Page 36 of Rising Darkness

A wry grin pulled at my lips. “Are you sure you feel like losing?” I questioned, following him to an open grassy area. He knew this was exactly what I needed right now. A way to channel all my frustration into a physical challenge.

Dason scoffed, limbering up by swinging his arms and tilting his head from side to side. “Your transition is over, which means those newborn vamp powers of yours have settled into something normal.”

He was right. My powers had settled. But he underestimated exactly how strong I’d become. My new normal was still far superior to what I’d been before.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass,” I teased.

Dason’s gaze flashed with interest, and I knew he was looking forward to testing that theory with me in a few days. My alpha always liked a good challenge.

Even without the boost being a newborn vamp gave me, I was stronger, faster, more agile, and all my senses remained enhanced without the help of the runes the shadow touched needed to embed in their skin to achieve the same results. In some ways I’d leveled up, while other aspects of being a vampire were more trying, like my insatiable thirst for blood.

It had been a while since I’d fed directly from a vein, and the beat of Dason’s heart was like a song that called me to him. The pulse of blood tempted me like a sweet dessert.

That thirst was quickly replaced with a different kind of hunger, however. He reached for his shirt and rucked it up to show off the defined planes of his abdomen. I tried not to drool while he revealed smooth, muscled, golden skin one inch at a time. Removing his shirt completely, he tossed it aside, giving me an unimpeded view of his naked chest and chiseled arms.

Goddess, he was gorgeous, as were all the men fated to be my mates.

For the next hour, I focused on sparring with the sexy alpha, matching his strikes and blocking his hits. Our fight was an intricate dance.

With every swift movement, I channeled my frustration and desperation. With every hit, I worked through my anger at losing the grimoire. At failing my father. At not protecting the veil and the mortal realm from Elan. At the thought of losing any of my men in the war that was coming for us.

My punches grew harder, my kicks more accurate as I huffed through my workout with Dason. Reading the bunch of his muscles, I calculated his next move and skirted sideways before he could make contact. Popping back up on his inside, I landed a quick hit to his ribs, then bounced away. He grunted, his eyes going steely as he tracked my movements.

“You’re fucking fast,” he griped, but beneath the grumble was a spark of pride for my skills.

Hyper focusing, everything seemed to slow. I saw every droplet of sweat that beaded on Dason’s skin, and trailed one that dripped toward that dip at the front of his throat, enjoying the slow path it then forged down his bare chest. His heartbeat was a steady drum in my ears, and I noticed the moment he leaned in, prepared to aim a quick punch to my side, one I knew he’d temper so as not to hurt me. If he could make contact, that was.

I avoided his strike with ease, smiling as I used my enhanced speed to evade him. Retaliating, I took him down between one heartbeat and the next, putting him on the ground. Chest heaving, I propped my hands on my hips and stood victoriously over him.

He hissed, then tipped his head back into the grass, staring up at me with a look of pride.

“You’re getting better at tapping into your abilities,” he praised, unfazed that I’d just put his ass in the dirt.

“I’ve had an excellent teacher.” I smiled, truly smiled. And damn, did it feel good.

Reaching out, I offered my mate my hand. His fingers slipped into my palm, the light callouses rough against my skin in the best way. These were the hands of a fighter, of a man who didn’t mind hard work, of an alpha who took care of his pack.

While Jolon now held the position of pack alpha, that didn’t make Dason any less of an alpha in my eyes, whether or not he wasthealpha.

I put my strength into hauling him off the ground when he countered and tugged me down. With a squeal, I fell forward, but Dason caught me easily, settling me over top of his body with a satisfied gleam in his gray gaze.

“I know some other forms of stress relief if you still need to work off some steam,” he offered with a low purr. A pleasant shiver ran down my spine from the insinuation.

Slowly, he ran his hands along my sides until he was gripping my thighs and pulling them apart so I straddled his waist.

Splayed over top of him, I felt the hardening length of his arousal at my center. My breathing picked up pace, and my heart beat a little faster in my chest.

I wanted Dason like I wanted blood. It was a craving, a need, an all-consuming want.

Our relationship had started out slow. Glacial, really. But after our bond had been severed, he’d risked his life to save me. He’d taken care of me when I needed him most, and the tension that had always been between us shifted into something entirely different.

I’d always wanted Dason, and that desire had grown when he let his walls down and invited me in. One layer at a time, I was getting to know him, getting to understand him, and it only made me want more.

Leaning down, I pressed my lips to his, tasting him, savoring him. Our tongues danced as I rocked gently overtop of him. His hands were everywhere, gripping my ass, smoothing over my back, tangling in my hair. I needed the connection.

I kissed Dason, pouring every ounce of emotion into it until we were both breathing in harsh, ragged pants.

Tugging my hair, Dason guided my head to the side, exposing the column of my throat. Laving his tongue against my skin, he nipped the curve where my neck met my shoulder.

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