Embrace the Mystery (The Blood Rose 3)

The woman was still on him, only this time she lay completely over him, snoring gently.

He cradled her with one arm. She wore a skirt of some kind and a blouse. A bra.

He wore nothing and the sheet that had once covered him hung around his knees.

Shifting slightly, the woman snuggled closer, tilting her face into his neck. She found the skin at his throat and slowly started nibbling, then she began to suck.

His c**k loved what she was doing, but somehow the whole thing seemed wrong. If only his brain would pull together and work properly, then he could figure this out, like who she was, where he was.

He looked up at the ceiling and saw a beautiful painting of a woman with wings, an angel perhaps, in flight. The colors were navy and a violet or purple. He wasn’t sure about the names for the different hues.

She seemed happy and somehow the painting made him feel at ease, which he supposed was the purpose, if someone was in what he could only interpret as a kind of healing facility. Glancing around, he recognized fae-paraphernalia, some scented candles, a blood-feeding tube.

At that, he frowned. He needed to feed again, but given the severity of his injuries, the woman must have already donated through the tube.

And just like that, the images coalesced. He recalled flying through Batya’s art gallery, having been thrown through the window. He remembered a painting of a snowfield, and another in a meadow littered with the unique camping tents that his troll brigade used in the mountains. There were other images like streams and maybe a river, of a trail through a fall forest, almost brilliant orange, and burning or maybe it was just the colors of fire.

Batya’s paintings of course, remembered in vivid detail.

Batya. Yes.

He held her in his arms, the woman who suckled his neck softly in her slumbers. He squeezed her and his c**k moved against her abdomen.

He drifted his nose, as he’d been wanting to for weeks, along the line of her cheek. He dragged in air and there it was, the scent he now associated with her, an erotic, flowery fragrance, like something found in the tropics.

For a moment, he thought about moving his h*ps on a downward trajectory, until he could position himself between her legs. He knew her sleep-style a little, since the first time he’d brought her to ecstasy, she’d barely been awake, just coming out of her slumbers. Very wicked of him, but it had been worth it.

On the other hand, he didn’t feel right about invading her like this. Seduction was one thing, but taking advantage of a vulnerable female was not his style, despite that she sucked his neck and now rolled her h*ps into his with matching need.

He groaned then squeezed her waist, shaking her just a little. He needed her to wake up, to stop moving on him.

She cooed in her half-sleep. “Quinlan?”

“I’m here.”

“Oh, that voice of yours, as deep as the ocean, and you smell so good, like wood-smoke.”

“I know what you mean.”

She swirled her tongue over his neck.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“But you taste so good.”

“Open your eyes.”

“They are open.”

“No, they’re not.”

She chuckled softly. “Yes, they are.”

He drew back just enough to look at her, wondering if he was mistaken, but her eyes were fully closed. Yep, still half-slumbering and he knew he could take her. Was ever a woman more accessible at this point in her sleep than Batya?

“Wake up.” He spoke in a sharp tone, which snapped her eyes open.

“Quinlan? What are you--” She broke the question off mid-sentence and blinked several times. “What am I doing here?”

He chuckled softly. “It’s okay.”

“Did you pull me on top of you? Quinlan, is that you pressing into my belly?”

“The answer to your first question is, no, I did not pull you on top of me like this. I awoke in just this position. Several times in fact, and each time you were sprawled over me, but this is your latest arrangement.” He cleared his throat. “As for the second question, yes, that’s me pressing into your abdomen.”

She didn’t move for a very long moment, though her limbs had stiffened slightly. She just kept looking at him, and blinking rapidly. He couldn’t imagine her thoughts and he had no idea what she would address first.

But a faint smile made him hopeful as she said, “Well, the rumors about you are exactly spot on, but I won’t say more about that.”

He smiled. He knew what she meant and damn him for loving that she’d just said it. His c**k twitched appreciatively.

She drew back a little and searched his face. “How do you feel? Any pain? You’d been fried to a crisp and had a bunch of broken bones when we brought you in here.”

“I’m fine. Just a little soreness here and there, but I’ll need to feed soon.”

At that, she relaxed against him and offered her wrist. “Go ahead. Take what you need.”

Quinlan stared at her for a good long moment. He’d expected a lot of things, but not Batya offering up her arm. He knew she was generous: she had a free-clinic and had brought in some kind of ex-pat to help her out, a woman who lived in an apartment on her premises.

He also knew he was the last man who deserved that kind of generosity. He had no illusions about who he was. He’d spent his life trying to atone for his father’s death.

But that Batya would donate so freely when he’d been harassing her for weeks about needing to get into her bed, crushed something inside his chest.

He didn’t press her either about finding another doneuse. To refuse her wrist would have been tacky after all she’d done for him.

When she curled her arm so that he could take her wrist at a good angle, and without giving it too much thought, he lowered his fangs and struck to the exact, practiced depth and began to suck down the sweetest tasting blood, flowery and erotic, just as he’d imagined.

However, given that she still lay on top of him, his other problem suddenly got worse.

* * * * * * * * *

Batya realized her mistake when she watched Quinlan’s eyes roll back in his head with his first draw at her wrist. An involuntary flex of his h*ps followed so that she felt his c**k glide up her lower abdomen in one long erotic stroke.

Sweet Goddess, I’m sorry, Batya, but you don’t know what you taste like. Don’t worry. Just ignore my response.

But Batya couldn’t. He’d been working her up for weeks. He’d brought her to cl**ax several times with just his vibration and he looked so good close up, with his golden skin and sexy crooked nose, his full lips plundering her wrist.