Kresley Cole: No Rest for the Wicked

He realized then that, just as he was changing, so was she. He thought he saw silver flash in her glinting eyes. A swift tear dropped down her cheek.

"Why do you cry?" Women's tears had always wrecked him as a mortal, but hers made him feel as if a thousand knives twisted inside him. When he brushed her hair back, he sucked in a ragged, unpracticed breath. Her ear was sharply pointed. Up closer, he could see the smallest fangs.

Sebastian didn't know what she was, and he didn't care. "Please do not cry."

"I never cry," she whispered. Frowning in confusion, she patted the back of her hand against her cheek and drew it down to see that it was wet from a single tear. Her lips parted, and she stared, first at the tear, and then at her sharply curling fingernails, which were more like elegant claws. Her gaze darted back to him, and she swallowed as if with fear.

"Tell me what troubles you." He had a purpose now: to protect her, to care for her, to destroy whatever threatened her. "Bid me to help you, Bride."

"Not a Bride to one of your kind. Never—"

"But you've made my heart beat."

She hissed back, "You've made me feel." He didn't understand the meaning of her words or her reactions during the next several minutes as he gazed down at her, greedily learning her features—the sweep of her thick lashes when she glanced down, the full red pout of her lips. Waves of emotion shimmered in her eyes and seemed to pain her. Her body shook. As abruptly as they'd started, her tears dried.

Then she smiled up at him, a heartrending curling of her lips. Her eyes were merry, darkly teasing. Nothing had ever aroused him so much as that look, and he wondered how much more he could take. But her smile faded far too soon. She shuddered violently, lowering her forehead to his chest.

Just as his aching erection was becoming impossible to deny, she lifted her face, and her expression had changed once more. A flush tinged her high cheekbones, and her lips subtly parted. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. As she gazed at his mouth, her tongue dabbed at her bottom lip and left no question about what she was thinking of doing.

She was... aroused. For him. He didn't understand what was happening to her—or to himself.

His eyes widened, then narrowed, when she placed her delicate arms around his neck. I could touch her... She would accept my touch... His shaft had never been this hard. He wanted to bury it inside her so badly he'd give anything.

She tilted her head, still staring at his mouth. "I miss this... ," she murmured in a whiskey voice. He didn't have time to ponder her words, because she tightened her arms, bringing their bodies together. He groaned to feel her breasts pressing against him. They were so full and plump—he knew they would fill his palms perfectly.

Christ, he'd suffered centuries without contact with others, much less touch, and now he was feeling his Bride, soft and pliant in his arms. He was afraid he was dreaming. Before he lost his nerve, his hands dropped to her waist, dragging her more firmly against him. "Tell me your name."

"My name... ?" she murmured absently. "My name is Kaderin."

"Kaderin," he repeated, but it didn't fit her. As he stared down into her shimmering eyes, he thought the name was too cold, too formal, for the creature in his arms. "Katja," he rasped, surprised to find that his thumb was slowly brushing her bottom lip. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming. "Katja, I... "—he began in a rough, breaking voice, and had to swallow to continue—"must... I must kiss you."

At his words, the dark hazel of her eyes turned completely silver. She seemed to go into a trance. He was not so far gone as not to notice this stunned reaction, but her full red lips were glistening, beckoning him.

"I used to love being kissed," she whispered in a dazed tone, her breaths growing hectic.

Could he possibly stop with only that? With an unsteady hand, he cupped the back of her head, about to draw her to him. Surely she was strong enough to take him—she was some sort of warrior and would likely be quick to check him if he hurt her.

For some reason, he sensed she wouldn't give him that teary, betrayed look women had cast him in the past if he'd accidentally stepped on their toes or collided with them coming around a street corner, that look that brought him so low.

"Vampire, please," she murmured, "make it worth it. Make it... "

When their lips touched, he groaned; electricity seemed to prick at his skin. He pulled back from her. "My God." Nothing had ever felt so powerful, so right, as this kiss. Her hungry expression deepened.

If it took becoming a vampire to have just this one perfect moment, would he suffer it again?

When he kissed her again, lightly at first, she moaned, "More," against his lips.

He clutched her tightly in his arms, then somehow remembered himself. No, fool... He eased his hold.

At once, her claws bit into the backs of his arms, making him shudder. "Don't hold back. I need more."

She needed more, needed him to give it to her. Because she was... his. When this finally sank in, his shyness burned away. In the course of a heartbeat, he now had a woman of his own. He wanted to roar with triumph. The feel of her claws sinking into him—as if she feared he would get away—was ecstasy. She needs me.

"Kiss me more, vampire. If you stop, I'll kill you."

He couldn't help but grin against her lips. A female threatening him if he should stop kissing her?

So he did, tasting her tongue, teasing it, then claiming her mouth hotly, wetly. He savored the slow undulation of her hips against him, in time with each thrust of his tongue.

He kissed her with all the passion long denied him, with all the hope that had been wrenched from him returning. Weariness of life had just been replaced by purpose—because of her. He let her know how thankful he was... by kissing her until she panted and sagged against him.

Yet he was losing control. Impulses came for him to do things to her body, wicked things, and he knew that soon he would obey them. "I'll always give you more, until I die."

And now, for the first time in three hundred hellish years, Sebastian desperately wanted to live.

A s if she'd been hurled down from a great height, all the emotions lost to Kaderin, denied to her for the last millennium, crashed into her. Fear, joy, longing, and an undeniable sexual hunger warred within her—until he stoked her lust hot enough to drown out all other feelings.

She was reeling, confused. All she knew for certain was that she needed release so badly her yearning pained her, made her whimper. And each of his fierce, possessive kisses increased her agony.

As she threaded her fingers through his thick, tousled hair, she couldn't think, couldn't begin to reason out why this was happening to her. Inexplicable wants wracked her—to lick his skin, to have his body pressing heavily on hers.

She brought her parted lips to his neck, kissing up from his collar. In turn, he thrust his erection against her, as if he couldn't help himself, then seemed to be willing himself not to do it again. But she was thrilled to find his shaft was huge and rigid, insistent against her. It made her body grow wet, wanting it.

Unable to stop herself, she flicked her tongue out to taste his skin. Sensation spiked within her, and she moaned. Had any male ever tasted so good? His taste made her body react with animal needs so strong, she twitched as she resisted them. She wanted to rip his jeans from him, take that thick shaft in both hands, and lick its length in a frenzy.

Imagining that made her roll her hips against him, and after a shuddering hesitation he met her. He hissed in a breath and rumbled foreign words in her ear. The entire castle shook—from her lightning, a Valkyrie's lightning produced by her emotion.