Page 43 of Midnight Conquest

And there it was.

The faint sweetness of blood—her blood—from the cut on her lip.

He groaned, the sound torn from his chest as he splayed his hand over the small of her back, dragging her hips to his. His thigh slipped between her legs, anchoring her against him.

Her yearning fed his hunger, her body a lit match to the powder keg inside him.

His mouth moved to her throat, tongue tracing fire across her skin, and still, he didn’t stop. They clung to one another, desperate, reckless, lost in the heat of a union that might consume them both.

Broderick breathed her in, devoured her slowly.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew—if this kiss deepened, if he tasted her again—he might never stop.

But he did.

With a guttural groan torn from his chest, he forced himself to tear away from her lips and struggled to cage the storm inside him. The scent of rose oil clung to her flushed skin, mingling with the sweet tang of blood from her wounded mouth. His head spun. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to wrest back control, to stave off the dizzying spell she cast with every heartbeat.

Broderick’s ragged breathing was a warning in itself. Hecrashed into another kiss—this one harder, hungrier—his body strung tight with need. Davina’s excitement, laced with fear, lit his senses on fire. It made restraint a razor’s edge. That fear…it wasn’t just arousing. It was dangerous.

It fed the Hunger.

A slicing, familiar pain flared in his gums. His mouth watered. Fangs ached to drop. His tongue longed to taste what her blood whispered.

And at that moment, he didn’t care if he could wipe her mind afterward.

He opened his mouth, fangs descending.

“Bonsoir, Broderick!” Veronique’s lilting voice pierced the tent, sweetened with false innocence. “We have returned.”

A snarl burst from his chest—low, guttural, not entirely human. His head snapped toward the tent’s entrance.

Veronique gasped.

Aye, she’d seen it. The molten silver in his pupils. His fangs bared and gleaming. The predator unmasked.

“Get out, Veronique!” he snarled, his voice thick with gravel, rage barely leashed.

Davina stiffened, hands splayed against his chest. She pushed him back, breathing fast.

Veronique fled. The flap snapped shut behind her.

Broderick clenched his fists, pulling the Hunger back into its cage, forcing his body to obey. He didn’t open his eyes until the fire faded, until his fangs receded.

But when he turned back, the spell had shattered.

Davina stood across the tent, cloaked once more, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The spark in her eyes, the soft heat he’d seen, was gone. Her walls were back up, and he felt them slam into place like a portcullis.

The distance between them now felt like a chasm.

“Are you going to help me or not?” she asked, her voice cold, curt.

Broderick raked a hand through his hair, huffing through his nose. She made it difficult to think, difficult to decide if he wanted to strangle her or protect her. The bruises on her face stoked his protective instincts, but whatever secret she was keeping burned a hole in his heart. The fact she kept such a tight hold of it drove him to agree.

“Aye,” he said finally. “I’ll help ye.”

Relief flickered across her face, but she quickly masked it. “How much?”

Broderick arched a brow. “Straight to business, eh?”

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