Bound by Flames

My fangs scored his tongue, flavoring our kiss with the coppery taste of his blood. I sucked it from his tongue while rubbing myself against the hard length that jutted along my thigh. His grip tightened, and when he pulled my hips hard against his, I arched upward in blind, blatant need.

His first thrust made me cry out at the rapturous burn within. The sensations were so intense; I would’ve called them pain if I didn’t claw at his back for more. The rest of the cries I made were of pure ecstasy, and they went on until dawn stole my consciousness away.

The bedroom drapes were open when I awoke, showing the rosy shades of a late afternoon Romanian sky. At least it wasn’t all the way dark yet. My progress fighting against the anesthetic effects of the sun was improving.

The side of the bed where Vlad slept was empty, of course. He’d beaten the sun’s control over him centuries ago. Usually, he made a point to be in the bedroom when I woke up, but not today. With a new prisoner in the dungeons, I couldn’t say I was surprised. Vlad might doubt that the Khal Drogo-clad vampire knew where Szilagyi was, but he’d still burn him within an inch of his life to find out. Due diligence, he’d once called it.

A covered mug was on the nightstand closest to me, the warm, rich scent of blood emanating from it. I forced myself to grasp it slowly instead of snatching it up like I wanted to. For one, I was trying to get full control over my hunger, so falling on it like an animal would defeat the purpose. For another, I’d smash the mug to smithereens if I didn’t treat it with utmost gentleness and I wanted to drink the blood. Not wear it.

After I finished my liquid breakfast, something shiny caught my eye on the nightstand. Right, my wedding ring. I’d taken it off the night before because the wide gold band with its jeweled dragon would’ve outed me immediately as Leila Dalton Dracul. This was the ring Vlad had worn when he was prince of Wallachia, now called Romania. I’d thought it was the most romantic thing he’d done by resizing the ancient royal heirloom to be my wedding ring, but when I reached out to put it back on my hand, I stiffened.

I ran my right hand over the ring until the jewels that made up the tiny dragon cut my fingers, yet nothing changed. The ring felt like cold, lifeless metal, and it shouldn’t have. Three out of the four Wallachian princes it had belonged to had been murdered while wearing it, so the ring should’ve throbbed with essence imprints, yet I felt nothing. It was as if the ancient heirloom were dead.

Only one thing would make an object feel that way after I touched it with my right hand. I was already sure, but I went over to the fireplace and rammed my hand into a glowing log anyway. The fire caressed my skin instead of burning it—the way it would to only one other vampire in the world.

Shock gave way to anger, then anger to fury. At some point since I left the ballroom last night, Vlad must have coated me with a massive dose of his aura. I hadn’t noticed him doing that, of course, just like I hadn’t noticed when he did it the first time. Back then, I’d been focused on a mountain exploding all around me. This time, passion had claimed my full attention.

It couldn’t have been accidental. Not with the incredible control Vlad had over his power. He hadn’t made love to me until daybreak merely because he’d been overwhelmed by desire. He’d also done it to distract me!

That knowledge wiped away my warm memories of the previous evening as thoroughly as the ring felt wiped of its former wearers’ essences. As we both knew, coating me in his aura wouldn’t only render me fireproof; it would also render me psychic-proof. Now I couldn’t do anything to help him track down Szilagyi or his associates. With one imperious move, Vlad had made a Magic 8 Ball more supernaturally intuitive than me.

“Damn you!” I yelled, betrayal making my voice echo throughout the bedroom. “Why?”

“You know why,” his calm voice said from behind me.

I whirled, seeing Vlad in the farthest corner of the bedroom. He stood so still that he almost blended into the tall furniture next to him. For a moment, I wondered if he’d been there the whole time, then I noticed the bedroom door slowly closing behind him.

“Despite your promise, you won’t be more careful next time,” he went on, his burnished copper gaze unwavering. “In many ways, you are wise beyond your years, but your impatience makes you reckless. You already died once when an enemy used your recklessness and overconfidence in your abilities against you. I won’t allow the same thing to happen again.”

I went over to him, anger causing sparks to shoot from my right hand. No matter what happened, nothing seemed to be able to smother that ability.

“I know I screwed up last night, but you can’t just decide to strip me of my psychic powers, Vlad! They’ve saved my life and yours before, plus in the twenty-first century, husband is no longer synonymous with master.”

When I’d almost reached him, he grabbed my hands, the currents that were so dangerous to everyone else absorbing harmlessly into his skin. Being fireproof had more than one advantage.

“I’m very aware that I’m not your master. If one of my people disobeyed me the way you did, they’d spend a month on the pole learning to regret it.”

Anger gave way to incredulity. “Are you threatening to impale me?”

He yanked me closer, his iron grip in stark contrast to the brush of his lips against my forehead.

“On the contrary, I’m reminding you that it will never happen.” I tried to wrench away and his other hand snapped up, tightening on my hair until I couldn’t look away from his relentlessly piercing gaze. “I would never harm you, but until you’ve learned to use your abilities wisely, I will continue to strip you of them as fast as they return.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">