Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(80)
Author: Gena Showalter

Yes. Yes, he would, she thought, suddenly trying not to grin. “No, he won’t,” she lied. Are you listening, Lysander, baby?

“Bianka, tell me you don’t like him. Tell me you aren’t lusting for an angel.”

Abruptly her smile faded. This was exactly the line of questioning she’d hoped to avoid. “I’m not lusting for an angel.” Another lie.

Another pause. “I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad.”

“Mom thought Gwen’s dad was an angel and she regretted sleeping with him all these years. They’re too good. Too…different from us. Angels and Harpies are not meant to mix. Tell me you know that.”

“Of course I know it. Now, I’ve gotta go. Tell the bridezilla to go easy on you. Love you and see you soon,” she replied and hung up before Kaia could say anything else.

Despite her fear of what Lysander made her feel, Bianka wasn’t done with him. Not even close. But she’d been on his turf before and therefore at a disadvantage. If he wasn’t here, she needed to get him here. Willingly.

She’d told him to leave her alone, she thought, and that could be a problem. Except…

With a whoop, she jumped up and spun around. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. That was actually a blessing and she was smarter than she’d realized. By telling him to stay away from her, she’d surely become the forbidden fruit. Of course he was here, watching her.

Men never could do what they were told. Not even angels.

So. Easy.

Even better, she’d given him a little taste of what it was like to be with her. He would crave more. But also, she hadn’t allowed him to pleasure her. His pride would not allow her to remain in this unsatisfied state for long, while he had enjoyed such sweet completion.

And if that wasn’t the case, he wasn’t the virile warrior she thought he was and he therefore wouldn’t deserve her.

How long till he made an actual appearance? They’d only been apart half a day, but she already missed him.

Missed him. Ugh. She’d never missed a man before. Especially one who wanted to change her. One who despised what she was. One who could only be labeled enemy.

You have to avoid him. You want to sleep in his arms. You were protective of him while he fought Paris. He angered you but you didn’t kill him. And now you’re missing him? You know what this means, don’t you?

Her eyes widened, and her excitement drained. Oh, gods. She should have realized…should at least have suspected. Especially when she’d protected him, defended him.

Lysander, a goody-goody angel, was her consort.

Her knees gave out and she flopped onto the floor. As long as she’d been alive, she’d never thought to find one. Because, well, a consort was a meant-to-be husband. Some nights she’d dreamed of finding hers, yes, but she hadn’t thought it would actually happen.

Her consort. Wow.

Her family was going to flip. Not because Lysander had abducted her—they’d come to respect that—but because of what he was. More than that, she didn’t trust Lysander, would never trust him, and so could never do any actual sleeping with him.

Sex, though, she could allow. Often. Yes, yes, she could make this work, she thought, brightening. She could lure him to the dark side without letting her family know she was spending time with him. Humiliation averted!

Decided, she nodded. Lysander would be hers. In secret. And there was no better time to begin. If he was watching as she suspected, there was only one way to get him to reveal himself.

She dressed in a lacy red halter and her favorite skinny jeans and drove into town. Only reason she owned a car was because it made her appear more human. Flying kind of gave her away. Though her arms and navel were exposed, the frigid wind didn’t bother her. Chilled her, yes, but that she could deal with. She wanted Lysander to see as much of her as possible.

She parked in front of The Moose Lodge, a local diner, and strode to the front door. Because it was so early and so cold, no one was nearby. A few streetlamps illuminated her, but she wasn’t worried. She unlocked the door—she’d stolen the key from the owner months ago—and disabled the alarm.

Inside, she claimed a pecan pie from the glassed refrigerator, grabbed a fork and dug in while walking to her favorite booth. She’d done this a thousand times before.

Come out, come out, wherever you are. He wouldn’t have just left her to her evil ways without thinking to protect the world from her. Right? She wished she could feel him, at least sense him in some way. His scent perhaps, that wild, night-sky scent. But as she breathed deeply, she smelled only pecans and sugar. Still. She hadn’t sensed him when he’d snatched her from mid-free fall, so it stood to reason she wouldn’t sense him now.

Once the pie was polished off, the pan discarded and her fork licked clean, she filled a cup with Dr. Pepper. She placed a few quarters in the old jukebox and soon an erratic beat was echoing from the walls. Bianka danced around one of the tables, thrusting her hips forward and back, arching, sliding around, hands roving over her entire body.

For a moment, only a brief, sultry moment, she thought she felt hot hands replace her own, exploring her br**sts, her stomach. Thought she felt soft feathered wings envelop her, closing her in. She stilled, heart drumming in her chest. So badly she wanted to say his name, but she didn’t want to scare him away. So…what should she do? How should she—

The feeling of being surrounded evaporated completely.

Damn him!

Teeth grinding, not knowing what else to do, she exited the diner the same way she’d entered. Through the front door, as if she hadn’t a care. That door slammed behind her, the force of it nearly shaking the walls.

“You should lock up after yourself.”

He was here; he’d been watching. She’d known it! Trying not to grin, she spun around to face Lysander. The sight of him stole her breath. He was as beautiful as she remembered. His pale hair whipped in the wind, little snow crystals flying around him. His golden wings were extended and glowing. But his dark eyes were not blank, as when she’d first met him. They were as turbulent as an ocean—just as they’d been when she’d left him.

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” she said, doing her best to sound angry rather than aroused.

He frowned. “And I told you to behave. Yet here you are, full of stolen pie.”

“What do you want me to do? Return it?”

“Don’t be crass. I want you to pay for it.”