1 comments/ 4696 views/ 3 favorites A Taste of Dawn By: msnomer68 Dear Reader: It seems I just couldn't leave out a bit of romantic prose in regards to Michael and Bianca. Theirs is a story that was too short to form into a novel, but one that needed to be told. This brief taste of the Native Dawn series gives us a glimpse of Michael and Bianca and the events that occurred between the end of Book 20 'Dawn Unleashed' and the beginning of the final book in the series, Book 21. 'Dawn's End'. At this point, after Dawn's End is released. I am considering writing one additional book in the Native Dawn series to tie up all the loose ends. I think everyone wants to know what happens to the kids when they grow up. I know I sure do. Even as I write this Evan, Mouse, Fallon, Danni, baby R.J. and of course, our newest bundle of joy, the Great Father and Tala's unborn child, are playing in my mental playground and getting into all sorts of mischief as adults. As always, thanks for your unwavering support and happy reading. J. Lynn. ***** A Taste of Dawn Winter came early this year. With leaves of gold and red still on the trees, snow fell and it kept on falling and falling and falling. The world was coated in a layer of shimmering white snow as pure as a bride on her wedding night. The city had no regards for the perfection of winter's kiss. Snowplows stripped away whatever beauty might be found. Snow, dirty and gray from the endless flow of traffic, was heaped into frozen mountains to wait for the spring thaw to melt it away. Everything in the city was about the endless progression that comes with moving full speed ahead. Nothing here stayed pure or beautiful for very long. The city was a whore with her legs wide open to tempt and to steal whatever innocence wandered too closely to her skirts. Bianca pulled her coat higher up around her neck. She wasn't cold. The act was just a human reflex left over from the winters of long ago when the winds bit into the tenderness of living flesh and blood and the chill within her wasn't quite so eternal. The city was quiet tonight. Subdued by freezing temperatures and a fresh blanket of snow and ice. Hidden by the cover of night she walked through the city. Only the tracks left behind by her boots were evidence that she, or anyone else had been here at all. Life happened quickly in the city. Only one thing happened quicker, death. Today's events were readily dismissed into yesterday's news. The city never mourned any person or any tragedy too long. Bianca guessed it was because of the fact that humans had such short lives the empty spaces left in the wake of pain and suffering were immediately filled. After the explosion, the city scrambled to clean up the mess and life went on. The very spot where Eric had detonated the bombs boasted towering luxury condominiums, the good life, at its best. Bianca's eyes narrowed and scanned the empty streets. Where was Eric these days? O'Sullivan never stayed underground for too long. He lived as a human, always in such a rush. Patience had never suited him. Yet, for months, since his feeble display of power, he had remained hidden. As if he'd disappeared without a word in the billowing smoke, heat of the flames, and the rubble so efficiently scooped away in the promise of progress. She doubted that Eric was gone for good. The blow she'd dealt him was not lethal. He wasn't dead, unfortunately. But, where in the hell was he? She'd been terrified of Eric for centuries. He always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else. That night, when he leveled one of the most prime pieces of real estate in the city into a heap of rubble, she saw through him. He wasn't better than anyone else. He wasn't smarter. In fact, he bordered on the fringes of lunacy. What had turned her former frienemy into such a nut job? Werewolves. O'Sullivan heard the rumors. Everyone had, but only Eric was crazy enough to believe them. Vampires could not have children. They could not eat solid food. They could not tolerate sunlight. And that was the end of story. He'd snatched onto the myth as if it were fact. He operated for months under the insane assumption that if he took the blood of a werewolf. He would somehow be transformed and what had been dead for centuries would be made alive again. Idiot. Eric got his werewolf and brought the fury of hell itself on his head. What was worse. She'd known about it and although she hadn't helped him. She hadn't exactly hampered him either. Everyone in the city fell under the blanket of protection offered by the Guardians. The captive werewolves had been in her city and until push had come to shove. She'd stood on the sidelines doing nothing to help them. She had thought it best, for her and her Guardians, to play the middle ground and risk neither the wrath of Eric or the wrath of the Sons. The duality of her position had almost cost her life and standing here in the present and looking back into the past, it had cost her something more, her heart. Michael was a Son, through and through a warrior strong and tough as steel. The Sons were the primary protectors of all human life against the threat of vampires and other nasty creatures of the unknown. Until she had seen one for herself, she hadn't believed in werewolves. Who knew what other forms of paranormal life were out there waiting to be discovered. She and Michael were as different as night and day, as were the Sons and her Guardians. The Sons believed a goddess ruled their collective and individual destines. They were what they were by choice. They welcomed their sacred charge and were wholly committed to the death to it. Not so for her Guardians. Most of her legion were forced into this life and believed in little if nothing, save what they saw with their own eyes. Her little band was grouped together out of necessity. They kept the city safe, not out of their beliefs, but out of sheer force of free will. No one should be forced into this life as they had been. The Sons saw what they were as a gift. Her Guardians saw it as a curse. The Great Father, the Sons' nefarious leader had been grateful for the help and had willingly turned the city over to the Guardians. The two groups were friends of a sort, until such a time that they became enemies. As long as the law was followed, the Sons had no qualms with anybody. Break it, and well... everyone knew what happened then. Her Guardians weren't killers. They upheld the very letter of the law, bending it like a pretzel, but keeping it nonetheless. The law was such a simple thing. Never take a human life for food. Easy. Right? It wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded to keep or to enforce. Accidents happened. A hungry vampire, especially one new to this life, could kill in a matter of minutes. One taste, for most, was never enough. Control dangled precariously by a thin thread. A vampire could easily get over the guilt of murder for the bliss of human blood. Everyone knew it. Everyone struggled with it. Even the Sons in all their stoic ways and lofty beliefs were not immune to the endless temptation of human blood. When one tasted and could not conquer the beast, when just a taste was not enough and never would be enough, a rogue was born. Bianca's aversion to killing of humans and sucking down an innocent life went beyond her own moral code of ethics. It was a simple matter of practicality. Eventually, one ran out of hiding places for the corpses and people tended to notice those who went missing. Where else could a string of drained bodies, littering the sidewalks and dark alleys like empty pop cans lead except to them? Rogues didn't know when to stop. They fed and fed and fed till there was nothing left. Humanity was plentiful sure, but when they provided a vampire's primary source of food. One could not simply suck them all dry till there weren't any left. Wouldn't that leave everyone in a hell of a bind and hungry, damned hungry? What would they eat if there weren't any humans left? Rogues didn't last long in her city. Hell, they didn't last long anywhere. They always got taken out. Permanently. The Sons frolicked in the woods and worshiped their goddess. They sustained themselves on the blood of animals. They could chant and hunt all the four-legged creatures of the forest they wanted to but, in the end, not even they could survive indefinitely without human blood. Humans were a necessary evil. They didn't know the reality of the creatures that shared their cities with them. Somehow though they'd always suspected. Luckily, vampires had the myths created by humanity's endless imagination on their side. There was no garlic, no holy water, no cross, or prayer that could stop death from coming. Only the threat of discovery and the possibility of how creative humans really could be when they wanted to kept vampires at bay. Eric had almost, almost blown their cover during his little escapade and for that, he had to pay. O'Sullivan was the man at large. Every being with fangs searched for him. Their mutual hatred of Eric O'Sullivan and the need to contain him was one of the things that brought the Guardians and the Sons together on such a united front. Usually, the two groups tolerated one another, not really understanding how alike and how different they truly were. They respected one another's turf and bore it a wide berth. Necessity made for strange bed partners these days. In their search for O'Sullivan, her city was teaming with Sons and werewolves. Michael was here, too close for comfort, leading a team through the city. He was relentless. No rock was left unturned by him or by his men. She suspected his reasons for being here were more personal than the search for O'Sullivan. He wanted to ferret her out. Make a suitable and respectable woman out of her. Good luck with that. She'd been single for close to three hundred years and to say she was a bit set in her ways was an understatement. She'd tried the country life and hated it. The woods were too quiet and too isolated. She missed the life of the city. The constant trickle of noises and smells and the endless throng of humanity, pulsing and ebbing as they went about the task of living were too much to give up for something as trivial as love. Michael hadn't even slept with her for fear of some mystical bonding that might occur between them. She'd had a constant flow of male companions, both human, for all their subtleties and charms, and vampire and never, ever, had she felt some spiritual pull to any of them. Sex was just sex. Even good sex, was just good sex, nothing much mystical about it. Maybe if she had slept with Michael she would be able to finally get him out of her system and seek some other form of entertainment on lonely days. But, he didn't operate that way. He'd denied her and himself and for what? Solely because he clung to some superstition that he might be stuck with her eternally? She didn't buy it. Within weeks of her trial life as a country bumpkin, she'd packed up and returned to the city where she belonged. There was plenty to do to occupy her mind. Managing an underground organization such as the Guardians kept her buried in paperwork. There were always bills to pay, a wayward member to discipline, or some other mundane task that demanded her constant attention. There was always something to occupy her mind and keep it off the constant temptation of Michael. She wasn't about to grovel at his feet like some smitten schoolgirl. Besides, what good was temptation, if she couldn't indulge? Right now, a tasty bit of human male was warming her sheets. He offered his neck and his body to her whenever she wanted it. She indulged, perhaps, not in the temptations of the flesh, but definitely those of the blood. She didn't hide her indiscretions from anybody, especially from Michael. Jealousy was the only tool at her disposal. Let him think what he wanted of her. She had her city and he was a guest on her turf. Here, she called the shots. If she wanted a dozen men in her bed, what was it to him? He had his chance at her bed and had turned it down flat. Snowflakes swirled and danced around Bianca's shoulders, silently wafting to the sidewalk beneath her boots. Her blood formed ice crystals in her veins at the sight of the man prowling with the grace of an exotic cat in her direction. He was dressed in black leather from head to toe. Only the faint glimpse of silver from the blades strapped across his back caught the glimmer of the streetlights gave a hint to his lethal nature. "Michael," she said as coldly as the frigid wind. He was beautiful in a way that made her catch her breath. Sinful, danger, male beauty stalked toward her. Leather clung to his lean, muscular thighs and narrow hips. The black jacket fit his broad chest like a second skin. The snow muffled the tread of his heavy boots as he stalked closer. The damp cold of winter helped to deaden his smell. But, she caught the trace essence of pine and spice, slightly sweet, wholly masculine. Melting snowflakes glistened in his raven's wing dark hair, curling the ends around his collar and ears. His eyes were the color of chocolate. Even though she hadn't indulged in the richness of chocolate in centuries. She still could recall the sweet decadence of its taste. His full lips pursed in an unreadable expression as he stared down at her from his towering height. Even his voice promised sensuality. A deep, masculine growl of a whisper that made her shiver on the inside, not from the cold, but from the effect of it on her nervous system. "I have men searching every square inch of this city and so far, nothing! Where the hell is he, Bianca?" Michael didn't mean to sound so accusing. Bianca had never revealed a secret to him. He knew she had them. They stood like a solid wall made of impenetrable steel between them. He'd given his promise that no matter what she'd done he'd protect her. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe in the goodness in her. She just made it so hard. He thought, for a brief, glorious second that she'd share her secrets and her heart with him. She ran like hell as fast as she could for the city, taking her secrets and her bags along with her. He was here in this godforsaken place, with its never ending stench, its ceaseless noise, and its constant motion to fulfill his promise. Even if his word meant nothing to her and he was chasing his tail on a fool's errand. He did his best to protect her. The secrets he'd managed to ferret out were only the tip of the iceberg. He knew of her past indiscretions with Eric O'Sullivan. She'd never been directly involved in anything. She'd never tried to stop him either and in that was her deepest sin. He'd seen and he realized that Eric had a link to her on a level he'd never understand. She hated the man and yet, she still protected him. Bianca looked so frail and defenseless. She was a china doll, delicate and breakable. Snowflakes fell around her shoulders and adorned her loose black curls, dusting them with the glittering of thousands of lights. The pale skin of her high cheekbones was reddened with the cold. Her tilted eyes were the blue of the deepest ocean. Her provincial mouth, pursed in a scowl at him, was lipsticked in a pink hue. She was soft and curvy, beneath a layer of thick winter gear. Usually, she dressed to flaunt what she no doubt considered her best assets, those full, pert breasts of hers. Tonight, he was glad they were hidden beneath the leather. He wasn't necessarily a breast man, but he didn't mind the show. She didn't understand him at all. The whole package was a temptation he could not afford. She and that body of hers drove him absolutely insane and there was nothing he could do about it. Bianca glared at Michael. The determined set of his jaw hinted at his frustration with her and with the whole damned situation. He hated the city. He hated that the Sons hadn't captured O'Sullivan when they'd had the chance and he hated the thoughts in his head. The suspicion that she and her Guardians, especially she, had something to do with his escape. He, of all people should know better. He was there when Eric almost killed her trying to get away. Michael had given his blood to heal her wounds. Perhaps he couldn't bring it to blame himself for Eric's escape. He'd made a choice, her life over Eric's. Did he regret it? Saving her? In his frame of mind, with that expression on his face, she almost believed he did. "Did you ever stop to think that O'Sullivan isn't in the city?" Michael did his best to dress Bianca down with his stare. If she knew something, anything, she'd better tell him now. If the Sons got wind that she was withholding information. They'd get it out of her, one way or another, and there wasn't anything he could do to prevent it. If she were purposely not telling them something, he'd have to choose sides, and right now, he wasn't sure exactly whose side he'd be on. He owed his word of honor to the Sons and to her his vow of protection. Where would her secrets leave him in the end? Michael grabbed Bianca by her upper arms and pinned her against a blank storefront window. "If you know something you'd better tell me. This is not the time for your secrets," he threatened. As he shook her, hard enough to rattle her fangs, the window bowed and shimmied. "Tell me," he demanded. Bianca's head wobbled on her shoulders like a bobble head. She wanted to get physical with him, but this was not exactly what she had in mind. The toes of her boots scraped against the snowy sidewalk. She thought he was going to break the window behind her, as hard as he was shaking her and slamming her against the glass. If he meant to physically intimidate her into a confession of facts she didn't possess, he had another thing coming. She'd spent her life being underestimated. With a carefully placed, lightening fast kick in that special place all men held in highest regards, she earned her freedom. "I told you I don't know where in the hell he is. If I knew, I wouldn't need your help. I'd kill him myself," she gritted, stifling the grin as Michael cupped his private parts and glared up at her from the sidewalk. She rolled her eyes at Michael. Whimpering like a kicked pup, his eyes round with pain. Men and their gonads, when will they ever learn? Exasperated with him and his apparent distrust, she walked around his huddled form and headed out into the snow. "I think we should call it a night. I hear the zoo has a lovely display. Perhaps, you should stop by. You look a bit hungry. As for me, I have a nice, warm body waiting in my bed and I am starved." Jealousy was enough to make Michael forget his throbbing groin and his wounded pride. So much for his perception of her needing his protection. She was more than capable of handling her own. The mention of another man in her bed fired up every testosterone fueled brain cell in his body. "A donor?" "Don't stress yourself, Michael. I don't really get into the whole binding and tying up thing. He's willing enough." She chuckled under her breath. The expression on Michael's face was priceless. She could imagine the Neanderthal thoughts running though that pea sized mind of his. Her boots made whispering sounds in the snow as she left him curled into a ball on the sidewalk. "Have fun at the penguin exhibit. I hear they make a lovely snack." Michael readjusted the parts behind his zipper and glared after Bianca. She took far too much pleasure in torturing him. She taunted him with the string of lovers, both human and vampire, that visited her private chambers. The last thing he wanted to do was add his name to the ever growing list of her companions. He'd be damned if he'd chase after her like a dog and she a bitch in heat. She was so wrong for him. Wrong beyond her secrets and her lovers. Wrong in fundamental ways that he could spend hours listing and never truly convince himself of. She teased and tormented him about his diet, his preference for animal instead of human blood, and about his apparent reluctance to bed her for fear of a bond that he wasn't sure either one of them was ready to handle. At least he had his morals. Morals, however, did little to keep him warm or his stomach filled. He stomped through the snow, intentionally going the opposite way as her tracks on the sidewalk, settling for an alley cat for dinner and his hard cot in the barracks. A Taste of Dawn To say that vampires rarely dreamed was an understatement. They rarely dreamed because they rarely slept. Once in a while sleep would come and dreams with it. Michael dreamed of several lifetimes worth of people and places. People and places of another time when he'd been a very different person. The turn of the twentieth century was such a time. He'd been human back then. Ordinary. Consumed with helping his family tame the land. Every part of his life then had been about the farm, his family, and the family of his own he'd someday have. His life then, existed in the shelter of whispering pines, towering oaks, and flat planes. He knew nothing but the farm, livestock and crops. Nothing about his heritage and who he was meant to become. That he had Native American Shawnee in his blood was a whispered myth of the family. Just like his father before him, Michael's skin was light enough, his hair fair enough, and his eyes pale enough to pass for European, or at least European enough to avoid unwanted scrutiny about his lineage. Michael dreamed of the past, traveling back to those early days when life had been hard, the nights short, and the days even shorter. He was eighteen when the Sons came for him and introduced him to the fate that awaited him. Young and impressionable, eager to learn more about his heritage, his journey into the life a warrior and a Son began. Michael walked through fields ripe with grain. Their rigid stalks scraped against his fingertips. He stared up at a sky brilliant with sunlight and fluffy white clouds. He smelled the crisp freshness of the air. Around him was the quiet of nature, the gentle whisper of wind through the trees, the soft song of birds in flight, and the ceaseless babble of a brook. He knew this was a dream because quiet places no longer existed. Modern life was about noise and constant movement. Nothing was quiet anymore. Nothing stood still for more than a blink of an eye. The fat heads of grain rustled with the brush of footsteps behind him. Michael was no longer alone in his own mind. He had company. "Great Father," he bowed to the patriarch in respect. Some preferred to communicate via encrypted cell phones or e-mail, but not the stoic founder of his race. Mind walking was how Drew kept tabs on his people. Michael inwardly blushed. At least the Great Father hadn't invaded a dream of a different content. A sordid, lusty content, as he was prone to have from time to time when the loneliness and self-imposed celibacy got too much to endure. The Great Father sighed and soaked in the peaceful vision playing out in his son's mind. "This is a good place." He could remember when the flat planes hadn't been there. When the landscape of Michael's dreams had been in reality a wild and untamed wilderness. "Are you well, my son?" Michael frowned at the question. Surely the Great Father had much more to do than poke around in his head for clues about his well-being. The threat of O'Sullivan grew thicker with each passing day that he stayed creatively off the Sons radar. "Quite." A good, standard pat answer to the question was best. Drew, as he preferred to be called these days, knew better. The time for old names and old ways had passed into obscurity. He could sense the loneliness and frustration in Michael's mind. Michael was trying to placate him with what he thought he wanted to hear. The truth would have been better. "There are far too few of us left who remember the quiet places these days. Do you know where we are?" "Yes. My father's homestead," Michael answered. What was the Great Father getting at with this line of questioning? Small talk wasn't really the Great Father's strong suit. He had a point to make somewhere. Impatiently, Michael wished the Great Father would get to it. Dreams were too important to waste on chitchat. "And what is this place today?" Drew pressed. He sensed Michael's impatience acutely. Michael was direct and to the point and appreciated that in his dealings with others. Any attempt at friendliness was wasted on the man. The man knew his place and expected others to know theirs. Michael chuckled, "I think I'm standing in the middle of Happy's drive through." Drew joined Michael's chuckle, "Are we that old, my son? The world we know now is so much smaller than the world we knew then." He shook his head in dismay and muttered, "Progress. What will be here in another hundred years? The world changes and we stay exactly the same." Michael didn't agree. "Not exactly. We'll change with the world. We always have." "Yes, I suppose we have to, don't we," Drew said absently. "Sit with me," he said, lowering his body onto the bent waves of ripening grain. Michael dropped to sit on the stalks beside his father. The landscape in his mind shifted and changed. Rugged rock and flat acres of sand replaced the supple heads of wheat beneath him. "Is this the distant past?" Drew shrugged. "The future?" Michael asked, spitting particles of dust blown by the breeze from his mouth. The barren landscape was frightening, yet wondrous in its ruggedness and beauty. This could be an image captured from an immortal past or a view, a rare sneak peek into the future, a thousand years ago or a thousand years from now, maybe a hundred thousand years. "If it's the future, we'll still be here." Drew shrugged again and rested his chin on his drawn up knees. Staring out into the bleak nothing of sand and rock in silence. "If not us, somebody will be. Just as surely as if this is the past we see instead of the future. Somebody was here." The scenery faded into the lush fields from his boyhood that were as familiar as a song whose lyrics one never forgot. Michael fought the urge to scratch his head in confusion at the Great Father's riddle. He wasn't in the mood to try to figure out a cryptic message tonight. He just wanted to steal a few minutes of respite from his dreams. "I don't understand." "Tala, your queen, my bride, is with child," Drew answered. "How?" "The usual way," Drew answered with a chuckle. "Do you see what we fight for? What's at stake? The wolves hold the answer in their blood. O'Sullivan was right about that. Can you imagine what would happen if their gift found its way into the wrong hands? Vampire offspring fathered by a madman. We are protecting not only the living of today. We hold something much more precious in our hands. The lives of the living who will come after them. Have you discovered anything in the city?" "Bianca tells me nothing." Drew thought about that. Detected the reluctance in Michael's voice as he answered. "Are you sure you are clear on this mission? I sense she knows a great deal more than she's telling." Michael lowered his eyes and plucked a stalk of grain from the fertile ground. Even in a dream, the imagined could seem so real. He rolled the stalk in between his fingers. Moisture seeped from the green blade onto his fingertips. He couldn't lie. Not if the barren landscape in his dreams was a vision of the future or the fields of grain a view of the past. Humans came up with enough destruction all on their own without any help. If O'Sullivan were behind them pulling the strings, infiltrating their most coveted positions with his offspring. There might not be a tomorrow to be had, for anybody. He'd made a personal vow to protect Bianca, but not at such a high price. "As do I." The right woman could tie a man up into so many knots. How well he knew, Drew mussed. In those early days, his Tala had left him in much the same condition as Michael now found himself in. Women were the gentlest of curses and the most dangerous. "I know you love Bianca. But, don't let your feelings get in the way of your duty." "I don't love her," Michael protested. Exactly how far could the Great Father see into his head, he wondered. Usually, he didn't mind sharing his thoughts. But, where Bianca was concerned, he kept his thoughts about her tightly under wraps. His thoughts, those bleak suspicions, could get her killed. Drew chuckled under his breath, "Son, who are you lying to? Me or yourself?" Michael woke in a cold sweat surrounded by darkness. The sheets were wadded into a mass of rough wool and smooth cotton around his waist. He fumbled for his watch and focused on the digital display. 1800 hours, six in the evening. He'd slept longer than he'd remembered ever sleeping. The dream, if he could truly call it that left him chilled and shaky. He could dismiss the dream as only a dream or take it to heart as a dire warning. He couldn't fail. Wearily, wearier than any vampire should ever rise, he threw his feet over the bed and leaned heavily on his elbows. In the distance, echoing along empty stairwells from the floor above, he heard strands of Christmas music filtering down. Christmas music? He quickly showered and dressed. After the grim message from his dreams, he could do with a little merriment. Bianca stretched across the luxurious leather sofa the color of good, rich crème and watched the festivities around her. She thought the humans rushed the holidays because their lives were so short and they always felt as if any moment their time might expire. Wrong. The date on the calendar was mid-November and her highrise, the secret lair of her Guardians, the most lethal force in the city, was decked out like December twenty-fifth was tomorrow. Then again, Thanksgiving was a holiday that most of her young Guardians associated with eating, and it wasn't like any of them were going to have turkey and dressing on the menu anytime soon. The sight of some of her most lethal warriors puzzling over a malfunctioning string of Christmas lights was almost comical. These were her best and they hadn't thought to plug in the lights to test them before they covered a fifteen-foot spruce in thousands of lights that were supposed to twinkle at the flip of a switch. Embarrassing, really, really embarrassing. Pine boughs draped over the mantle of a blazing fireplace. Sickeningly sappy Christmas music droned from the speakers of her high tech sound system, automatically putting her in a foul mood. The nauseating smell of pine, vanilla, cinnamon, and good cheer clogged her sinuses. Gaily wrapped gifts were piled high beneath a tree that would not light. Bulbs glimmered dully from branches devoid of illumination. Paper Santa Claus cut outs smiled blankly from their dark green perches on the tree. Silver strands of tinsel clung to her woolen pants from static electricity. She wanted to puke. She pasted a smile on her face and pretended to enjoy herself. Watching the men and women under her command war with the errant Christmas tree in their communal living space instead of with the bigger enemy at large on the streets. Idly, she ran her fingers through the head full of golden curls draped over her thigh. The man had made a fine meal. Dazed and confused, he stared up from her lap with adoring, vacant eyes the color of bluebells in springtime. His skin was warm, sleek as silk, and tan, very tan. He smiled contentedly up at her. A hint of white teeth glittered behind full lips meant for pleasure. His body was lean and hard, athletic from hours spent at the gym. His skin bronzed from hours at a tanning salon. His hair, a foamy mass of silky strands with pale blond streaks woven throughout the gold, from hours in the most exclusive salon in the city. A pair of silk pajama pants, black as night graced his narrow hips. They were snug, bulging between his thighs to show her just exactly how happy he was to have his head in her lap. She resisted the desire to pat his head and tell him he was a Good Boy like one would an obedient dog. There was a fine line between having a ready stock of fresh O negative and keeping a human as a pet. Maybe, just maybe, she'd crossed it with him. There wasn't anything this male wouldn't do for her, including bleed at her request. He'd fetch her slippers. Scratch her itch. Extend his neck. Whatever she wanted. He really was a Good Boy and for a pet, if that's what she wanted to call him, he had a pretty easy life. Bleed a little. Look handsome for her. Fulfill her every whim. Not a bad deal, considering the lifestyle in which she indulged him. When he got to old for her or she grew bored, she'd trade him in for a new model. But, even in his old age, he'd be of use. A meal was a meal and damned hard to come by these days. He'd be just as happy with another as with her. The tread of heavy boots clomped across the highly polished parquet inlaid floors behind her. She had a living, golden Adonis in her lap. What she really wanted was the dark, brooding vampire glaring at her from across the room. Impatiently, she shooed away her bronzed plaything with a wave of her hand and glanced over her shoulder at Michael. His glowering stare showed his apparent distaste at her choice of meals. She hadn't broken any laws. There wasn't a thing he could do to outwardly protest. With a nod of his chin to acknowledge her, he stomped into her private rooms to wait. She took her time, following behind. He stood in front of the heavy antique desk that used to belong to Carter. Quietly, almost languidly, she closed the door behind her watching the snug fit of his black leather across the wide expanse of his shoulders. "I take it we have unfinished business?" Wasn't that the understatement of the year! Whatever business they had was unfinished because it had never really began. The only time he sought her out in her private rooms was when he had business. Her bed was draped in luxurious satins behind the closed door to her left. They could engage in a multitude of pleasures, if only he'd give just an inch. But, with him it was always, business, business, and more business. Michael was rattled. Jealousy at the sight of that mere boy lounging in Bianca's lap, staring at her with worshipful eyes was enough to light the kindling of his jealousy to a blazing inferno. He didn't smell the scent of sex, but that didn't keep the beast from roaring in his head. Bianca was calm and collected, almost icy. She was dressed in a wool pantsuit of winter white. The jacket was cut low enough to show more than just a hint of her ample breasts so cozily nestled in the folds of crimson lace at the deep V. The pants clung to her buttocks like a lover's hand as she walked past and took a seat casually in the leather chair behind the desk. Tendrils of sleek black curls graced the supple curve of her neck. Michael could almost feel the spill of her hair torn loose from that tight French twist she was so famous for on his fingers. Her feet were dainty in the three inch spiked heels. He could imagine how those heels would feel digging into his naked backside as he pumped into her. Quickly he tamped down on the errant thoughts. The thoughts were as dangerous as the woman seated in front of him. He'd come here to pump her, for information, not for pleasure. "I had a dream." Bianca sighed and reclined back in her chair. Michael had interrupted her for this? To tell her he had a dream? "How entertaining. Do tell." The ends of his hair were still damp from the shower. They curled around the tight neckline of the t-shirt stretched over bulging muscles. She'd love to grasp at those damp locks of hair and pull his mouth to hers in a kiss. She stayed planted in her seat while the tension built and built around them. "You have to tell me everything you know about O'Sullivan. Anything that might help us to capture him." Michael said in an almost pleading voice. Bianca was unfazed by the wall of muscle towering over her. He wore his usual black leather pants and his assortment of weaponry. He didn't need them here. He had the only weapon he needed against her. Morality, his precious morality. She blinked up at him with those sapphire blue eyes of hers. Non-pulsed by the urgency of his question. If anyone knew how dangerous O'Sullivan could be it should be her. He'd almost killed her with his blades. Why was she protecting him? "Bianca, why are you protecting him? What is he to you?" Bianca considered Michael's question. His morality could be her undoing. If she confessed her hand in his scheme, not her hand, but her reluctance to act, she'd be just as guilty as Eric and subject to the same penalties. Michael was of pure birth. Predestined in a way, for his role as a Son. Her beginnings weren't quite so humble and she had no destiny but the one she made for herself. "Do you think Carter is the only vampire Eric ever spawned? Michael, surely you've figured it out for yourself by now." "Figured out what?" Michael asked. What connection hadn't he made between O'Sullivan and Bianca that he should have? He didn't have patience for this cryptic shit today. The Guardians were holding hands singing Christmas carols by the fireside while the city, maybe the whole world, went to hell in a hand basket. He needed to be out on the streets looking for O'Sullivan, not playing guess the dreaded dark secret with her. Bianca chuckled bitterly. The tidbit of information she was about to divulge could explain away her subterfuge when it came to O'Sullivan. "He's my maker." "Shit." Michael dragged his hand through his hair and blew out a breath of sheer exhaustion. O'Sullivan was no one he'd want to call father. He understood her omission of this piece of the puzzle. Bianca had more than a handful of secrets to hide. She was linked to Eric much the way he was linked to the Great Father and his brothers. Eric whispered in her head. If he were close enough, she'd feel the call of his power. If he died, the death might take her down with it. If he were found guilty, so might she. "Indeed," Bianca said plainly. "How did it happen?" Michael asked. He sank into the chair on the other side of the desk. He wanted to comfort her. Hold her in his arms and whisper that everything would be ok. He couldn't. Protecting her, if he could, might be the death of him. Bianca smiled bitterly. Now he was interested in her origins. He'd never asked before. Now they mattered. "This is a long story." "I'm listening," Michael said. Bianca shot him a strained smile that failed to come anywhere close to reaching her eyes. "As you already know, Eric is older than most of us. Nobody knows who made him or what the circumstances were of his birth. The only thing anyone knows is that they've regretted the day he came across their paths. The same goes for me. 1608 was not a good year. It was my last year as a human." Bianca swirled in her chair, lost to a memory of a time that no longer existed. But, in her mind, it was as real as ever. "Pairs...even then she was a wonder of the known world. I was a girl, not more than eighteen when I traveled her streets in gilded carriages." She chuckled lightly, "You couldn't begin to imagine the life my father had in store for me...me his only daughter. To say I was pampered and spoiled was mild. I had an entire entourage of servants to tend to my every whim. I was the apple of my father's eye. Nothing was denied me. My father was rich with ties to the crown. Good breeding and carefully made acquaintances ensured my position in the courts. Many a young royal sought my hand in marriage. "I followed my father's advice to the letter. Suitors dueled for my hand only to have it denied them. I taunted and teased, dangled a most delectable fruit just out of their reach. And for what you ask? Simple. Why be the wife of a duke when I could be the wife of a king? A queen. Life at court was good. Decadent. Money flowed like wine in those days. The rich fed off the poor. No one felt guilty about it, not like in today's society. That was just the way life was. "Gentlemen sought to capture my attentions, but it was a man, a dark man with hazel eyes and mysterious ways that finally captured me. Can you guess who he was, Michael?" Bianca didn't pause for his answer. She went on with her story. A Taste of Dawn "Of course, I didn't know what was hidden beneath all the finery of dress. No one did. The world was a younger place back then. Vampires were the concoction of superstitious villagers. I should have known better. I went for a walk one night, after the house had settled in. The summer was unusually hot and my bedclothes sweltering. I only meant to venture out long enough to steal the brush of a cool breeze against my skin and there he was. Bathed in moonlight, Eric O'Sullivan our mysterious visitor from the north. I thought he meant to seduce me into his bed when he took my hand and led me to private chambers." She shook her head in dismay. "I was a young girl, still in the bloom of womanhood and curious, so terribly curious. I went, like a lamb to the slaughter, I went." Michael gripped the arms of his chair until the antique wood groaned in protest. "Did he touch you?" The thought of O'Sullivan molesting a young girl, claiming her innocence for his own sickened him. Bianca grinned woodenly. "He wasn't interested in my body, Michael. Only what he thought I could do for him. He meant to use me to get to the crown. No king would want anything less than pure in his bed. He left my virtue intact that night and in all his tender mercies, stole my soul instead." She glanced down at the blotter pad on her desk, avoiding Michael's horrified stare. "I would have rather he raped me and left me for dead than what he did to me that night." "Bastard," Michael muttered under his breath. Bianca's body healed, regenerated cell by cell to repair whatever damage had been inflicted. The body didn't discriminate as to if the injury was desired or not. Bianca was still a virgin. Sex was a punishment. One of the few pleasures a vampire had in this long life had been robbed from her. Every time she took a lover, the suffering Eric inflicted on her, happened over and over again. "I will kill him." Bianca smiled coldly at the man meaning to champion the cause of her suffering. "Ironic isn't it?" She picked up a Christmas themed snow globe that some well meaning Guardian had left on her desk in a vain attempt at spreading holiday cheer and turned it over in her hands. Particles of glitter sparkled as they gently floated in the water. "I was with Eric, for a time. I called him master. The French Revolution changed all of that. It seemed a virgin princess was no longer a desirable commodity. He abandoned me and sailed to America, hungry for the bounty of her promise. I found myself without a home, in a country devastated by war, and a family who could no longer recall my name. "I traveled here and there across the whole of Europe. It seemed one war was ending just as another was beginning. After decades of scurrying from one place to another, watching war and poverty decimate everything it touched. I grew weary of the Old Country. I booked passage on a ship bound for New York. Here, I made my own home, my own family, and I call myself master. America truly is a land made up of milk and honey and I have drank deeply of her vein." "After everything that O'Sullivan has done, why won't you help us?" Michael ground in frustration. His angst was two fold. He wanted to kill O'Sullivan for so little as harming a hair on Bianca's head. And for the fact that he nor any other man could touch her without hurting her. He could never be with her without causing her pain. Bianca cocked her head to the side and studied Michael. He took her story to a much deeper level than she anticipated. She couldn't understand it. He'd listened to her words, but failed to hear most of them. He was stuck on some trivial key point and hadn't moved on to the hidden meaning of what she was trying to tell him. "I have helped you. If you find the thing O'Sullivan craves most. You will find O'Sullivan. He is a hunter, a parasite, and he's never too far from his prey." Michael narrowed his eyes. What was the one thing O'Sullivan wanted more than anything else? The wolves. "Son of a bitch! He's hiding right under our noses!" Bianca leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the desk. Careful not to scratch the polished surface with her spiked heels. Her work here was done. She still felt the prickling sensation of Eric's power along her skin. He wasn't close enough to be a threat to her or her Guardians, but he was close enough that the shit might splatter on her city when it finally hit the fan. She watched Michael chatter on his cell phone. Relaying the precious information she'd divulged as he paced the confines of her office. Michael snapped his phone shut and clicked it back onto its holder on his hip. His brothers were already working the town and the surrounding counties. They'd have O'Sullivan soon enough. He could leave the city now. Return to his home and help his brothers in the search. David and Nora, although independent agents and for all intents and purposes, strays, worked the streets and the schools. No trace of pink, the terrible drug that was a mix of dried vampire blood and glitter, was left in the city. He had no real reason to stay. Except for one, the woman, casually lounging in her chair, watching him with sapphire colored eyes. Would Michael leave her now? He and his precious brothers had everything but the pieces put into place, thanks to her. He had no real reason to stay, nothing more to accomplish within the boundaries of her territory. How would she feel when he left? She was hardly the kind of girl that would pine away for him in his absence. Her pride wouldn't allow her to stoop to such levels. She couldn't help him anymore than she already had. In time, the Sons would have come to the same conclusion. Coolly, her defenses already building, she watched the warrior stop in his tracks and turn to face her. Probably, Michael hoped he could soften the blow of his departure with a kind word or heartfelt thanks. She didn't need it. He could save his breath and his words. She had no use for them. Michael sank back into his chair and stared across the desk at Bianca. Thanks weren't words enough for what she'd done for the cause. Thanks weren't a true reflection of his feelings for her. Maybe the Great Father was right when he said he was deceiving himself. He did love her. But how, when they were so very different, could they be together and did she even want him the same way he wanted her? Bianca studied Michael, curious about his hesitation. Why he stood in front of the door, but delayed using it. She feigned disinterest. Focused her attention on her nails instead of on him. She watched him though. Wondering what was going through that thick skull of his. She thought the moment he realized the threat was closer to home he'd be gone in a blaze of black leather, eager for the glory of apprehending public enemy number one instead of tarrying on her doorstep. Michael popped his jaw and looked beyond the cool stare of the woman, deep into her heart. She was hard as nails on the outside, could be ruthless, calculating, and colder than an arctic winter. If the centuries had taught her anything, it was how to hide who she really was. The woman she'd been so long ago. Vampires, despite popular public misconceptions, had relatively short life spans. Not because their bodies failed, but because their hearts did. Losses piled on top of the other, layered higher and higher, until the weight of them finally crushed whatever traces of humanity remained. Watching and hiding, while the world around them changed day by day and yet remained inexorably the same could drive an old vampire, and sometimes a young one to the point of madness. The weaker ones of his species did not survive. Especially ones that had this life thrust upon them instead of being given a choice. Death was a gift, a reprieve from the pain and burden of living on, and on, and on. Bianca was relatively old, not the oldest he'd ever met, but close. And she'd hung on to herself, the very essence of who she was, even though it was buried under layers of self-protecting defenses. The more he thought about her. The more he thought about leaving. The more reluctant his determination to go became. Michael didn't need a reason to stay. All that was necessary was to do so. He was a Son to the core. The religion embedded so deeply into the root of his being that he could not imagine his life without it. The goddess and her mission gave him purpose. It was enough to keep him going, but it wasn't everything. He needed more. That was what the Great Father had been trying to tell him. It was okay for him to remain behind, if he chose to do so. It was okay to be a warrior and search for that missing piece of himself. He'd thought that his mate would be a soft woman, demure and eager to please. He imagined her as a soothing balm for his soul. Bianca was none of those things. She had passion to spare. She loved life and all the finer things in it. There was nothing demure or soft about her. Sometimes, she grated him to the core. Always tempting him, teasing him, flaunting the rules at him as she danced on the border of breaking them. She was untamed, unmanageable, and exactly perfect for him. She didn't share his fundamental core of beliefs. She only believed in what her hands touched, what her eyes saw, and what her ears heard. There were so many fine women who would make a more suitable mate for him. He didn't want any of them. He only wanted her. "I think I should stay in the city for a while. O'Sullivan might make his way back here once he learns the Sons and the wolves are on his trail." Bianca blinked up at him from her place behind her desk. A part of her was happy that Michael had decided to stay. She had a thousand questions to ask. A thousand different scenarios rolled through her mind as to why. Every one of them had to do with her feelings about him. Was he staying for her? Could she really be enough to lure him away from his precious woods and his brothers? "My Guardians can handle the city. If Eric thinks to find his way back here, we're ready for him." She wasn't letting Michael out of this so gracefully. If he had ulterior motives for staying behind, motives beyond Eric. She wasn't going to let him out of admitting them so easily. He needed to speak up. Tell her the truth or he was going to find himself outside of her city's borders flat on his ass. Hope was something she didn't have time for. Michael was a breath of fresh air to her. He didn't lie. He'd given his blood and almost gave his life to protect her. She'd done the same for him. They were bound on an elemental level. She sensed that his words although not lies, weren't truths, at least not the whole truth, either. From the very beginning, she'd felt an irresistible attraction to Michael. Like a magnet to steel she was drawn to the rugged, utterly masculine, essence of him. There was nothing refined or worldly about Michael. He had no ulterior motives. Using a person for gain wasn't a part of his programming. She'd made it her mission to tempt him into her bed. At first her interest had been for a quick, although satisfying romp. Now though, she wasn't so sure if he caved to her advances, she'd ever want to let him go. When it happened, she wasn't sure, but at some point, her heart opened up a tiny crack, and he'd tempted her, not with his body, but with his soul. With him, she could see forever. Too bad, she wasn't a forever kind of girl. She lived in the moment, took everything it gave her, and then moved on. He didn't fit into the bigger plans she had for her future. Yet, although she knew this, she still wanted to make a place for him in her life. Where he would fit, perfectly. "It isn't the abilities of your Guardians that I doubt. O'Sullivan is a crafty bastard. Many would be tempted to come to his aid for just a taste of what he offers. Especially those who did not choose this life." "There are no traitors in my midst," Bianca interjected. Eric boasted that he could enable a vampire the ability to walk in the daylight without pain, eat real food without suffering for days, and worst of all, an offer so tempting that even she almost fell for it. To bring life into the world, true life, not this shadowy existence through the sharing of blood, but real life through birth. He believed, he actually believed, that werewolf blood was the key to regaining what had been lost. Yeah, many of her followers would be tempted to sell their souls for the chance, not to be human, but to be something so close to it. Who wouldn't? Temptation didn't equal automatic betrayal. Her Guardians were better than that. Outraged, Bianca jumped to her feet, determined to escort Michael to the door. He used the guise of possibilities for an excuse to stay. He believed a traitor might be in her camp while his own remained pristine. That choice was enough to keep his brothers in the fold. Hardly. O'Sullivan's offer could tempt anyone. Not even the Sons were exempt from a turncoat in their midst. If Michael had so much faith in his goddess and in his brothers, he could go back to them. She'd had enough. If he couldn't admit his real reason for staying, she was booting him to the curb, after she kicked his ass for not being honest with her. Michael reacted out of pure instinct. This pissed off woman coming at him with claws and fangs was hardly a challenge. She wasn't going to hurt him, not really. She was honked off. He should have chosen a better excuse to stay behind. He shouldn't have verbalized his doubts about her Guardians. They'd shown nothing but respect and loyalty to her and to the greater cause. He shouldn't have reacted like the warrior he was. Instincts honed, battle hardened, he dropped her, pinning her against the plush carpet on her back. He hovered over her and stared down. Her dainty wrists trapped beneath one of his massive hands. She wriggled against him, hips rising and falling, thrusting against his pelvis in fury, nipples grazing along the fabric of his t-shirt, breaths panting over his skin, and damn, if it didn't feel good. "You pampas ass!" Bianca hissed in rage. He'd moved so fast she hadn't seen it. Her own fury had blinded her and made her stupid. Stupider than she already was when it came to the stoic warrior hovering over her. Her hips and torso rose off the carpet beneath his weight in an attempt to try to throw him. His grip was tight on her wrists, pinning her down. His chest pressed against hers. The heat of him and the friction of silk against the cotton of his t-shirt sent ripples of searing pleasure down her spine. She didn't want to be turned on by him. Shamed by the effect even the slightest contact with this warrior had on her, she fought harder to win her freedom. Michael worked his hips between her thighs and pressed is body firmly against hers. That gentle pressure pushed him to insanity for more body to body contact. Her hair had escaped the tight French twist and fell in springy tendrils of raven silk around her shoulders. Her lips were pursed in outrage as he ran his free hand along the curve of her waist, up the swell of her breast, and along the gentle slope of her jaw to grip her chin. Instinct had other uses than the battlefield, but wasn't this just another battlefield? The attraction between them, wasn't it another war of a different kind? His lips fell on hers. Her mouth was soft and warm, so inviting, a lush paradise for his tongue to explore. He felt her suck in a breath and draw it deep into her lungs. She was stiff beneath him, still fighting, always fighting. His little fighter. He took full advantage of the slight parting of her lips and dipped his tongue inside for a taste. She tasted of a rich, decadent treat, so sweet and delicious, addicting. His tongue glided along hers, twisting and tangling. He traced the sharp points of her fangs with the tip, teasing and tempting her. She was still fighting him. Doing her best to hold on to her rage, battling her body's response to his onslaught. She was losing, her limbs limp, body soft, back arching, and breaths quickening, with his every touch, every invasion, and every liberty he took with her willing flesh. Bianca melted into the heat of the warrior pressed against her. Michael's kiss tantalized every nerve ending in her body. His grip on her was loose, more of a gesture than force in its hold. She could easily break free. Only, she didn't want to. She wanted more of him. Her hips arched into the rock hardness of him. His body was on board with the program. Stiff with desire, he moaned into her mouth, his tongue dancing wildly against hers, desperate for more. She was willing to give it, give all of herself, as soon as she extracted a reluctant confession from him. The truth, not excuses, as to why he wanted to stay. If there were any weapon she was best at wielding it was this, her feminine wiles. She had them. She knew how to use them. "Why are you staying?" she panted. His thumb traced delicious, little circles over the hard achy points of her nipple. She arched her back for more, more contact, more pressure, more of him. His touch was a distraction meant to throw her off track. "Truth." Her fingers worked at the tight stretch of the t-shirt beneath them, tugging and pulling the fabric free from his waist and up over the taught muscles of his back. His flesh was so warm to the touch. "Please," she panted. Michael felt the breath go out of him, as she twisted and felled him onto his back. Her weight against the swelling in his groin was torture, sweet, sweet torment. His t-shirt was wound like a restraint around his wrists. As if that'd stop him from touching her, stroking her, torturing her, if he wanted to. She stared down at him from her perch. Her thighs wrapped tightly around his hips, eyes glittering with more light than a thousand precious gems with the heat of her desire. There could be no lies, no deceit, even if it were the slightest of omission, between them. He had hundreds of excuses, but only one truth. "For you." The truth of Michael's words washed over her like a welcoming warm springtime breeze after a long winter's freeze. She trembled beneath the weight of his truth. He hadn't lied to her to get her in the sack. She was not bedding him because she had anything to gain from the passionate exchange. The truth was out there laid bare and naked. His heart exposed for her to do with what she would. Her hands rested on the hot expanse of his smooth chest. What was her truth? What admission would she confess to him? What was she willing to risk for the one thing she'd never known till now? Her truth? Simple and yet so difficult, she loved him. Love wove an intricate design around her. A world where possibilities existed and the improbable conquered. Her admission mingled with his taste on her lips. Heady and decadent, the words rolled on her tongue, ready to spill forth. Falling in love was easy, natural and right. Staying in love would be difficult. A world of beliefs and circumstance stretched between them like a deep chasm. One wrong step and they'd both plummet to their deaths in the darkness waiting ever so patiently to swallow them up. Michael saw the hesitancy behind the gem like glitter in her eyes. She couldn't hide what her body told him. In its softness and scent, its flesh yielding and writhing beneath his touch. She wanted him. Her mouth fought to form words she was terrified to speak. "Make love to me, woman." Bianca towered over him, staring down at the hungry gleam in his eyes. They had gone black as midnight, eager and wanting. She could float in their depths. Let them pull her under till she suffocated in their starless night, and not give a damn. A million what ifs roared like thunder in her mind. Her psyche was desperately scrambling for reasons. Survival instincts clamored to protect her from the worst enemy she'd ever faced. Herself. A Taste of Dawn Michael didn't ask her for sex. He wanted something more. Always, with him, there was something more. Stretched beneath her, resolute, determination set in his jaw, he waited for her to answer. He didn't coax her with his hands, his mouth, the warm brush of his lips against hers, or the thrust of his tongue. He was hard as steel between her thighs. Even his arousal, pressing against her, was patient, holding its breath, waiting for her to decide. "Yes," she answered. She could have run. She could have turned him away. She could have spent a lifetime debating his answers to every question in her mind. She could have let this moment pass between them. But, once this moment was gone, she'd lose it forever and she'd lose the man along with it. If she ordered him to go, he would. If she ordered him to never speak or think of her again, he would. His honor wouldn't allow him to beg. Whatever she asked. He'd do. Now, she was asking for what they both wanted. Offering the truth they both knew could pull them together or drive them apart. "Yes." Michael silenced the question her pretty little mouth posed to ask with a demanding kiss. He'd kiss her senseless, leave her breathless, conquer her with his mouth and tongue, and relish in the sweetness of his victory between her thighs. On his back, there was plenty to explore with his hands. He ran his palms over the lush curve of her backside. He roamed the decadent bend of her hips with his fingertips. Traveled along the soft plane of her stomach with his hands and scaled the peaks of her perfect breasts with his thumbs, eliciting a throaty moan of approval from her throat. She hovered over him, body rocking against his hardness, driving him to the point of madness from the wonderful sensation of friction she created. The rise and fall of her breasts beneath his fingertips with each deep sigh, soft moan, and desperate gasp for more was potent, inching him closer and closer to losing himself in the wonder that was her. He wanted it all, her body, and definitely, beyond any shadow of a doubt, her heart. Impatient with the clothing that came between him and skin to skin contact with her body, he fumbled with buttons, struggled with zippers, and clawed like a hungry beast, tearing the finest of silks and laces in his urgency to free her. He thought the torn designer clothes might be a deal breaker. "Buy you more," he rasped, pawing his way through the leftover scraps of satin that came between him and the heaven of her hilly breasts. Bianca threw back her head. The sensation of male heat seared through her sensitized nerve endings till they jangled insanely down her spine. Impatient with all the fabric between them, she ripped the silks and laces free, revealing her body for his inspection. Oh, and inspect her he did, thoroughly. He tasted and stroked her breasts, hungrily, like a starving man at a buffet. With his hands busy at the waistband of her wool slacks, his mouth suckled and lapped at one peak and then the other. She was wet for him, needed him more than she needed air to breathe. She wanted him now. The wool shredded beneath her fingertips like paper. "Have pants... dozens and dozens more," she gritted, barely coherent as he traced the curve of her hip with a fingertips and plunged deep into the soft down between her thighs. Rising up on her knees to give him better access, she threw her head back and released a gasp of sheer pleasure, as he hit a particularly sensitive area. Watching his woman, yes HIS woman, on her knees, naked as the day she was born, stripping him of his weapons was sexy as hell. She handled his blades with respect, almost reverence. His cock did a happy dance, jerking eagerly, at the wayward thought of how, if she could handle an inanimate object constructed for death with such care, how she would handle the huge erection pressed painfully against the zipper of his leather pants. At this rate, he wasn't going to last to the main event. Down big boy...wait for it...he thought, grinding his molars. The pile of weaponry on the floor was getting bigger and bigger as she worked her way down to remove first one heavy boot and then the other. Her sleek hair ended in a curling spill of black decadence over her shoulders. Her lips curved in a wicked smile as she glanced at him over the bare curve of her shoulder. Eager to help, he lifted his hips and sucked in a breath at the feel of soft, well worn leather, and the hot brush of her fingers, working it down his thighs and calves. Finally naked. Finally with his woman. Finally! Finally! Finally! His body was a roaring torrent of need and desire. Her mouth was hot, lips soft as silk, kissing and tasting, maddeningly taking her time, working their way up his calves, pausing to tickle the sensitive skin behind his knees, lapping up his thighs with her tongue, and stroking at his erection with the casual brush of a fingertip. WANT WOMAN NOW! His body cried out at the slight contact of her touch. He always thought he'd meet his death on the battlefield. Not at the hand of this woman who could kill him out of sheer anticipation. He stifled a whimper, almost a plea, as she worked him with her palm and her mouth. "Not going to last long...," he ground out. "Need you...," he begged. Her mouth was hot satin on his hardness, endearingly soft, terrifyingly good...so good. Instinct took him to places he'd never known existed. He struggled to maintain control. Had to make it good for her. Had to go slow. Gentle. So gentle for her. She was experienced, that he knew. But, for all intensive purposes, she was a virgin. Had to be careful. Couldn't hurt her. Needed her to feel good. "Bianca..." Her name was both a curse and a begging plea on his lips. Bianca writhed beneath Michael's touch. She liked to be in control of her men. She liked to direct the action. Command the when and how of the act. With Michael, she wanted to be out of control. Hand the reins to him and let him take her to places that she'd never gone before. The carpet was soft beneath her back. Tickling wisps of fabric teased at her skin, making it all the more sensitive. He was straining against the force of his own desire. Trying desperately to be careful of her. He didn't need to be. She'd long ago discovered the pleasure behind the pain of her permanent condition. Forever a virgin, Eric meant to take even the simplest of pleasures away from her. She gave him no such satisfaction. The pain of a lover filling her was only temporary. With proper preparation, the pain could be good...so good. Michael's hands roamed over her body. His fingers sought out the secret places. Soft lips placed gentle kisses on them. She moaned in delight as he stroked her arousal with his mouth and tongue. His fingers gently probed her depths, mindful, ever careful and reluctant to cause her the slightest sensation of pain. She was close, so close. She wanted him inside of her, buried to the hilt, when she came. "Please, need you." Bianca's voice was soft and pleading, her breaths ragged and uncontrolled. She bucked against his fingers in wild abandon. Her hips lifted and brought the sweetness of her taste to his lips in her eagerness. "Hurt you," he uttered. She clawed at his back with those sharp, perfectly polished nails of hers and dragged them through his hair, fingers pulling at his scalp to bring his body along the curve of hers. Nestled between the heat of her thighs, he paused at her entrance. One push would take him to paradise and send her to hell. A half-roar loosed from between his lips as she dug those needle sharp nails into the meat of his backside, gripping his hips with her thighs. She wanted him inside of her. He understood. He wanted inside of her too. He was not a mindless bruit. He would not hurt her. Ever. Once she came and he was sure she was stretched and slick, he'd hazard to enter her. Her pleasure meant more to him than his own. He could wait. Bianca ground her hips against the hard steel of his erection. He was big. Didn't matter. Pain was a state of mind as much as a condition of the body. Eric had forced her on kings and noblemen, bruits that rutted like beasts and it had hurt. With a willing lover, someone who gave as much as they took, the temporary pain was more of an inconvenience than a burden. Short lived in the wash of pleasure. Michael wouldn't hurt her. In her mind she was where she needed to be to enjoy, only enjoy. "Worth it," she breathed in a voice heady with want. "Won't hurt." "Will," Michael grunted. Bianca tightened her grip on his backside and positioned her hips against him, nudging him into her. He tensed. She was so warm, so tight, so very tight, every instinct roared at the intense feel of her. Her body yielded to him. He tried to hold back, take it slowly with her. He was too far gone for slow. Too drunk with desire to take his time. He pushed in, cursing himself for causing the frown of pain to cloud the beauty of her face as he dove into her. Bianca tensed at the invasion. Stretching her, he filled her completely. Soon, the sting faded to waves of pleasure, just as she knew it would. She kissed the hard line of regret from his lips and rocked against him. She used her body to reassure him. There was no need to hold back, no need for careful, that she felt nothing but sheer joy from him being inside of her. She was so close. He was right there with her. Tight, sleek walls made of silk gripped him, milking him as orgasm overtook them both. He pumped inside of her, drowning in her heat. The scent of her blood and desire mingled in the air. Her virginity would come back every time they made love. He'd cause her this pain every time. He hated that, for her and for himself. He hated that she'd never know pleasure without pain as a preamble and that he'd be the one to cause her that pain, over and over again. Bianca drew in a deep breath of air and released it in a cry of passion. The orgasm washed over her, sending her senses reeling, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, the sensation of pleasure ripped through her. Michael was there with her, lost to the waves of his release, filling her with the milky hot jets of his orgasm. As pleasurable as the act was, and damn, it was good. Something was missing, their joy not completely at the apex of its zenith. She'd given him her body. He already owned her heart and soul. He had yet to possess her completely though. She tipped her head to the side, baring an expanse of pale, tender flesh. He was hardening inside of her. Instinctively, shifting his hips to press into her. Another wave of unfulfilled desire overtook her, as he drove his fangs into her neck, drinking her down, one mouthful at a time. Michael moaned in pleasure and roared in absolute abandon as he took possession of his woman. Her tiny fangs found purchase in the meat of his neck. The knowledge that she was drinking from him, swallowing every bit of his essence, filled him with male pride. She marked him as hers just as absolutely as he'd marked her as his. They were joined, body and soul through flesh and blood. From this point on, his life was hers to do with what she would and hers was his. There was no more individual, just the pair of them, together, bound, forever. Bianca dozed atop of a mound of soft pillows, embedded in the sleek warmth of her man and the smooth glide of satin sheets. At some point during their night together, they'd migrated to the privacy and intimate setting of her bedroom. She pushed her body up on the pillows and stared down at the perfection of Michael's chiseled features. She'd bound him to her and herself to him without as much as a twinge of doubt. The world was an uncertain place. The future always changed, forever set in motion by a series of choices. Some made in the heat of passion. Some planned with careful forethought. Each choice affecting another, like dominoes toppling, when one fell, so did the rest. She could give herself a hell of a headache, just thinking about the possible futures that stretched before them. Where would they live? What kinds of sacrifices and compromises would they have to make to be together? She had no answers. Neither did Michael. Only questions that time in the slow tick of the clock, would answer when it was damned good and ready. Michael awoke, blinking awake to find Bianca staring at him, lost to her thoughts. He could hear the gentle whisper of her mind, blended in with the voices of his brothers. Her voice was a harmony to theirs. She complemented them and she completed him. He'd waited lifetimes to find her and now that he had her, his mate, the woman he'd always dreamed of and never expected to find. No matter what, he was never letting her go. "Love you." Bianca smiled, a blissful curve on her lips. "Love you too."