And when she’d taken him in her mouth . . . holy hell, it’d been nothing less than sensual ecstasy.
Now he was perched on his side with Sally lying next to him, her fingers lightly tracing the dragon tattoo that marked him as a clan chief.
Yet another first.
He hid a rueful smile.
His image of a loner wasn’t just an act. He didn’t do “cuddling.” Hell, unless he was in the middle of sex, he didn’t want anyone touching him. Period.
This shared moment was even more astonishing than the tiny quakes of pleasure that continued to vibrate through him.
Why wasn’t he pulling away to leave her alone on the narrow cot?
It was his usual modus operandi.
Instead he held himself perfectly still, afraid the slightest movement might break the spell.
“Was it terrible?” she murmured, the brush of her fingers down his ribs sending sparks of euphoria through him.
“Was what terrible?”
“The battles of Durotriges.”
He shrugged. Terrible didn’t begin to describe the gladiator-style games. The weeks he’d been locked in the arena had passed in a blur of blood and pain and death. But in many ways it’d been a simple time.
You lived or died.
No in between.
“It’s never fun to kill a worthy adversary.”
“Then why did you enter them?”
He lowered his lashes, hiding his bleak stab of fury at the memory of his former clan chief, Gunnar, and the female vampire who’d ruined him.
The selfish bitch’s only power had been her beauty, but she’d managed to use it to turn Gunnar from being a strong, influential leader of a clan that was feared by all, to a mindless fool who spent so much time pandering to her lust that his people had lost everything.
But it wasn’t just Gunnar’s self-destruction that caused the raw regret that refused to heal no matter how many years had passed.
He’d deliberately entered the battles of Durotriges to challenge his former friend as chief, but while he was gone Gunnar’s lair had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground.
Or at least that was the story he’d been given.
He’d never been able to shake the suspicion that his beloved sire, Fala, had been responsible.
The female vampire might not have her memories of life as a human, but she’d clung to her beliefs as a wise woman, searching for mystic portents in nature. Including an omen that she’d read the night Roke was turned.
She’d been convinced that it meant that Roke would one day be a great leader.
After Gunnar’s death he couldn’t help but wonder if the ancient vampire had taken matters into her own hands.
It was the only way to be certain that he wouldn’t lose the challenge to become chief.
Aware that Sally was beginning to frown at his continued silence, Roke struggled to speak.
This was not a subject he discussed.
With anyone.
“The previous clan chief . . . was difficult.”
She studied his clenched expression, no doubt sensing his instinctive retreat.
“Cruel?”
“Worse.” His voice was cold, flat, his rare sense of peace shattered by his unwelcome memories. “He was indifferent.”
There was a pause, as if she was struggling between the knowledge she was touching a raw nerve and curiosity.
Unfortunately, curiosity won out.
“How could that be worse?”
His jaw clenched, his thoughts veering toward the sheet of paper he kept locked in his lair. On it were written what had been lost after Gunnar’s mating.
The silver and gold mines that had been the source of their wealth.
The acres of territory that had been claimed by rival clans.
The weaker members who’d been stolen from their lairs and sold to slavers.
He stood at his sire’s grave and read from the list, promising her that her sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain. He would regain everything they’d lost.
“Vampires are by nature savage creatures.” He pointed out the obvious. “Without a strong leader a clan splits apart or becomes victims of more aggressive demons.”
She grimaced. He didn’t have to explain what happened to the victims.
“Why did the previous chief bother forming a clan if he didn’t want to be a leader?”
“He did, at first.” Roke had still been a fledgling when his sire had joined Gunnar’s clan, but he’d heard enough horror stories to realize how fortunate he was to be trained by the honorable warrior. “He was a rare clan chief who was willing to kick the ass of anyone who got out of line, but was fair in his judgment.”
“What happened?”
“He mated.”
She blinked at the clipped explanation. “That’s it?”
“The female was jealous of the time that Gunnar devoted to his people.”
She studied his tight expression. “You didn’t like her?”
The temperature dropped at the mere thought of the bitch.
“I hated her for destroying a vampire I once considered my friend.”
Sally shivered. “What happened to him?”
He glanced down to where her fingers continued to trace the dragon tattoo, his body savoring her gentle touch even as he twitched with the need to pull away.
The dark memories were crowding through his mind, a sharp reminder of the people who depended on him. The people who were once again left without a chief, despite his promises.
With a sudden shove he was off the bed and pulling on his jeans.
“That’s not my story to tell,” he rasped. “You should rest.”
There was a sharp, startled silence followed by the sound of Sally turning on her side and yanking the covers over her naked body.
“Got it.”
He lifted his gaze to study the rigid line of her back visible through the thin blanket.
“Sally.”
“I’m tired, Roke.”
And pissed, he silently added, ruefully using his powers to extinguish the candles.
Combined with a large dollop of hurt.
Dammit. He hadn’t meant to . . .
What?
Lure her into a sense of intimacy and then slam the door in her face?
He grimaced, moving to take a position where he could keep watch over Sally while making sure nothing tried to slip through the entrance. The spells should be enough to repel any intruder, but he was still bothered by the strange demon who’d attacked them.
There’d been something off about the creature and until he knew exactly what the demon was capable of, he wasn’t about to let down his guard.
Not when his mate depended on his protection.
Keeping his gaze trained on the female who was rapidly turning his well-ordered life into chaos, Roke leaned against the cement wall, allowing the day to creep past as he leashed his painful memories and tucked them into the back of his mind.
They’d done enough damage, thank you very fucking much.
The sun was setting when Sally at last stirred, looking adorable with her gorgeous hair tumbled around her flushed face and her eyes velvet dark with lingering sleep.
She sat up, the blanket dipping down to give a peek of smooth satin skin and the gentle swell of a breast.
Roke clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to cross the room and pull her into his arms.
Would she actually turn him into a toad? He didn’t think so, but now didn’t seem the time to push her.
As if to emphasize the point, her head swiveled to discover him standing near the waist-high counter, her expression instantly smoothing to a cool mask.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, wrapping the blanket tight around her body.
He nodded his head toward the water that he’d poured into a large pan and placed on a kerosene heater.
“I thought you would prefer to wash in hot water.”