Page 125 of Kiss of Light

She shook her head in wonder.

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s more than amazing. It’s nothing short of miraculous. Sirens normally mate underwater when sea conditions are just right. Even their own menfolk struggle to get them pregnant.”

“So the ritual worked for them.”

“Yes. I told you, it’s ancient magic.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’ll work for us.”

“Maybe it won’t. And maybe we won’t even want to try. But it’s a possibility.”

She walked in silence for a while, lost in thought.

Everything had changed. She was a shaitun who had fallen in love. It shouldn’t have been possible and yet here she was, a cold-hearted demon in love with a vampire.

And now, even more improbably, there was a chance – a tiny, infinitesimal chance – that the royal line could continue.

“Your father hates me,” she said at last, still looking for reasons it wouldn’t work.

“My father hates everyone. But he says you’re welcome in Palissandra and he’s accepted you as my mate.”

She cast around for other excuses and he watched, amused,

“Still trying to deny the inevitable? Give it up, beautiful.”

“Fine. You win.” She stopped walking and turned to him. “I have two conditions if we’re going to be together.”

“Name them.”

“First, I want to split my time between Palissandra and here. I love my apartment. I don’t want to give it up.”

“And the second requirement?”

“From now on, you only feed from me.”

He caught her round the waist and pulled her to him.

“Done,” he growled, brushing her lips with his. “And I have my own demands. From this day forward, you will address me in the correct manner.”

“You want me to call you sire?”

“No. I want you to call me by my name. It’s Darian.”

“Darian.” It felt unfamiliar in her mouth. “I’m so used to calling you Lemar.”

“That’s the family name. Darian is my given name. As my future bride, I think we should be on first name terms, don’t you?”

“Your future bride? Did I miss the proposal?”

He smiled smugly.

“Nope. I’m planning it now. It’s going to be spectacular. You’re going to cry with happiness.”

“Shaitun don’t…” she paused. “Well. I guess they do.”

“I should warn you, the position comes with a title.” He cleared his throat. “Countess Tala Lemar of Palissandra.”

---