Page 1 of The Vampire's Lament
THE ART OF DESIRE
CHAPTER ONE
PARIS
Why did reason always spoil a good time?
As much as I wanted King Silvanus to keep his lips on mine, a rational voice in my head told me to stop. To break away, to come back to the reality of being a vampire executioner. You know, hate the fanged fucker, not stick my tongue down his throat.
But he tastes so good, a different voice whined.
Citrussy and sweet and warm, wrapped in a promise of more to come, the melding of our flesh making my toes curl and my soul smile.
I want him.
I want him.
I want him.
The vampire king moaned softly into my mouth, his hand sliding down to my hip. His touch was electric, a force of power and wonder. My knees threatened to give out, my body alight with desire, ready for him to take me. Again, but minus him killing me this time.
Yeah, I liked that.
Our bodies pressed together against the chill of the ocean air, losing ourselves in the desire, anticipation crackling between us. Yeah. We were alone on Hawthorn Isle, away from the recent chaos of our lives in a pocket of solitude on a lonely island.
Would he take me? Would he lead me into the house behind him, throw me down on a bed, and ravage my body? The longer I kissed him, the more I wanted him to, a desperate yearning hot between my legs.
He killed you,the miserable voice whispered again.He made you his thrall and snapped your neck and?—
I broke away from him, stepping back with the delicious vibration of his kiss on my lips. Immediately, my spirit dimmed from being left out in the cold, his body heat a warm blanket.
He also saved my life…
The damn battle of voices was pissing me off. But yeah, Silvanus had stopped Aidan from killing me in that tower.
Aidan. My deity, the thing I’d prayed to, poured so much faith and hope into. He was no longer a source of joy, only disgust.
A disgust that wrung out my soul like a dirty dish cloth.
How could this be real?
Cold air licked at me, a craving for Silvanus’s amazing body heat getting me twitching with need.
“Fuck,” I groaned, clutching the base of my throat. My head spun like a tornado, my knees about to give out.
“Are you alright?” he asked in his rich, sensual baritone.
I tried averting my gaze, but his scarlet eyes snared me, keeping my attention on him.
Just get in me, bloodsucker.
By Aidan, he was so handsome. A true work of art, carved from muscle and gorgeous pale-beige skin that always seemed to glisten with its own special glow.
Look at him. Look at that perfectly chiseled face, those kissable plump lips, those sharp cheekbones, and that sexy, tousled raven-black hair. Damn, the way it fell seductively over his eyes drove me crazy.
Why aren’t you in me yet?
My eyes wandered down his body. He wore black leather trousers and a red leather jacket, which hung open to reveal his muscular chest and abs. A plane of tight flesh my fingers wanted to explore.
