Chapter 3 #2
All of five feet tall, with deliciously round hips and a full bottom, she was dressed in a backless crimson gown that showed off the warmth of her sun-tanned skin.
The wings of her shoulder blades gleamed faintly with a barely-visible sheen of shimmery powder as she moved.
Honey brown hair was curled and pinned up into an elegant twist. His hungry gaze traced the wisps of hair that curled where her head met her delicate neck.
The urge to smooth the tips of his fingers over them and down, following the tendons of her neck to the front of her perfect throat, hammered him with shocking force.
The muscles of his abdomen seized, cramping hard with a violent need. That same raw hunger pulsed in the roof of his mouth in an echo of every slow, deliberate step he took toward her.
He was so damn hungry. After meeting her, synth had lost all flavor. Nothing but her could satisfy him now, and he’d been so, so patient.
Slim arms and soft-looking hands struggled with a zipper on the low back. “This damn thing,” she muttered. “Figures that the only dress you own that happens to fit me also has a zipper made by a sadist. Or an idiot.”
Luis let out a soft exhale as he loomed over her. His eyelids briefly closed. The scent of her was unlike anything he’d experienced before. It was more than sweet. More than sensual. More than everything that had ever made his toes curl.
It was utterly singular, as if the goddess Grim had crafted this woman for him and him alone.
The fact that she stood there, entirely vulnerable and unaware of the predator at her back, was both exhilarating and infuriating. She hadn’t even bothered to glance in the standing mirror to see who she spoke to.
One of his greedy hands lifted. Gently brushing aside her straining fingers, he pinched the tiny zipper and began to slowly draw it up the small of her back.
Leaning in close, he whispered, “This is strike three, sugar.”
Francesca, as fine-boned and flighty as a bird, startled. Her head whipped around. Large brown eyes stared at him with shock through a soft fringe of brown curls.
“You’re not Maxine,” she said, the plum shape of her lips turning down in an adorable frown.
Luis offered her a slow smile. “Nope.”
Suddenly realizing just how close she was to him, his darling little bird hopped back a step, then several more, until she could press herself against one of the bed's tall posts.
“What— what are you doing here?” she gasped.
Following her retreat, he flatly informed her, “You’ve lost your mind if you think that’s where this conversation is starting. Why in the gods' names are you here, Frankie?”
For a moment she floundered, her lips opening and closing. “I…” She looked away, giving him ample opportunity to examine the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.
It clearly wasn’t a perfect fit, but the gown was still gorgeous on her. Anything would be. A deep neckline showed off the fullness of her breasts and the delicate arches of her collar bones — neither of which he’d had the pleasure of seeing before now.
Jealousy warred with need. The roots of his fangs pulsed with the desire to make her off-limits to anyone else.
But that wasn’t new. The instinct had always been there, growing stronger with every too-short visit and fleeting peek into her life. It never mattered to him what she looked like, as long as she aimed that smile at him and him alone.
The Francescca he knew wore t-shirts and jeans. Yoga pants, sometimes. Always that damn apron. She didn’t have time for makeup, and he was lucky if he got to see her hair down for once.
Seeing her like this wasn’t just surprising, it sent every alarm in his mind blaring. Something wasn’t right here. Many, many somethings, and not just the obvious.
Finally able to gather herself a little, Francesca took a deep breath before asking in a curious, high-pitched tone, “So… you’re a contestant?
“Contestant?” He scowled. “No, of fucking course not. I don’t buy my blood. What are you doing here, Frankie? Did someone rope you into being a server for—”
The rest of his question dried up on his tongue like week-old blood. A shock coursed through him, visceral and cell-changing, when her guilty gaze met his.
A server wouldn’t wear a gown.
Not even vampires were that ostentatious, and the party Easton had apparently organized wasn’t about being treated to expensive alcoholic synth.
Tonight’s entertainment wasn’t gambling — that was a fringe benefit for the spectators — or even an orgy.
It was something ancient and violent and best left in the past.
Tonight there would be Blood Games, and he was speaking to the prize.
His blood rushed in his ears as he stared down at the fragile creature looking defiantly up at him.
Bare toes peeked out from beneath the hem of her slightly too-long gown, and the lips that he’d kissed just the night before were tightly pursed, as if she awaited his disapproval.
Everything about her screamed of vulnerability.
It was like catnip to any vampire, but for a man like Luis, it was much worse.
Trying and failing to catch his breath as he stared into the abyss of certain madness, he barked, “You’re the prize?”
Heavy brows arched. Being looked at like he was a few drops short of a pint wasn’t exactly unusual for him, but something about the defiance in her expression made him want to nip her. He could see her rallying, putting up her defenses, and all it did was make him howl to tear them down.
Toes curling into the carpet, she sniffed, “If you’re not a contestant, then what does it matter? You probably shouldn’t even be here.”
“I’m looking for the man who organized the Games,” he snapped. “Rumor was that he had a prize worth the hundred thousand dollar entry fee. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Those pillow-soft lips, painted a devastating blood red, pressed into a firm line. “I might.”
“Oh, Frankie,” he breathed, gaze darting from one perfect feature of her face to another. The pieces clicked together in his mind to create a hair-raising picture. “Is this why you told me you were leaving? You volunteered to be a prize?”
She looked like she’d rather pull a fang than give him what he wanted, but she eventually answered, “Yes.”