Peter paused before his booted foot touched the floor of the car.
“Korol’ Krovi,” Caleb growled, fire gleaming from his blue eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”
Korol’ Krovi, a title he no longer wanted, one Caleb used in its entirety as some type of admonishment. Given a chance, he would forget it entirely. It didn’t matter that he was King of the Blood, successor to his father. He didn’t have a coven to rule, people of the blood to follow. He was merely the leader of a pack of wolves, with Caleb at his side. But, if Peter waited, his Second had no choice but to do so as well.
“Silence, Caleb.” Immediately, Caleb submitted. It was there in the arch of his graceful tanned neck, the downward shift of his massive shoulders, the appealing scent that wafted from him, tangy and sweet. “He said I was pretty. How can I resist?”
And, how could he? The man whose flesh he craved to sink his fingers into had complimented him.
Why not at least hear what he has to say?
Peter watched as his pursuer closed in, his size formidable. He wanted to go to him, to stand close and inhale him. Who was this stranger that in moments made him want things he’d given up on ever having?
An awareness rose within him, slid along his psyche with curiosity while another uncurled as if awakening from sleep.
Peter enjoyed the silkiness of Remi’s voice, the way the sounds and undulations teased along his cock. This was new for him, these feelings, helpless against the desire within.
His wolf listened more carefully, more hungrily, whimpering for more. His nelapsi, the vampire side of him, push to the foreground. His eye teeth lowered, eager to take a bite, a nibble, a sip. It wouldn’t be the first time he was aware of its presence, the darkness that floated just below the surface. Nelapsi were feared among all vampires, brutal, deadly and without mercy. But, Peter’s differences did not stop the powerful need from rising to the forefront.
The feeling played along the nerve endings of his flesh, the pulse of his blood causing his veins to quiver in anticipation. Peter’s breath quickened as both entities within gathered strength.
Kristoff’s warnings from the past echoed in the background, but he chose to ignore them more in favor of savoring Remi’s racing heartbeat, immersing himself in the heady scent of arousal that rose in the air. He wouldn’t force another to become his balance, place on their shoulders responsibilities no person should carry. The tuning fork for his soul, there was no telling how his power would affect his Supruga, or if they would survive the energy that would course through them.
It was too much to think of right now when all he wanted, all he needed was to be closer to Remi.
“Peter,” Caleb whispered, loud enough for only Peter to hear.
How long had he and Remi been staring at each other?
“Stand down, Caleb,” Peter commanded softly. Stepping away from his Second, he drew closer to Remi. He was delightful, this one. The color of his skin was dark and creamy, holding an appeal that Peter wouldn’t—couldn’t—resist.
He pulsed with an energy that Peter imagined sampling. His blood. Would it be spicy? Would all that spirit, that vitality flavor it, make him ache for more?
Remi had his attention, those beautiful eyes on him alone.
“You take my breath away. You’re beautiful, but it’s so much more than that.” Remi moved closer. “And,” he continued roughly, “I need to know why I feel like you’re a part of my soul.”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know.” Was this a smart, testing boundaries that only he was aware existed? Too dazzled by the man, he’d been drawn to him like an eager two-year-old to a lightning bug, but neither of them was innocent, especially him. He turned back to the car.
About Deja Black:
DEJA BLACK had fantasies of men loving men, men who felt strongly, loved hard, and needed a hero. Then one great day she came across a book and discovered the world of m/m writing, encountered others who shared her obsession as much as she did, and found a world where she could not only be accepted for the lives and loves she envisioned, but she could create them too. So why not? Why not take the stories she would write and throw away as a teenager, grow them, dream them, and make them a reality where she could know her own characters, let them live their story, and make them real for someone else? And she did. Now, with the support of her hubby and some intense time management, she is learning to balance her family of two children at home and the many others she teaches each and every day with her passion of writing what she loves to read.
Where to find Deja Black: