Alexandra Ivy - Hunt the Darkness

Not just the tidal wave of sensual pleasure at being in his arms, but the strange sensation of something settling deep inside her.

An easing of the nagging sense of “wrongness” that had plagued her since leaving Chicago.

His lips moved to press against the thundering pulse at the base of her throat.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me when you disappeared?”

Her lashes slid downward as she absorbed the stunning pleasure of his touch.

“I thought you would be happy to be rid of me,” she whispered, breathing in the scent of leather, male, and raw power.

His fingers gave her hips a small squeeze. “You wouldn’t have snuck away if you believed that.”

The fact he was right only pissed her off.

“Just because I didn’t ask for your permission doesn’t mean I snuck away.”

“Sally, whether this mating is some demon magic or not, it feels real to me,” he rasped. “To have you disappear . . .” He shuddered, revealing the genuine pain he’d been forced to endure. “Christ.”

Sally grimaced, her anger abruptly being replaced by overwhelming regret.

The mating truly had been an accident.

At the time she’d been scared and desperate or she would never have released her inner demon.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew that messing with magic she didn’t understand was dangerous. And until she had discovered the truth of her ancestry, she’d usually stuck to the human spells she’d learned from her witch mother.

But accident or not, she’d physically, perhaps even spiritually, bound this proud loner to her.

It was a sin she could never erase.

“I’m sorry,” she husked.

His tongue traced the line of her jaw. “Are you?”

“I know this mess is partially my fault.”

He jerked his head back in disbelief. “Partially?”

She was instantly on the defensive. “If your precious Anasso hadn’t thrown me in the dungeons, I wouldn’t have needed to use my powers to escape.”

He muttered a curse, returning to nuzzle a searing path of kisses down the side of her neck.

“Let’s go back to your apology,” he commanded.

Somehow her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers tangled in his silken hair.

“Fine. I regret any discomfort I’ve caused you,” she managed to say, excitement jolting through her as he allowed her to feel the tips of his fangs.

Crap. What was wrong with her? She’d never been one of those freaks who wanted to be dinner for a vampire.

Even if their bite was orgasmic.

Now she was shaking with the need to feel those fangs sliding through her tender flesh.

“And you promise not to disappear again?” he demanded, his hands slipping beneath her sweatshirt.

She shuddered, struggling to think through the haze of lust clouding her mind.

“Not unless I believe it’s absolutely necessary.”

He made a sound of resignation. “Have you always been so stubborn?”

“Have you always been so arrogant?”

He pressed a hard, hungry kiss to her lips. “Yes.”

Roke felt Sally tremble, her fingers tangled in his hair as her body arched against him.

A groan was wrenched from his throat. Christ, the very air was scented with her desire.

But even as his hands skimmed beneath her sweatshirt to find the soft curve of her bare breasts, she pulled back with a startled gasp.

“Roke . . . stop.”

He hissed, burying his face in the soft cloud of her windswept hair.

“You’re my mate.”

“No.” She sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes dark with a need she couldn’t hide. “It’s an illusion.”

He lowered his hand from the temptation of her breast, but he kept his arms firmly around her.

She wasn’t going to disappear again.

Not even if he had to handcuff her to his side.

He swallowed a low growl.

Having Sally and handcuffs in the same thought wasn’t doing a damned thing to help him gain control of his raging libido.

“It doesn’t feel like an illusion, does it, my love?” he murmured.

“It’s not real.” She licked her lips. “It can’t be real.”

Logically Roke agreed.

Physically? Not so much.

His body was ready and eager to accept that she was created to be in his arms.

His gaze shifted to the tempting curve of her neck, his fangs aching with a savage instinct to mark her as his own.

A damned shame that Styx had warned taking Sally’s blood might very well turn the mating from a magical illusion to a bond that couldn’t be broken.

Battling against his primitive urges, Roke was distracted by the whiff of granite as the gargoyle waddled back into view, his wings shimmering in the moonlight.

“I see the two of you have kissed and made up.”

He sent the pest an annoyed glare. “Go away, gargoyle.”

“No.” Sally shoved out of his arms, her face flushed and her eyes still dazed with their mutual lust. “He can help search the cottage for clues.”

His brows snapped together. “You run from me, but you’ll ask a three-foot gargoyle for help?”

She met his fierce disbelief without flinching. “Unlike vampires, gargoyles are sensitive to magic. He might find something that I’ve missed.”

“ Oui, I am very sensitive.” Levet turned toward Roke, sticking out his tongue. “It is the reason women find me irresistible.”

With a flick of his tail, Levet waddled toward the cottage. Roke clenched his hands.

So much for a little one on one time with Sally.

“Shit, that gargoyle needs a muzzle,” he muttered.

“He’s not the only one,” Sally informed him, turning to follow the tiny demon into the cottage.

Roke briefly hesitated.

If he had any sense he’d get on his motorcycle and never look back.

Sally was right.

Magic was a vampire’s true weakness.

There was nothing he could do when it came to breaking the spell that bound them together. Why not head back to his lair in Nevada and wait for Sally to contact him when she had the means to break the mating?

But the thought had barely time to form before it was forgotten as he headed into the cottage.

He’d spent three hellish weeks chasing after his witch.

Until the bond was broken, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

Entering through the back door, he passed through the small mudroom that opened into a large kitchen equipped for a witch, not a chef.

There was a massive, stone fireplace with a cast-iron cauldron hanging over a pile of wood. The open rafters were lined with bronze pans and bundles of dried herbs. And in the center of the floor, a circle had been carved into the flagstones that was large enough for two or three witches to sit in without touching.

He followed the scent of peaches into the main room of the cottage, discovering Levet flitting around the sparsely furnished space and Sally standing beside the empty fireplace, her spine rigid.

He grimaced, assuming she was trying to give him the cold shoulder. Then, slowly he realized it wasn’t annoyance she was feeling.

It was a dull, bitter pain he could feel through their bond.

With two long strides he was standing at her side, gently tucking her hair behind her ear so he could study her pale profile.

“There’s something here that bothers you?”

“You could say that.” Her lips twisted as her gaze lingered on the scorched mark on the wall. “This is the precise spot where my mother tried to kill me.”

The image of a young Sally lying lifeless on the floor seared through Roke’s mind and he struggled to contain his burst of fury. His temper had the unfortunate effect of destroying the structural integrity of any building he happened to be standing near.