Soft As Moonlight
Publisher: Amira Press
Length: Novella
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Lycae Wolfe Trevlian returns to New Orleans to appease the vampyren harboring a grudge against his kin. The agreement is simple – destroy the creature killing off their brethren and the death of their Master is forgiven.
Dhampir Arden Moran has waited decades to avenge the murder of her friend. There is just one problem – the Lycae sent to intercept her.
One touch tells Wolfe that Arden is his mate. When vampyren hire assassins to finish the job he didn't complete, he is forced to become an Alpha strong enough to protect her - as well as the pack that needs him.
Excerpt
Something incredibly soft brushed against the tip of Arden’s nose. She shifted on the warm, lumpy padding beneath her head in an attempt to avoid the caress, lifting her hand and swatting the offending object with her fingers. When she felt the contact once more, she slid off the hard pillow, shifting away from the disturbance keeping her from sleep.
A delectable woodsy scent lined her nostrils, the fragrance so heady and alluring it burned the back of her throat. Her hunger emerged, enflaming the miserable fire churning in the pit of her belly and extending the cotton dryness in her mouth.
How long had it been since she’d fed?
She struggled to remember, logic and time evading her, unable to think coherently. Nothing mattered but the delicious ambrosia that sang to her—taunting the canines that extended and throbbed, yearning for appeasement. A decent feeding would keep her sated for days. And the blood calling to her was unlike any she’d tasted before.
Potent, masculine . . .
Powerful.
Her tongue darted out, lapping sultry bare skin. The hot and incredibly smooth flesh quivered at the first salty taste, pressing closer to her eager lips, and she detected the strong, steady drumming of a heartbeat just beneath.
Eyes closed, she moved upward, following the promise of the richest blood imaginable. The silky skin beneath her lips changed, growing softer as she found the vulnerable hollow of the throat. A rhythmic throbbing met her mouth, the pulse increasing as she bathed the area with her tongue. She pressed her palms against the sinewy chest beneath her hands, sliding her body up and over.
A throaty groan of encouragement rumbled against her ear, husky and deep. Large hands grasped her waist firmly, guiding her closer, and she straddled the hips that flattened beneath her. The pounding of the heartbeat against her lips thrummed in her ears, growing louder, until the pain in her fangs became unbearable.
Sharp incisors scored the flesh cleanly, delving past the giving softness of skin and the thin veil of muscle, piercing the large vein beneath. The blood that coated her tongue was everything it promised to be—delicious, rich, and unbelievably addictive—and riding behind the intense fulfillment of that first encompassing swallow was something most unexpected.
She ground against the pelvis beneath her, craving more than the blood offered. The lust was tangible, existing in the hands that groped the hard muscle beneath her fingers. Her body burned with the need for release, her breasts heavy, and her nipples sensitive. Her suddenly damp sex clenched spastically, the very center of her being empty and aching.
“Christ,” a hoarse voice croaked, and the fingers along her hips squeezed roughly, raking across the fleshy portion of her ass.
Arden swallowed once, then twice, a third time. Each swallow provided the strength she didn’t realize she lacked. The rush was consuming, overwhelming reason.
Have to stop.
Her greedy tongue and lips refused to obey and followed the lead of the practiced hands that now trailed along her torso. Her breasts were cupped and palmed, nipples brushed so softly she wanted to scream. She pressed her aching core against the hot skin beneath her, undulating as she drank deeply.
Erotic images of being taken from behind on hands and knees until she screamed from pleasure flashed in her mind. Her skin flushed in excitement and anticipation, lips crowding the wound that continued to gush and pour. The liquid was so hot and thick, so entirely male. It incensed her, causing a sultry purr of arousal to echo inside her skull.
I will give myself over to the lust completely, drink until the hunger is no more and the need in my body is sated. For once, I will experience the forbidden.
Dear God, no.
Stories of bloodlust vanquished those of pleasure, and she tore her teeth away from the throat flush to her lips, lurching away from the body beneath her as she opened her eyes and came to awareness. The light that greeted her was blinding and her retinas burned painfully. Wincing, she rushed to a shaded corner and crouched, covering her eyes with her hand and focusing with her ears and nose. She couldn’t see danger. She could only hear and smell it.
The fresh blood inside her stomach assisted her senses, each sound crisp and distinct, but the scent baffled her.
The entire space smelled of Greyson, that fresh scent of tree, wood, grass, and earth. But the person she’d fed from, while most definitely Lycae, was not the one she trusted. His smell was headier, positively provocative.
The shifting of a mattress and the rustle of sheets arrived first. Then, she heard the slow approach of footsteps. She felt for her daggers, and her heart sank when she learned she was defenseless. Her muscles rippled as she tensed and braced herself, prepared to fight blind.
“Easy,” a male voice, laden with desire, murmured. “Take it easy.”
“Where am I?” she demanded tersely.
He moved closer, voice soothing. “Somewhere safe.”
“Who are you?”
“Wolfe Trevlian.”
“Trevlian.” She yelped in panic and tried to pry her eyes open, hissing in agony when the light prickled and burned the surface, and she slammed them closed. Composing herself somewhat, she asked anxiously, “Any relation to Adam Trevlian?”
He chuckled and answered, “He’s my cousin.”
She pressed her hand into her face, grateful for the small shield it provided.
Could things possibly get worse? She was in a strange place—with a Lycae related to the former Alpha who presided over the renowned Bacchus pack—without her weapons.
|
