“The rocks in your backyard?”
“Yes. I can usually only get the littlest as high as you just flew. But that takes a lot of concentration.”
“That mage yesterday picked you up with a similar power.” He stalked toward me.
“You noticed that, did you?”
“You’re practicing incorrectly.” He stopped a few feet from me. I flinched, ready to punch out again. The guy was making me antsy. “When it comes to fighting, you work best when under pressure.”
“This isn’t about fighting; it’s about trying to figure out this new power. It feels and acts differently than my manipulation of fire.”
“How did you learn to use your fire?”
“I studied. My mother taught me how it should work, and I figured out how itactuallyworked, which was very different.”
“And how did you figure that out?”
I opened my mouth to answer that I had diligently focused for long periods of time each day, but that wasn’t true at the beginning. Memories crowded in—of cold, crisp mornings when my mom would hurl things at me, willing me to defend myself with my power. If I couldn’t protect myself, I’d get hit, often with wooden objects that hurt a lot, or spells that stung my skin. Of warm, humid nights when I’d walk through the shadows, my night vision doing little to protect me from her sneak attacks. The amount of spells she’d lobbed at me would make normal people cry “child abuse,” but my mom had known exactly what she was doing. She’d guided me through the beginning, helping me learn to shape my abilities. It wasn’t until I understood whatburned inside of me that I was turned toward the more diligent, thoughtful approach, refining and manipulating.
I stared at Darius with glistening eyes, the tightness in my chest reminiscent of the pain when I first lost her. Of my sudden plunge into uncertainty. How would I learn this new power without her? I didn’t even know where to start.
“We will do it together,” Darius said softly, as if reading my thoughts. He was doing that a lot lately. “I can help you.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“May I?” he asked, his eyes dipping to my neck.
So many emotions were flying through me at that moment, with him and my mother and the sense of impending doom, that I couldn’t do much more than nod.
His movements were slow, syrupy. He was taking the opposite approach this time, giving me time to adjust. To get used to his closeness so that I (probably) wouldn’t fling him across the room again.
“It is a joy being in your presence, Reagan,” he said quietly, his face now inches from mine. “Relaxing and exhilarating at the same time. I miss you when you aren’t near.”
My eyes fluttered as his sweet breath fell across my face. As the warmth of his body, so near, cocooned me.
His eyes scanned my face before stopping on my lips. I felt his hands settle low on my hips.
“Just blood,” I said in a husky voice I didn’t recognize.
“I am at your mercy,” he said, his lips getting closer. “I have always been at your mercy.”
His scent, spicy and masculine, delighted my senses. The power in his large body, the strength, made my mind buzz from his proximity.
When he bent, I was prepared for his face to dip to the side, and for the sharp pinch of his fangs as they entered my skin. I was prepared to fight the chemical effect of his saliva, as potent as the drug ecstasy. I was even prepared for my heart to thump madly, begging me to relent, to enjoy his perfect body and the rise and fall of each hard, defined muscle.
I was not prepared for his kiss.
When his lips touched mine, a jolt of sweet ecstasy cut through me. The fire within me boiled, and the excitement of battle mixed with the sweet heat of desire. I opened my mouth to him. He filled it in a rush, his tongue swirling around mine in an erotically teasing sort of way.
My moan was soft and deep. Liquid fire dripped through my middle and pooled below. Struggling with myself, I clutched his shirt front to push him off. Instead, I pulled him closer, willingly trapping myselfbetween the hard warmth of him and the unyielding wall behind me.
His kiss increased in urgency, our shared fervency rising. I splayed my fingers across his chest, the logical side of me still urging me to push him away, but desire made me dip my hands lower.
I moaned again as his fingers slid up the curves of my hips and dipped under the fabric of my shirt. His touch sizzled against my skin and then sent a flush of goosebumps across it. The woman in me, that sensual beast who loved the feel of leather and lace against my skin, who was warm-blooded and yearned to show it, gripped the lapels of his jacket and pushed them over his shoulders.
His hands came away from me as he shed the jacket, but his mouth stayed connected to mine, his taste wild and exciting. His mastery with delicious, teasing, oh-so-sexy kisses was better than anything I’d ever experienced.
This time his hands connected at my shoulders before sliding up to my neck. One stayed there, curving around that vulnerable area, and the other glanced off my chin as his kiss deepened still.
