Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(18)
Author: Alexandra Ivy

Levet spread his fingers in a helpless motion. “I am a male.”

Yannah frowned. “And?”

“And I am not supposed to make sense.”

“You . . .” She appeared to have trouble speaking. Strange. She’d never had trouble before. Then she lifted her hand and Levet felt that weird tugging in the middle of his belly. “Go away.”

Darkness closed around him.

“Eek.”

When Roke had promised he was going to make sure she was well fed, he hadn’t been kidding.

Sally had been too weary to protest when he’d urged her to sit on the edge of the cot. And if she were completely honest, she couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of the badass vampire fumbling with the unfamiliar task of opening various cans of food to heat them over the kerosene hotplate.

The man was ruthlessly powerful, impossibly beautiful, and so sexy he made her ache with longing.

Who could blame her for the knowledge he wasn’t perfect?

But as he brought her dish after dish, carefully testing the temperature before he placed the plate in her hands, her petty amusement was replaced by an unexpected stab of pain.

Which was ridiculous.

So what if Roke was only pampering her because he was compelled by magic? Or that if he was in his right mind, he’d sooner be stuck in this hidden lair with a rabid pit bull than her.

She didn’t need to be coddled.

Her mother had taught her that only the strong survived and that a woman stupid enough to depend on anyone was destined to be betrayed.

A lesson that had only been reinforced during her brief stint as a disciple of the Dark Lord.

She didn’t want or need anyone to be fussing over her.

She grimaced. Okay. Maybe in her deepest dreams she’d imagined a future where she found a man who could see beyond her training as a witch in the dark arts, and her desperate decision to gain protection from those who worshipped evil, and even her mongrel blood.

But that man would never be Roke.

No.

He was looking for some perfect Xena warrior who he could introduce to his clan with pride.

Not a tarnished witch who was universally reviled.

That unexplainable pain once again slashed through her, and with a jerky motion she rose to her feet to toss the disposable plates into a small trash can.

Instantly Roke was at her side, his expression filled with a concern that threatened to tug at her heart.

Stop it, Sally, she silently warned herself.

It wasn’t real.

None of this was real.

“You didn’t finish,” he chided softly.

“Roke, I’m not a turkey that needs to be stuffed for Thanksgiving.”

“You’ve burned through a lot of energy,” he said, his fingers gently tracing the shell of her ear. “You need to replenish your strength.”

She took an awkward step away, refusing to meet the stunning beauty of his silver eyes.

“Any more replenishing and I won’t fit into my pants.”

His gaze slid down her body to linger on the tight fit of her jeans across her slender hips.

“I’ll give your mother credit for following the Boy Scout motto,” he muttered in absent tones.

She licked her dry lips.

Had the room shrunk?

Suddenly he seemed to fill every inch of it, his frigid power pulsing through the air to brush her skin with an enticing caress.

“What motto?” she managed to ask.

He stepped forward, his gaze returning to her guarded expression.

“Always be prepared.”

She made a sound of disgust. Oh yes. Her mother had been all about “an ounce of prevention.”

Except when it came to getting pregnant.

Maybe if the powerful witch had done more thorough research on Sally’s father before hopping into his bed, Sally wouldn’t have spent her life running from people who wanted her dead.

Her futile broodings were shattered as he cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip.

The cool touch sent shockwaves of pleasure zinging through her body, but this time she didn’t pull away.

She told herself she was too tired to fight him, but she knew that she was lying to herself.

Roke only had to be in the same room for her to melt with longing.

Dammit.

“You’re not going to try to convince me you were ever a Boy Scout?” she asked, trying for a distraction, but the words came out as a breathless invitation.

He moved in close, lowering his head to speak directly in her ear.

“No, and before you ask, I never ate one for breakfast.” His lips brushed the curve of her ear. “I prefer peaches.”

Her hands lifted, somehow slipping beneath his leather jacket to explore the wide chest covered by nothing more than the thin tee.

“Roke.”

He growled in satisfaction as his seeking lips found the pulse that beat at her temple.

“This isn’t the mating.”

Her fingers grasped his shirt, her brow furrowed in confusion as tingles of excitement raced down her spine.

She could barely breathe; how was she supposed to think?

“What?”

“This heat that burns between us.” He pulled back, the candlelight reflected in his pale eyes. “It has nothing to do with the mating.”

She shook her head, refusing to admit that she’d been in lust with this man since she caught sight of him.

She needed to cling to the pretense that there was nothing but the spell between them.

Otherwise . . .

She slammed the door before the dangerous fear could form.

“Of course it does.”

There was a hint of fang as he trailed his mouth over her flushed cheek, his fingers sliding down to circle her throat.

“You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me,” he growled. “This desire ignited the moment we met.”

The denial died on her lips.

He was right.

The scent of her stirring arousal had to be blatantly obvious to Roke. Her short time in captivity had taught her there was no hiding anything from a damn vampire.

Just one of the countless reasons they were such pains in the ass.

Instead she did what every witch trained in the dark arts did when backed into a corner.

She went on the attack.

“You mean the same moment I was locked in a cell and you told me how much you hated witches?”

He stiffened, unable to deny her accusation. “I didn’t claim our first meeting was particularly romantic.”

“You wouldn’t know romantic if it smacked you in the face.”

“Probably not,” he grimaced. “My social skills are questionable.”