Page 171 of Claimed

Rowan’s hesitation is small but meaningful. ‘I think it’s too late for that.’

‘I can move mountains to hide you again.’

She turns then, pale eyes sharp and almost fond. ‘I think you need to move mountains for your love instead.’

Valentin looks at me and the whole room seems to warm. ‘Oh, I plan to,’ he says.

My heart does something embarrassing. ‘If you think I’m going to swoon in public,’ I mutter, then frown, ‘you would be right.’

Rowan’s mouth twitches.

I love you, little hunter.

Same, vampire. Same.

She leaves soon after, taking her secrets and terrible posture of authority with her. Valentin disappears into a call with Aaron about Chicago, because Rafe Navarro’s silence has begun to feel like a storm building over another city. I stay at the window, watching moonlight glaze the Tower’s glass exterior and the city glitter far below.

New York is mine now.

That still sounds absurd.

Also true.

The city hums beneath my skin through the bond, through Valentin, through every ward that now recognises me as his mate and something close to queen. I’ve fought monsters, helped kill Marek in Netheris, made an enemy of Selphine for eternity, become immortal, and still occasionally miss coffee at two in the afternoon like a normal person.

Life is strange.

Death was stranger.

Love remains the strangest of all.

The door opens behind me.

I feel Valentin before I turn. Then I feel something else.

His shock. His awe. Terror and… elation.

All of it slams through the bond so powerfully I stand too quickly, one hand gripping the windowsill.

He’s in the doorway, utterly still in customary black shirt and dark trousers.

It’s our very first meeting, but in reverse. Tonight I stand at the window while he lingers by the door, silver eyes wide and blazing. His face has gone almost reverent, and that scares me more than any snarl ever could.

‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What happened?’

He doesn’t answer at once. His gaze drops.

To my body. My stomach.

Then his eyes close, and when they open again, they are all silver. ‘Your scent, tesoro.’

I groan, because panic needs somewhere to go. ‘Please, for the love of all unholy things, not that again.’

He moves so fast the room blurs.

Then he is in front of me. On his knees.

Valentin Moretti, Don of New York, ancient vampire, one of the Five Blood, the most arrogant creature ever to make tenderness look lethal, drops to his knees before me and places both hands at my hips with such care my breath disappears.