"Couldn't wait?" His voice was husky, his eyes dark. He was already ripping off his clothes, his shaft bulging against the material of his pants.

She shook her head.

Wroth had known his Myst was a pagan, but she'd never truly looked it until he found her pleasuring herself in his bed in black hose, garters and satin, legs spread with abandon. Her glorious red hair haloed out along the pillow and her hand was in her panties delicately stroking her sex.

She hadn't stopped at his arrival.

"I couldn't have dreamed you'd be like this. I believe I'm dreaming now."

She arched her back.

"Were you thinking of me?" Say yes… He didn't think he'd ever wanted to hear anything so badly.

Her whiskey voice was as sexy as her body. "Yes, Wroth."

He groaned. "What were you thinking of?"

"Of you drinking me while you were inside me," she said, moaning the last words.

Craving his bite too? "A dream."

She licked her lips. "In your dream do you make me wait for you much longer?"

"You want this freely?" He reached to unbuckle his belt, surprised to find how difficult it had become. Finally, he just tore it apart. Her hips rolled in reaction.

"Yes."

"No games?"

"No," she panted, "just need you inside me."

"Your body wants to be fucked?"

She gasped, her fingers teasing quicker. "Yes."

"By me?"

"Yes," she moaned.

He'd anticipated it would take months of planning to wear her down, until she truly wanted him, and they wouldn't have to play at commands and power.

Yet here she was stroking herself in his bed as she awaited his return. In his bed, waiting. It was too impossible, and he grew suspicious. "Convince me."

Her gaze flickered over his face, her eyelids heavy as she slowly, sensuously drew her fingers away from herself. She rose, sauntered to the wall, then tugged aside the flimsy string of her wisp of underwear.

Without a word, she simply spread her legs and leaned forward until her forearms rested against the wall. When the position raised her ass and bared her lush sex, he rasped, "You make a compelling argument." He was overwhelmed by the sight of her flesh waiting to be filled and by the fact that she began this, had masturbated to thoughts of him fucking her…

He kicked his boots off, ripping his clothing away, then stood behind her. He slipped his thumb into her tightness, briefly closing his eyes to find her so luscious and slick. Her entire body was trembling, which affected him so much. With a groan he replaced his thumb with one, then two fingers. "In my dream I do fuck you. But I start slowly, feeding my cock into you inch by inch. When you're dripping wet and ready, I fuck you with all the strength in my body."

With a little cry, she bent down more, raising her ass up higher. "What do I do?" she breathed.

"You come again and again from no command, just from pleasure."

He spread her, grasped himself, then fought not to plunge into her when the head touched her dewy heat. He shuddered violently from the battle, but wouldn't reward this gift from her by hurting her tight little sheath.

Yet the head was barely inside her when lightning exploded outside—because she was already coming, clawing furrows into the wall, gasping, "Wroth, now…please!"

"I am…" he groaned, clutching her hips, straining his every muscle to enter her slowly, to make this good for her—

His eyes widened when he felt her claws sink into his ass to yank him into her.

"Hard," she growled in a throaty voice.

"Don't hurt," he choked out, then with an answering growl, he thrust into her, forcing his cock through the squeezing spasms of her orgasm as though through a tightened fist. Even when he was seated deeply, she continued to climax around him. He could have stilled and let her body milk him.

But he wanted to fuck her. To take her so fiercely she would forget other men. To brand her as his own. He clenched her hips, withdrew, then rocked into her, hitting the end of her sex.

"Yes!" she cried.

"Can you know what that does to me?" he rasped, grinding his hips, stirring her. She moaned, hanging on to the wall. "To see you finger yourself to thoughts of me?" He withdrew completely then fell into her with another brutal thrust.

"Ah Wroth…yes, oh, God…" She came again suddenly, the manor shaking from the lightning. "Drink," she sobbed to his disbelief. "Oh, God, please drink from me."

He ripped the lace to bare her breasts, then covered them with his hands, fingers pinching and tugging her nipples as he pulled her to his chest.

"You want my bite?"

"Yes," she moaned.

"As much as you want my cock?"

"Yes! Wroth, put everything in me, yes, yes, yes," she repeated, panting between her words, shoving and circling her hips back into him. His fangs pierced her skin just as he thrust.

She cupped his head to her neck hard so he wouldn't stop—then came again, moaning his name so that he felt her words as he bit her. He didn't stop, just snarled into her skin as he ejaculated, mindlessly grinding against her, hands squeezing her heavy breasts. Her blood scorched him inside as he pumped his come into her in wave after wave.

Afterward, when thought returned, he caught her up to his chest because she was unsteady, but then so was he. He withdrew slowly, then scooped her into his arms, crossing to the bed.

When he gazed down at her, he saw her eyes were silver and her lips were curling into a smile.

He stared, still disbelieving. "Like that, did you?"

She nodded.

"Want more?" he asked as he tossed her on the bed.

In answer, she went to her knees, pulled aside her hair and offered him the unbitten side of her neck.

His voice was ragged with lust. "That wasn't quite what I meant, but we can work something out…"

The more hours toward dawn that they spent licking, fucking and both of them biting, the more overwhelming the mind-boggling pleasure—the less he could believe that this was his Bride, happily—no, aggressively—partaking.

And at the end of the night, he stared down at her in puzzlement. He didn't know which facet of her he liked better. The siren in black satin that made his cock and fangs ache or this angel with her bright red hair spread across his pillow—who made his chest ache.

She brushed the backs of her fingers along his face. "Wroth, I want this to grow naturally between us without the chain," she whispered up to him. "Vow you'll give it back in two weeks time. Just give us a chance, give me a chance to want this freely."

He wanted to believe in her—and in himself, that he could convince her to stay. He'd already wanted to command her to close her eyes and open her palms, and then see her face once he'd poured the chain into them.

Two weeks to win her. "Yes, milaya, I vow it."

Nothing in his human life or his vampire existence had prepared him for living with a Valkyrie.

Myst had boundless energy, she was powerful, and she exuded an almost otherworldly sensuality that set his blood on fire. Each night he traced her to different locations to make love to her. He'd had her against the foot of a pyramid, gazed in awe as she rode him on a moonlit beach in Greece, licked her sex beneath a redwood until she begged for mercy…

Throughout those nights, once he and Myst had worked the edge off their need, they talked for hours and he learned more about her and her kind. He'd given her the cross she'd admired at Oblak, but when the jewels glinted in their room's gaslight, she'd seemed to go into a trance. Finally, he'd covered it, and once she'd shaken herself, she'd admitted, "We all inherited Freya's acquisitiveness. Shining things, jewels and gems…We can't tear our gaze away without training for years and sudden glittering is sometimes irresistible."