 of Princess Broken

His back stiffens, his head snapping back. “No. Actually, it’s a private blend. Aged about fifty years in brandy-soaked oak. Want some?” His eyes and expression show he’s impressed.

“I’d love some. Thank you.”

Before I can take more than two steps toward him, he’s poured me a glass of whiskey, moved out from behind the bar and crossed the distance between us.

While he filled his glass to the rim, he’s given me a more modest pour.

Our fingers brush as he passes the glass, and he audibly sucks in a breath at our accidental touch. Phil’s skin is warm, his fingers rough with calluses. His hand is so large, its digits so thick, I realize I couldn’t have taken the glass from him without our touching, even if I’d paid more attention.

Looking up, I raise my glass. “Vashe Zdorov'ye.” I toast in Russian.

“Slàinte Mhath.” He grins.

I smile, warming up inside. My adoptive father often says that Gaelic toast, instead of, “Cheers,” especially when he’s drinking with Lord Lachlin, or another one of the vampires at court whose human lives were in Scotland. In spite of its spelling, the entire Gaelic phrase Phil spoke sounds something like, slanj-a-va, and rolling off Phil’s tongue, the words came out rich, and dare I say sexy. My body has heated, already anticipating the effects of the alcohol.

We touch glasses briefly, and I take a small sip of the amber liquid. The taste, peaty and smooth, instantly overwhelms my senses and calms me. My eyes close as I let the scent linger inside my mouth and the scotch reveals its sweet aftertaste. Even if I drank an entire glass, the slight buzz I’d get wouldn’t last—vampires metabolize alcohol quickly and completely, like anything we consume besides blood. But the buzz, however temporary, feels fantastic.

And it underscores that I am very, very tired. Partially because of my hunger for blood.

As I take another sip, Phil’s eyes meet mine, and I almost choke on my whiskey.

The look in Phil’s eyes…

I’ve never had anyone look at me in quite this way. Phil looks like he’s hungry, like he could literally devour me. And it’s clear that his hunger’s not just for my blood. The big vampire’s gaze is deep and intense and penetrates my body so palpably it’s like he’s penetrating me in that other way—that intimate way whose pleasures I’ve only recently discovered.

Each time we made love, Timur looked at me with desire in his eyes, but also with tenderness and concern that he’d hurt me. What I see in Phil’s gaze is on a whole other level. Not even on the same planet as the way Timur looked at me.

I should close my eyes. I should look away. I should do anything to break the tension. But I can’t.

Still looking into my eyes and holding his glass near his mouth, Phil shifts his thick fingers. They ripple over the crystal, each lifting and falling in succession in opposition to his thumb on the other side of the glass. And their girth, the obvious power contained in his digits affects me profoundly.

My sex is soaking wet now, and my breaths have quickened. Why is my body responding with obvious sexual interest in this angry brute?

I recall the words Ember used to describe how she feels around her men.

I try to hide my gasp. It can’t be that. It can’t.

It’s hard enough to admit my sexual curiosity about a vampire so different from the only lover I’ve known.

My cheeks heating to a thousand degrees, I look down.

Phil grunts and then downs his entire glass of whiskey in one, slamming the empty glass on a nearby table.

Chapter Ten

Ana

I can’t get over my captors’ home, so different from anything I could have expected. Sure, the Vampiric Palace is entirely underground and as opulent as above ground palaces built by humans, but I wouldn’t have thought this would be how these four men lived.

My first thought was that they’d stolen the space from someone else, but Flame’s obvious pride in the decor revealed that he had at least a hand in its design.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask Flame as he walks me out of the gorgeous and well-appointed kitchen, and back into the screening room.

“Forty-seven years,” Flame says without a pause. “On and off.”

“All four of you?” I glance back to confirm the other three are still trailing us as we pass through the archway and into another space, the one that Flame earlier told me leads to the gymnasium.

“Yup.”

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