It was her effect on him—her effect on any man. Maybe it was pheromones, maybe it was only her cursed power making sure it could complete itself. Nikolai had known what she was the first time he smelled her.
Or so he said.
“Now,” he said, leaning down just a little, whispering in her ear. “You disobeyed me. You tossed my last gift to you away like a piece of trash. You also acted as a complete fool, dropping your defenses and working the Art while you sat in the back of a police car. And I saw where you found the Power for that trick, my sweet.” He was murmuring, and Selene shut her eyes. Her entire body shook now, straining against his, recognizing that here was something it needed. Something that could take the ache away. “I wonder how you’re feeling.”
He took a step, and let her move too, back toward the bedroom. Only the nightlight in the hall broke the darkness of her apartment, but that would present no difficulty to him. Not to a Nichtvren, who could see in complete dark.
“Well?” He moved, his legs bumping hers.
Selene’s body betrayed her. Her hips jerked forward and her hands came up, sliding along his arms to find his shoulders and clenching, trying to pull him forward. Her lips parted, and she sobbed in a breath behind his hand. Two.
I hate myself. It was the only clear thought in the straining welter of sensation she’d become, her curse awake and alive under her skin. I hate him and I hate myself. She tasted salt, and kissed his palm, her lips softening, unable to help herself.
“I see,” he continued, pitilessly. “The succubus needs her food.”
That’s not what I am! She wanted to scream, but his hand was still over her mouth.
“You are the only tantraiiken of adult age to walk the earth freely for five hundred years, and you do so because of my protection.” He moved her back a step at a time, toward the bedroom. “If I were cruel, dear one, sweet Selene, I’d chain you in a stone cell and let you suffer. Let you burn for a little while, until you better appreciated me and the liberty I allow you.” Then he gave a bitter little laugh, and Selene went liquid against him, relieved. She knew that sound.
He would give her what she needed. He would make it stop.
Then she could do what she had to do. Find out who had done…that…to Danny.
“Please,” she mouthed against his palm, before she could stop herself. “Nikolai.”
I am such a whore. Loathing filled her mouth like spilled wine, added another complex layer to the straining need pounding in her blood.
“Hush.” He pushed her through the bedroom door, kicked it shut. She flinched, shaking so hard she couldn’t walk, and he pushed her down on the bed. She landed hard, her head flung back, her back arching. The covers were still thrown back.
Danny, the part of her that wasn’t crazed with need sobbed. Danny. Oh, my God. My brother is dead, and what am I doing? God help me.
He stood there, watching her shake against the cotton sheets. Selene bit her lower lip. That was a mistake—the pain now fed the loop of sensation, fear and pain and lust driving in a circle that wrung shuddering little sounds from her.
Finally, he shed his coat, draping it over the chair set by the closet. Selene closed her eyes, twisting, her hips rising, falling back down. Her clothes were impossibly hot, confining, scraping against suddenly sensitive skin.
He knelt down, and worked her damp boots off, and her socks. Touched the inside of her ankle with a fingertip, under the damp cuff of her jeans. The touch sent a spark racing up her leg, through her entire body. “Selene.” Why did he have to sound so human, so soft and reasonable? “I wanted to save you that sight.”
“My brother,” she whispered, then moaned as the bed accepted Nikolai’s weight next to her. He propped himself up on one elbow and used the other hand to pop the button on her waistband. I’m going to kill whoever did that to him. Just get this over with so I can go on. She drew in a sobbing breath, her hips lifting helplessly.
“I would rather have you remember him alive.” Nikolai slowly unzipped her jeans. The sound of the zipper was loud in the dark stillness of her bedroom. Tears leaked out between Selene’s eyelids, and her sweater was drenched with sweat.
Addicted to this, but I have no choice. I never have a choice. The need would get worse and worse, a tantraiiken’s curse burning through her bones, until she was little more than an animal. She’d gone that far sometimes, when she was young and thought she could rule her own body, at least.
Before she’d learned how to use the curse for her own benefit. And before she’d met him. Since she’d come to Nikolai’s notice, she hadn’t needed to feed her curse in alleys or cheap hotel rooms. Even if she could forget it, he reminded her often enough. She owed him.
Owed, and was owned by. There wasn’t much of a difference where Nichtvren were concerned.
“Nikolai…” It was a long despairing moan. It wouldn’t take long before she started to beg. She’d drained her batteries and worked herself into a frenzy.
He slid his hand into her jeans, settling the heel of his palm against her mound. His fingers slipped down, and made a slight beckoning motion. Selene arched, her breath hissing in. But then, torture of tortures, he stopped.
“Why disobey me?” His breath was warm against her cheek. “Why, Selene? You leave me no choice.”
“Nikolai—” It was all she had left, the pleading. He would give her what she needed, and then she could think again, ponder, consider, plan. But how much would he make her suffer first, and how much of the suffering would she enjoy because of her traitorous body?
He took pity on her then, and made another little beckoning motion with his fingers, and another. He knew exactly what to do. It was all Selene needed, and she cried out, arching, her head tipped back and her entire body shuddering. It was like being dipped in fire, and the relief was instant.
Relief—and fresh need. She would need more. Much more. But now she could think, the first edge of her curse was blunted.
“Nikolai,” she said, when she could speak again. “You were in there, what did you see?” Give me something, you fucking suckhead. Get it, Selene? Fucking suckhead? You’re such a whore.
The image of Danny’s apartment rose in front of her eyes again, and she struggled away from Nikolai’s hand, curling into a ball, pulling her knees up while she hugged herself, making small sobbing sounds like an animal in a trap. Her wet clothes rasped uncomfortably against her skin.
Nikolai sighed again. He sounded frustrated. Good for him.
“Later, dear one. Right now you are in pain.” He sliced her sweater up the back—his claws, extended delicately, not even brushing her skin beneath the wool. Chill air met her wet skin. Then his fingers, skating down the muscles on either side of her spine. His claws were retracted, but she could still feel the strength in his hands. He pushed her hair aside—the elastic band holding her ponytail snapped—and his mouth met her nape. She shivered, curling even more tightly into herself. He stroked her shoulder, touched the two dimples down low at the small of her back.
The first edge of pain was gone, and the burning settled back into a low dull agony. Her Talent wasn’t like others, she had to fuel it with sex. It was the only thing that worked.