On the Hunt

Stretching, burning. So long, too long. He drove those fingers in and out of her, and she was so wet they glided smoothly. Pressure, still building. Blood, like fire in her veins. She wanted to come, was desperate to come, but just as she neared satisfaction, he stopped.

"Bastard!" She slapped his shoulders.

"This bastard wants you to come in his mouth." He dropped to his knees.

Oh. "Good . . . boy . . ." Rose lost her anchor and fell back against the wall, giving it all of her weight. Vasili didn't bother trying to remove the panties; he just shoved them aside, and his gaze again locked on hers.

Hoyt had never tasted her. She wasn't sure she would have let him had he tried. Those days, she'd been self-conscious. Had preferred to be with her man in the dark. Had been too unsure of herself to say what she needed. Now she had no more experience than she'd had then, but she was a different person. Stronger, more confident. Haunted by desire. She doubted Vasili would have let her hide in the dark, anyway.

He was too sensual a man. More driven than she was. "Do it. Please."

"Pink. Wet." His words were slurred. "Mine." And then he was there, tonguing her clitoris, and she was moaning, fingers tangling in his hair, arching into every stroke, gasping his name, shouting his name.

He sucked and he devoured.Anyone could have walked out of the ball room, just as he'd told her, but she didn't care. Was lost. Was climbing higher and higher, the pressure finally uncoiling, promising satisfaction. Almost . . .

"Harder. More. Don't stop. More. Stop and die." The commands left her in a rush.

His fingers joined the play, three thrusting up inside her without any more preparation or warning, and she shot off like a rocket, screaming, pressure finally breaking completely, stars exploding behind her eyes, inner walls clenching around him, holding him captive.

"Fuck," he growled, and she wasn't sure if the word was a command or a curse. He jolted to his feet, those fingers sliding out of her, and she moaned. She might have come, but she wasn't done with him. Needed more, still had to have more.

His lips smashed against hers, and she tasted herself. She ripped at his pants, finally freeing his cock. Her fingers curled around it—but only briefly before he batted her away, positioning himself for penetration. In those brief seconds, she thrilled at how big he was, how hot and hard and ready.

"Do it," she commanded. Please.

"Vasili?"

He turned his face away from her with a snarl. "Leave!"

It took Rose a moment, but she snapped out of her sensual haze and followed Vasili's example, turning and looking. Several men stood at the end of the hallway, peering over at them. Two were grinning—one of them a monster, one of them a younger version of Vasili—and the rest quickly spun, offering their backs.

The monster caught her eye and his smile fell away. Shock registered on his features, then fury, hate.

She shuddered and switched her attention to the Vasili clone. He continued to radiate absolute amusement in a way that Vasili never had. Was that what Vasili would look like if ever he lost his dark edge?

She adored his darkness, but also realized she wanted to make him smile like that.

"Go," Vasili snapped, even as Rose disengaged from him and, like the guards, gave the newcomers her back.

She bent down, blindly reaching for her shirt and bra, and tugged them on as she straightened.

Dear God. Now she cared about an audience. She would have run, but Vasili clasped onto her arm, holding her immobile.

"Now!" he shouted.

"You can't . . . do that here," the younger version of him said. "There are guests, and they can hear you. Greer can hear you, and he isn't happy."

Rose's cheeks flamed. She was as embarrassed as she was suddenly curious. Who was Greer? Why did his happiness matter? "I should go," she whispered, careful to use his language.

She'd practiced at home, alone, and quite often, but even though the language seemed to be embedded inside her brain, she had yet to master it, because no one could tell her what she said correctly and what she didn't.

"No," Vasili snapped. Then more gently, "No. Not yet. Please." Finally he released her and fixed his clothing. "I'll be right back," he threw over his shoulder, ushering her farther down the hall and away from the men.

She didn't protest. Not until they'd snaked around a corner and were once again alone. Then she pulled from his grip and whirled on him. "I should go," she repeated.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "No. We're not done. Wait in my room, and I'll return as soon as I can."

Wait for him to fuck her? Hardly. No matter how much she wanted it. "Is that an order, Your Majesty?" she asked dryly.

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not your—" Shit! What was the word? She didn't know, so she ended with, "I'm not yours."

He got in her face, madder than she'd ever seen him. "You are. You're my wife."

Oh, how her body liked hearing that. Every cell she possessed purred. "By force, so it doesn't count," she said, lifting her chin.

"Many women would killto be in your position, Rose."

"Yeah, well, many men would killto be in yours."

His nostrils flared. "They try, and they'll die."

There was a commotion around the corner, voices—male and female—then stomping feet.

Then the clone, the monster, four females and another, older male were bearing down on them.

Vasili stiffened as he turned. He stepped to the side, in front of her, shielding her.

"Who," the older man snapped while trying to glare at Rose, "is that?"

A moment passed in heavy silence. During that moment, Vasili's entire countenance changed.

From glaring, snarling beast to wicked charmer. "Greer," he said. "Princesses. So lovely to see you."

Princesses? Were they his sisters? His daughters?

Rose studied the females. Three were petite, slender. One slightly taller, but plump. Two had silky brown hair, one red, and one honey blond. The brunettes were pretty, the redhead plain, and the honey blonde stunning. Each wore gowns of sparkling velvet, jewels dripping from their ears, necks, and fingers. They radiated wealth and confidence, even the plain one.

"The girl," Greer insisted. He had thick silver hair, scars lining his face, and the body of a warrior.

"My apologies if I gave you the impression you had the right to question me about my people,"

Vasili replied in that smooth, humming tone, and the older man narrowed his eyes. "Now let's all return to the party, shall we?"

"Father," the redhead said in a gentle voice—to the old man. Not Vasili's sisters or daughters, then. Potential girlfriends? Rose wanted to hate them, but their eyes were kind. "Perhaps the girl would like to change into a gown first?"

"What a kind little thing you are, darling." Vasili patted the top of her head. "But she won't be joining us."

Darling. He'd called the redhead darling. A moment ago, he'd called Rose by her name. And with that thought, she realized that he hadn't called her darling. Not once during this visit. Not while he'd had his fingers inside her, not while he'd tongued her to orgasm.

Disappointment rocked her. No endearments. Did that mean his affection for her had waned?

Oh, he wanted her; she knew that much. He was still hard, after all. But you could screw a woman, even a wife, and not truly like her. And he'd bonded them, so he couldn't sleep with anyone else. She was the only outlet he had.

"May I escort you back to the ball room, Your Majesty?" the redhead asked. Without waiting for a reply, she reached out and took Vasili's hand.

Now Rose hated the girls. Mine, she wanted to scream. He's mine. No one else was to touch him. Ever. Even so innocent a touch. He'd just had that hand on Rose's body, inside Rose's body, and to casually touch someone else . . . Her teeth ground together.

"Actually," she said, raising her chin, "I would love to join the party. As is. So . . . let's do this.

Maj-ass-tee."

Chapter Six

He'd had her, Vasili thought, but he hadn't had her. And now he had to parade Rose around the ball room with his enemies surrounding her—and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop the madness. Not without drawing more attention to her. Worse, he had to do it with the intoxicating taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her burned into his hands. And a hard-on only she could relieve.

She remained by his side, at least, as she watched the happenings through wide eyes. Both a blessing and a curse. She was here, but he couldn't claim her. Couldn't stop every single man from staring at her. Men he wanted to kill, his own as well as Greer's. But he couldn't blame them.

She was enchanting. That fall of white-blond hair, those cherry red lips swollen from his kisses.

Even dressed like a warrior, she was the most elegant woman in the room.

And she was his. He wanted to announce that fact more than he wanted to throw her on his bed and strip her. well, maybe not quite that much. But damn it! Everyone needed to know whom she belonged to! In time, he promised himself. After he'd assured her safety. Maybe.

He led the group—Rose, Greer, Jasha, Grigori, and the princesses—to a quiet corner, as far from the masses as possible. There, he positioned Rose against the wall, with half of his body shielding her from the others.

Awkward silence seized them. He was glad. He preferred silence to questions. But, of course, a few minutes later Greer had to ruin everything. As always.

"So tell me, King of the North. Which of my daughters do you favor?" Greer asked him. "Which will you choose to be your bride and end the war between us?"

Rose stiffened. "Bride?"

He reached back, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed, all without looking at her. At the moment of contact, he hissed out a breath. So hot, so soft. So his. He wanted more. Wanted her under him, over him, shouting his name. "Now is not the time for such a discussion."