Page 8 of Heir of Blood and Moonlight

The dull gray of my irises had brightened to clear blue-green. My pale skin appeared more ivory than pasty, and a pretty pink flush colored my cheeks. No blush required. The dark half-moons that had been ever-present under my eyes for the past few years were gone. After the restless night of sleep, I didn’t know how such a thing was possible. I should have looked awful.

I leaned in closer to the mirror, turning my head to one side and then to the other. “What is going on?” I muttered to my reflection, my eyes narrowing to thoughtful slits.

Was this some phase of development a living vampire goes through that Javier hadn’t warned me about? He had been frustratingly tightlipped about everything relating to our species, especially anything having to do with the unique gifts and abilities that belonged to living vampires like me. He had wanted me to live as a human. He had said it was safer for me to blend in with the mortal world. To let the immortal world, the only world I had ever known, forget me. The only way for me to survive would be for me to disappear.

But Javier had been the one to disappear, leaving me toblend inalone on the streets. Whatever had happened to him, he finally succeeded in his mission to make me vanish. Nobody was more forgotten in Seattle than the homeless. I became invisible to those who hunted me. I became someone else. Someone new.

Luna Sofia Teresi Athanasiou, fourth in line to the Teresi throne and apotentialHigh Queen of the House of the Moon, became Sophie Matthews, just a girl who lost her way, then found herself again somewhere far, far away from where she had started.

But now, as I looked at my reflection, it was as though I was glimpsing who I used to be. Who Icould havebecome—if my world hadn’t fallen apart nearly three decades ago when the House of the Sun massacred my family.

More than a little unsettled, I went through my usual makeup routine, which bridged the gap between the woman I had seen reflected in the mirror yesterday and the one reflected now. I picked up my glasses from the counter beside the sink, unfolded them, and put them on to hide further. My reflection blurred slightly, like the prescription was too strong and I didn’t need them. But if Bastian could hide behind a pair of glasses, then so could I.

6

Several hours later, Iwas going through manuscript transfer requests in the cramped office I shared with Lily and Mark, tucked away in the back corner of the basement of the Allen Library on the UW campus. The space verged on claustrophobia-inducing when all three of us were crammed in, so I was grateful not to be sharing it with anyone else at the moment, if only for the extra breathing room.

Both Lily and Mark had called in sick. When I first saw the notice in our digital workspace, I had snickered, wondering if they hadfinallysuccumbed to the will-they-won’t-they tension that surrounded them every time they were together. Even if they were only out “sick” with hangovers instead of morning-after snuggles, I had initially thought it served them right for dragging me out on a Thursday night.

Now, however, I was less amused. My glasses had given me a headache and now lay discarded on my desk, and I faced a mountain of transfer requests to sort through by the end of the day. Normally, the three of us could have knocked this outby lunch, but on my own and distracted by frequent flashbacks from my carnal dream, I was looking at a late night.

I stared at the current transfer request. A student from Western Washington University had written a letter to accompany their application, asking for the temporary transfer of some original journals to her school’s library. Her argument was thoughtful and persuasive. At least, the first few sentences were. I had been rereading them for the last five minutes.

That damn dream . . .

Images of being taken by Bastian and those other men in every possible way—oftakingfrom them—kept surfacing in my mind. I could practically hear the throaty moans and groans, the gasps of pleasure, the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh. Echoes of sensation ghosted over my skin, reaching deep inside me, teasing my nerve endings, and keeping me uncomfortably aroused. I had been like this for hours, crossing and uncrossing my legs and periodically clenching my thighs together, and the tension within me was only winding tighter. At this rate, I would never make it through the stack of transfer requests.

I blew out a frustrated breath and slammed my pen down on the desk. Inhaling deeply, I told myself that, for the sake of productivity, I needed to take the edge off, so to speak. For the fucking sake of productivity. I didn’twantto fondle myself in my office; Ineededto do it, or else I would be here all night.

Surrendering to my body’s desires, I slumped down in my chair, laid my head back to rest on the top of the hard chairback, and closed my eyes. I unceremoniously unbuttoned my jeans and thrust my right hand into my underwear. The outer lips of my sex were wet and swollen, completely ready for anything my dream lovers would offer me.

The first contact between the tip of my middle finger and the extra-sensitive bundle of nerve endings at the top of my slit made me gasp. I felt like my clit had been electrified. Everystroke of my fingers sent little lightning bolts of pleasure into the very core of my being, amplifying the relentless ache within me. I needed to be filled—fucked in every possible way. I couldn’t remember ever having been so unbearably aroused.

Unconsciously, my left hand found its way under my blouse and up to my left breast. I pushed down the cup of my bra and pinched my nipple, roughly twisting and pulling at the erect nub. The jolts of sharp pleasure-pain made the gentle caress of my fingertips between my legs all the sweeter.

In my mind, my body was being worshipped, ravaged, and railed by Bastian and the rest of my dream lovers. I imagined Bastian was between my legs, rubbing the engorged head of his erection against my clit, then lower, teasing my opening. I simulated the action with two fingertips, and my back arched, a throaty moan escaping from my lips.

I had just thrust those two fingers inside myself, imagining it was Bastian entering me—a woeful stand-in for the girth I recalled from the dream—when someone knocked on the office door.

I froze, two fingers buried inside me. My eyes snapped open, and my entire body tensed, my heart pounding.

The door to the office creaked as it swung inward, and of all the possible people, Bastian slipped the upper half of his body into the room. I had just been imagining him filling me so completely with the big, beautiful dick his dream-self possessed, and now he was standing in the doorway to my office while I had my hand stuffed down my pants and stared at him with eyes opened wide in shock.

Ohfuuuuuck.

Seeing the real Bastian made my arousal spike, and my clit pulsed against my palm in a mini-orgasm. I jerked my hand away from my breast and gripped the armrest of my chair. Icouldn’t believe I had been oblivious enough to finger myselfin my officewithout even locking the damn door.

“Sophie,” Bastian said, his widened eyes and parted lips telling me he was as surprised to find me in this state as I was to have been found. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to—”

Bastian’s deep, rich voice prompted another pulse of ecstasy in my aching core, and I let out an involuntary groan.

My lusty sound seemed to trigger something in Bastian. He shivered, then blinked slowly, and when his eyelids raised, a primal, possessive promise lit his stare. He slipped the rest of the way into the office and shut the door, angling his back to me and turning the lock with a faint click.

7

Bastian stood with hisback to me, his head bowed toward the door and his voice low. “I came here for—” He ran his fingers through his hair and turned to face me. His short, dark hair had a slight curl to it that looked enticingly roguish when unkempt. “Well, right now, I really don’t give a fuck,” he said.

He prowled across the room, shedding the last fragments of his familiar, somewhat bashful academic persona. Last night, I had only seen flashes of the confident, commanding man who now approached me. My gut told me he had been hiding before. Hiding all along. This was the real Bastian, raw and unfiltered.

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