The Immortals After Dark 11: Dreams of a Dark Warrior

And because of Chase, Regin had been kept from Lucia. She had no idea how her sister was faring out in the world. Would Lucia be foolish-or desperate-enough to face Cruach alone?

Regin ducked her head under the water. What would she want with Chase anyway? There was no happily ever after with him. He scorned immortals. As of yesterday, he was a jobless, homeless drug addict, with a target on his back the size of the entire Lore.

And that was if he lived. If they didn't kiss or have sex. Otherwise he'd kick it before anyone in the Lore got a chance to off him-

She still ed when she sensed Chase nearing. Couldn't ignore me for long, eh, Paddy? She peered over her shoulder, found him standing at the edge of the water.

Without his cuffs. Damn it, Brandr.

Then she frowned. Chase's mien was determined, his dark brows drawn together over his blazing gray eyes.

Determined to do what?

His pul over sweater and pants seemed tighter on him. As if he'd grown over the day, which made no sense-

He grasped the bottom of that pul over to remove it. Does he think he's coming in with me?

"Pool's taken. Run along, Chase." He didn't, so she opened her mouth to deliver a caustic chew-out. The words died on her lips when he dragged the sweater over his head, revealing his flexing torso.

His scars seemed to be stretched flatter than when she'd seen them last night, as if his chest had grown. As she surveyed his torso, she found herself staring as much at his sculpted slabs of muscle as she was at the scars covering them.

Rock-hard ridges descended to the low waist of his camo pants. Her gaze dipped to his flat navel, then to his goodie trail. And lower ... She swal owed. He'd begun stiffening in those pants.

She yanked her gaze up, determined to look at anything else. Around his neck he wore dog tags, and a big, butch military watch was strapped to one brawny forearm. With the combat boots, low-slung pants, and tacticool accessories, he looked good. Even scarred, he looked better than good.

Was he gorgeous, like the original Aidan had been? No. But he was intriguing.

And right now, Chase looked like a man who knew what he wanted and who was on the cusp of taking it.

Magister Chase, the man, was ... sexy.

When he sat on a nearby boulder, pul ing up one knee to unlace a boot, that eight-pack of his rippled.

She watched with a reluctant fascination as he removed both boots.

Then he stood, his hands at the fly of his pants, pinched fingers tugging down his zipper. She was going to tell him to stop. Any second.

Shoulders back, he let the pants drop, stepping from them.

Breathe, Regin. His shaft was semihard and growing, rising from a patch of crisp black hair. Pulsing with aggressive jerks, it distended before her eyes. Behind that taut flesh, his bal s hung down, heavy but visibly tightening.

The clever and relatively young Declan Chase met two out of her three criteria.

He'd always been generously endowed, but this ... Her claws were curling for it.

Stop staring at his dick, slore.

Yet the rest of him affected her almost as much. His legs were powerful y masculine, dusted with black hair that led up to his groin. His h*ps were lean, the muscles up his sides flexing.

She was transfixed. But when he took a step closer, she snapped out of it. "Thanks for the view of your junkyard." She turned away, continuing to wash her arms. "But you'd do well to stay away from me, Magister."

"No' a magister anymore, no' one of the Order."

She shrugged. "Oh, because you've lost your instal ation?"

"I'm no' a magister anymore, because you wouldn't be a magister's woman." He strode into the water.

Chapter FORTY-FOUR

Declan edged closer.

In a way, this was like a military op. Yet never had an objective meant this much to him. And in no plan of attack before had he ever felt this much conflict within himself.

Stripping in front of her was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Storm a Cerunno nest? Routine.

Attack a demon stronghold? Child's play.

Putting himself under her scrutiny to risk certain rejection? Grueling.

He'd somehow held himself still as she'd leisurely inspected every inch of him. For some reason, he didn't think she was repulsed by the sight of him. God in heaven, maybe even the opposite. When her eyes had flickered, he'd grown hard under her gaze.

Nothing to lose, Dekko. If this didn't work, then at least he'd be freed from one of his vows to the vampire.

Her slim shoulders tensed as he eased up behind her. Heedless, he reached forward and pulled her hair off her nape. About to kiss the smooth skin above her torque, he leaned in-

She threw an elbow back, catching him in the mouth. "Don't you dare!"

As he'd hoped, that one hit wasn't enough, was only the shot that set off an avalanche. She whirled around, fist drawn back to pound his cheek.

He shook it off, swinging around to kiss her neck.

"Stop that!" She punched his mouth again. He pressed his newly bleeding lip to the other side of her neck.

"What is wrong with you?" Another hit to his face left his jaw singing.

But he merely rubbed his chin over the tip of her pointed ear. Every time she struck, he responded with a kiss or touch. "Is that supposed to hurt, Valkyrie? You hit like a wee girl."

"A wee girl!" she screamed, punching his kidney over and over, backing him toward the shore.

Never had he been so happy to take a beating. Of course, she wasn't at ful Valkyrie strength, and he was lingering on the very cusp of berserkrage.

When he tripped backward onto land, she leapt atop him, straddling his waist as she dril ed his face like a punching bag.

Instead of deflecting her hits, he grasped her perfect br**sts, groaning from the weight of them in his hands. Soft, damp flesh against his palms. Her ni**les were tight points. ... With a groan, he rocked his h*ps up beneath her.

She knocked his hands away; he let her.

"You keep ticklin' me like this, Valkyrie, and I'll think you want me to tickle back." Was she even aware they were both na**d and she was straddling him? He could feel the heat of her quim against him, slick warmth in the cool air. "I can do this all night, lass."

"You prick!" she yel ed between breaths, hammering his sternum. "Maybe I can't land a painful punch because of all the drugs in your system!"

His gaze bored into hers. "Never will touch them again," he told her, and he meant it.

"Or maybe you don't feel my hits because of all that ugly scar tissue buffering you!" She dragged her claws over the marks.

Shame fil ed him. Anger ignited. She'll never see past them. Just as he'd known.

Then his eyes narrowed with realization. "I might be ugly, Regin, but something's got your claws curling."