Twenty-year-old Claire must deceive a vampire prince to infiltrate the monarchy and discover their secrets while resisting her desire for him.
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Nothing in my life has ever been easy. Including the mission my family has sent me on.
My sister and...
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Choisir (verb) to choose
Bringing Claire to this place was infinitely stupid.
My mate was bathing across the pool, naked, and here I was, trying to pretend she wasn't. I hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be to control my...urges, nor had I anticipated the scent of her arousal to be so...intoxicating.
When she'd asked for help untying her sash, it had taken every modicum of restraint I had not to push up the hem of that little nightgown and taste it. Had she told me to make her come while I was on my knees in front of her, I would've done it without thought. Parting her with my tongue and stroking her pleasure. Licking her sweetness until I found the exact right way to make her scream.
This ridiculous bond between us told me that pleasuring her was my responsibility and that urge was just as strong as the one to protect her.
But I had other problems besides temptation. My bloodlust was becoming harder to ignore.
By the gods, I was so thirsty. Ravenous, even.
I filled a cup and poured water over my hair, rinsing the soap and wishing my thirst could be as easily quenched as a human's.
After three days of riding hard in the sun without pausing to feed, I was thirstier than I'd been in some years.
While my kind could move in the sunlight, it drained our power and weakened us. Restoring it with human blood was the only way to become strong again. If Claire were anyone else, I would've already satiated my need.
But she wasn't anyone else. She was my mate, and I needed to figure out how to make this work. I couldn't wait to ask Imogen for her ideas. I was out of time.
So here I was, ensuring Claire had the chance to bathe, hoping it would make her more amenable to me, while red hot bloodlust dripped down my throat and the desire to claim every inch of her body surged in my veins.
The bloodstone around my neck pulsed with each slow beat of her heart, letting me know she was relaxed. No trace of fear hung in the air.
I resisted the urge to turn around and look at her. To see her long, wet hair clinging to damp skin. To watch soap bubbles slide between her breasts.
Pounding my fist against the tile, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to think straight. Despite our mate bond, I didn't trust her, and she clearly felt the same. As much as she tried to hide it, there was animosity in her eyes.
And that animosity fueled my suspicions about her.
If she blamed me for her father's death and the hardships in her life, then that left room for hate to become action.
I leaned against the pool's edge, bracing my forearms on the tile, and hung my head, cursing the gods for their sick sense of humor. Why had they chosen this woman to be my mate? Why couldn't I have been left to live alone? Wasn't I doing enough for my family and for the people being ravaged by magick and demonic forces outside our territory?
