This can’t be happening. We’re not supposed to be able to read vampire minds. They’re not supposed to be able to read ours. It’s one of the fundamental rules of our world.
Yet here I am, drowning in Marcus’s thoughts, feeling everything he’s feeling.
This isn’t right. It can’t be. Unless… Unless…
I think of Rowan. Of Mia. Of the connections they’ve forged with Darick and Soren. They can read each other’s minds…through their blood match.
Oh, my God.
8
Chapter 8
Marcus
Istalkacrossmylivingroom, unable to find peace. This place is normally my sanctuary, my safe haven, but right now, it’s doing nothing to help. My lips still burn from Kara’s kiss, my body electric with the memory of her pressed against me.
What the fuck is going on?
I stop at the window, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. This witch has me coming undone. The taste of her lingers – honey and storm clouds and raw power. And the strange feeling of something prickling at the edges of my senses.
My fingers drum against the glass. The political implications alone should be enough to stop this madness. Lucien’s growing influence, the missing witches, the rising tensions between our kinds – I know how to handle these challenges. Strategy. Intelligence. Calculated moves on the board.
But Kara…
I close my eyes, remembering how her magic had flared against mine, how perfectly she’d fit in my arms. The fierce defiance in her eyes even as she’d surrendered to the kiss.
“Control yourself,” I mutter, pushing away from the window. This isn’t like me. I don’t obsess. I don’t fixate.
I analyze, plan, execute.
Yet here I am, prowling my own home like a caged animal, replaying every moment. The soft gasp she’d made. The way her hands had fisted in my shirt. The intoxicating blend of power and vulnerability.
I need to focus on the bigger picture. On protecting both our kinds from Lucien’s machinations. On finding Evelyn Blackwood before he can use her for whatever his next move is. On keeping the peace between vampires and witches.
Instead, all I can think about is the way Kara looked at me right before she kissed me – like she wanted me as much as she hated wanting me.
Goddammit!
At first, it had been entertaining to toy with her a little. But now it feels like the tables have turned, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one fucking bit.
I need to fix this.
I press a button on my phone. “Send someone up.” My voice is clipped, controlled. Within minutes, there’s a soft knock at my door.
The girl who enters is stunning – long dark hair, curves in all the right places, wearing a tight black dress that leaves little to the imagination and too much dark makeup, probably designed to mimic her idea of the vampire lifestyle. A walking cliché, but beautiful, nonetheless. Her pulse quickens when she sees me. The scent of her arousal fills the air.
“My Lord Nightshade.” She practically purrs my name, using that formal manner her kind likes to adopt around us.
Blood groupie. I’ve seen her before at the Nocturne Lounge. She’s one of the regulars, always hoping to catch a vampire’s attention. Tonight, she’s caught mine, but not for the reasons she thinks.
“Come here.” My voice carries just enough compulsion to make her shiver. She glides toward me, tilting her head to expose her throat. The vein there pulses invitingly.
I pull her close, inhaling her scent. She smells…wrong. Not like sunlight and roses. Not like raw power and defiance. The prickling sensation that keeps nagging me feels like it’s growing.
“My Lord? Are you going to…?” She tilts her head, slanting a look at me, and I realize that I’ve hesitated.
“Wait,” I mutter, annoyed for a reason I can comprehend. My fangs extend, and I bite down. Her skin is smooth, supple; it gives in easily beneath the sharp pressure of my teeth. She groans low in her throat, and for some reason, the sound annoys me, too. But I ignore it, drinking deeply.
