In the modern day, he could not get away with kidnapping his chosen anchor and sequestering her in his manor.
Well, I could,he thought, imagining her in his bed, a pretty shackle around her ankle.But I’d rather she beg me for it.
He was not trying to be a better person than he used to be. That was a dream he abandoned in his twenties.
But he didn’t want the trouble kidnapping her might bring. He didn’t want her to hate him. He wanted her to bare her throat to him freely. He wanted her to welcome him into the wet heat of her cunt with his name on her lips. He wanted her to smile at him when she saw him, not freeze like a startled deer.
I could still get her the shackle, though.
She would look so very pretty in his bed, at his mercy. While he took his fill of her, he would give pleasure back. Always.
His breath shortened as he imagined it. Zia was all soft, suntanned skin and tight, mink brown curls. She was strong but shapely, with a gently curved stomach, lush hips, and generous breasts. When he pressed his fingertips into her skin, she would be plush and sumptuously made.
And she’ll taste so fucking sweet.
Harlan kicked off his sheets and palmed his aching cock. The thought of licking her until she came and then sinking his fangs into the delicate skin of her thigh made his spine lock.
His fantasies had been intense before, but ever since he touched her, tasted her scent on the back of his tongue, they had been almost excruciatingly vivid.
Harlan had fucked his fair share of women in his lifetime, all of them faceless and eager, ready to ease the ache in the moment he needed it. He’d even sipped from the flesh of more than a few of them, but he never returned, never felt the compulsion to bite again and again, until his venom took hold.
With Zia, the need was an almost physical pain.
In an attempt to relieve the pressure, he stroked himself hard and imagined it was her deft hand on his cock, her big brown eyes fixed on his face, hungry for his approval. He pictured her dipping her head to sip fromhim.Those lovely, plush lips would look so much prettier when they were wrapped around his cock.
“Fuck!”
His pulse pounded in the roof of his mouth. Gods, he needed relief. He needed to sink his cock into his gorgeous little witch until she came, and then he needed to plunge his fangs into her throat and fill her with his venom until he blacked out.
Imagining the sweet release of it, Harlan stroked harder, faster, until the pressure became too much. Electricity danced up his spine as his muscles tensed. His orgasm was short, brutal, and yet unsatisfying.
Even as he lay there in the dazed aftermath, his stomach splattered with his release, his fangs fuckingachedfor her.
Harlan dug his claws into the mattress and arched his neck, his fangs bared in a hideous, desperate snarl. He couldn’t survive this any longer. Hewouldn’t.
He could give her more than pleasure. He could give her wealth, safety, and the unwavering devotion of a bonded vampire.
The problem was that he couldn’t quite figure out how to make that happen.
Mind churning and sexual hunger only momentarily sated, he got up from bed and cleaned himself up. When he climbed back in, Harlan turned on his side and folded his pillow under his head, his gaze locked on the shuttered window overlooking the rose garden.
How could he entice a soft creature like his witch into his arms?
She came from a good, loving family. Her parents had been married for over a century and lived in a Turkish enclave in San Jose. She had five brothers, all of whom were successful in their own ways. Once a month, she drove back down to San Jose to spend the weekend with her family.
She got perfect grades in school and studied botany at San Jose University. Up until she got the job as his rosarian, she lived at home. Her social feeds were full of flowers and family vacations.
There was not one smudge on her record, no hint of anything illicit in her online activity. The witch didn’t even have a ticket or citation to her name.
She was infuriatingly unblemished by the world, while he was… not.
Doesn’t matter,he decided.I don’t have to be a good man to treat her well. If she were my anchor, she’d want for nothing.
If anything, he was theperfectpartner for her. He was retired, but still feared by much of the criminal underworld of the UTA. No one could touch what was his. That shining, untrammeled warmth she radiated would not be smothered. He would cup her light in his hands, insulating it from the cruelties of the world he knew too well.
In an instant, the mental dam that he had erected to keep his instincts in check disappeared. They flooded his system in one huge rush — adrenaline and desire, possessiveness and a deep, terrifying tenderness.
Harlan’s gaze sharpened on the window. The roots of his fangs, connected to the gland that produced his unique venom, ached with renewed ferocity.
