Maggie Shayne: Blue Twilight

“Maggie Shayne is better than chocolate.

She satisfies every wicked craving.”

—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster

“Maggie Shayne demonstrates an absolutely superb

touch, blending fantasy and romance into an outstanding

reading experience.”

—RT Book Reviews on Embrace the Twilight

“Maggie Shayne delivers sheer delight, and fans new and

old of her vampire series can rejoice.”

—RT Book Reviews on Twilight Hunger

“Maggie Shayne delivers romance with sweeping intensity

and bewitching passion.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

“Shayne’s gift has made her one of the preeminent voices

in paranormal romance today!”

—RT Book Reviews

Multiple New York Times bestseller MAGGIE SHAYNEis one of the hottest authors currently writing paranormal romance.

Her works are fresh and sexy, carrying the reader into a darkly compelling and fully realised world where vampires are creatures of the heart, not just the night.

Also available from Maggie Shayne

DEMON’S KISS

LOVER’S BITE

ANGEL’S PAIN

NIGHT’S EDGE

(with Charlaine Harris and Barbara Hambly)

TWILIGHT HUNGER

EDGE OF TWILIGHT

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To all of you fans of WINGS IN THE NIGHT who’ve been

following this series since the first “Twilight” book in 1993.

And to all of you more recent readers we’ve picked up along

the way, who’ve gone above and beyond in your journey to

collect the entire series. And to all you brand new readers who

are just discovering this collection for the very first time.

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I truly hope you

enjoy the ride as much as I have.

Maggie Shayne

The woman cowered on the brown velvet chaise in his parlor, her eyes wide with fear. Blue eyes. Flaming red hair. He would have preferred a blonde with eyes as black as coal—that stunning contrast in a female’s coloring never failed to stir his passion. Or his memory. But so long as they were in the parlor, in view of the portrait, any female would do. It had to be the parlor. He always took his victims there.

Fieldner had brought him a lovely morsel tonight. She was, perhaps, close to her thirtieth year of mortal life. Though she was lean and tall, and he preferred them petite, she was trembling in a way that aroused him. Her pale-skinned face was finely made, her lips bit on the thin side, nose a hint too straight, but the cheekbones were high and prominent. He loved good cheekbones in a woman. Yes, his drone had done well this day. The fear in the woman’s eyes, though, that would have to go.

It would be no trouble, he thought as he moved toward her, mustering a smile and hoping he appeared attractive to her. Women held less fear of attractive men. Foolish, of course, but true. It was difficult not being able to look into a mirror to judge his appearance and its impact on a woman. He knew his hair was long and dark, and that his eyes were deeply set and brown. But it was difficult to remember the precise structure of his own face, or to guess how much he could smile without revealing the unnatural length and razor sharpness of his incisors.

Even if he were frightening to behold, however, he could ease the fear from her mind. He held an entire town in his thrall—day and night. Asleep or awake. One frightened woman was hardly a challenge.

“You have nothing to fear,” he told her, moving slowly closer, infusing his words with power even while keeping his voice soft. “This is nothing more than a dream. A fantasy. Nothing can harm you here.”

Her wide eyes flickered. She drew a stuttering breath.

“Look into my eyes, lovely one. Hear my words. Feel them. You are not afraid. You are safe, and warm, and completely relaxed.”

He watched as some of the tension left her body. Her eyes were no longer wide but becoming heavy-lidded. He moved a little closer, reached out and touched her cheek. “Your mind is completely at ease now. You’ve relinquished all control, all responsibility—released it to me. You know only what I tell you. You feel only what I make you feel. You want only what I tell you that you want.”

Her eyes fell closed; a slow, deep sigh whispered from her lips. The tension eased from her shoulders. That was much, much better.

“Right now, what you want, my precious, is me. My touch. My caress. You want it more than you want to live. More than you’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his hand.

“You will know the most exquisite pleasure you have ever known this night. Perhaps for another night, as well, or maybe several more. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Very good.” To reward her, he let his hand drift across her cheek, over her jaw and neck, and down to brush across her breast. She shivered in reaction, and he smiled. It would be good for her. He would make sure it was good for her. He would plumb her mind, find her deepest fantasies and fulfill them all. And she would remember nothing when it was over. She would be returned to her home with no harm done to her. And he would be sated. At least for a little while.

She rose to her feet and unbuttoned the dress she wore, then slid it from her shoulders and let it lie on the floor. He watched her as she removed her bra and panties without a hint of inhibition, and he was careful to keep his attention on her body, not her face. The only face he wanted to see was above and behind her, gazing down at him with love in her eyes.

He drew the woman to him, touched and caressed her, using his mind as much as his hands to make her feel sensations everywhere at once. And he probed inside her mind to hear every desire. When she wished he would touch her breasts he did so, caressing until she wanted more, then tugging the responsive nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. When she wanted his mouth, he kissed her, then eased her backward onto the chaise. When she parted her legs to him, he moved his hand between them, every touch infused with his power. He could make her climax without even touching her, but he preferred it this way.

When she was twisting and writhing against him, he lay atop her. He hadn’t undressed. He didn’t need to. She would feel him penetrating her even though he had no intention of doing so. She would experience him deep inside her, and he would take the satisfaction he so needed in his own manner.

From her throat.

“Call me ‘My Prince,’” he instructed.

“Yes, you are my prince.”

He tipped her head back, gently moved her hair away from her neck. She was moving now, her hips rocking to take him, even though he wasn’t there. Humping air and a fantasy he’d implanted in her mind. “Say it in my tongue, pretty one. Say ‘print meu. ’”