Darkyn's Mate (#3, Rhyn Eternal) (4 page)

“You can be for me,” she said uneasily.

“I made you a deal. I know how to give
pleasure without pain.” By the distaste in his voice, he wasn’t
happy about it. “I won’t hurt you, unless you ask me to.”

Her hands ceased quivering as she ran them
across his chest, over his firm shoulders and shapely arms before
returning to his chest.

“Yes or no, love?” he purred. “Will you take
your place in my bed as my mate?”

“You won’t wait a week?” she asked.

“Only if you make me a deal.”

She groaned. The same instincts that warned
her against the last deal with him told her she’d never win any bet
with the devil

“I’ll give you the terms first this time.
You can gauge the risk.” He chuckled, a sinister sound. “You can
fuck me here, now, the way mates should. Or, when you lose our
deal, you can fuck the Dark One.” He nuzzled her neck, and she
tilted her head. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin without
biting.

“Oh, god,” she breathed. No part of her was
willing to risk an encounter with Darkyn’s other form. The world
around her was dark around its edges. The fever had taken her out
of her mind and into the alternate reality of a dream.

Except, when he touched her, it felt real
again.

Unable to exit the dream fully, Deidre had
no concept of how long they stood before the black flames of the
fire.

“Choose.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Rather than drink from her, he kissed her.
Unlike Gabriel, who was gentle, teasing, Darkyn was demanding.
Deidre felt herself breathless and consumed before the end of their
first kiss, yielding to the intensity of his kiss and the firmness
of his touch. He slid her dress free, his hands moving over her
body possessively before he lifted her and carried her to the
bed.

His body was solid and strong, the
sensations of his skin against hers and his scents intoxicating
her. She fell headfirst into his spell. True to his word, he was
aggressive without hurting her. The nip of his fangs at her neck,
inner thighs and breasts almost drove her over the edge while his
hot tongue and hands explored every part of her.

She found herself nipping back at his chest
and neck, something she’d never done before. The faint scent was
there, pulling her. She was almost able to catch it before it fled
her again. She tasted his skin, but it, too, wasn’t enough. She
wanted something as elusive as the scent. He eased into her body at
first then made love to her hungrily, relentlessly pushing her
deeper into the haze of pleasure and desire, until she arched
beneath him, her body on the verge of shattering.

His fangs sank into her neck.

This time, there was a combination of
distant pain and pleasure as he bit her that almost pierced the
hazy dream. Deidre gripped him, craving something she didn’t know
how to ask him for. He drank deeply. The pain faded once more, and
the experience became too dreamlike to be real.

He lifted his head, whispering,

“Bite me.”

Lost in the heady sensations, Deidre
wriggled and strained beneath him. He pinned her hands above her
head to keep her still then whispered the command again.
Desperately trapped by need unlike anything she’d ever known, she
obeyed.

She bit his neck gently, not wanting to hurt
him despite the strange dream and hunger in her body screaming to
be filled.

“Harder.” Darkyn moved in and out of her
slowly, taking her closer to her climax.

Overwhelmed by the
pleasure, Deidre bit him hard enough that she tasted him. Distant
alarm was overwhelmed by need.
This
was what she smelled, what she ached to taste.
The warm liquid in her mouth didn’t taste like blood; it was
virtually flavorless, tainted by a sweetness hard to quantify. The
consuming need to drink from him swept through her mind, dulling
the rest of the world.

“Drink.” His voice was hoarse, his body
straining. He growled from low in his chest.

Barely aware of anything outside of his
commands, she obeyed. She pulled more of him into her, trying to
identify the elusive flavor that left her intoxicated. He pulled
away, and Deidre’s eyes fluttered open. He whispered words she
wasn’t able to make out then bit her again, this time hard enough
for the pain to piece her dreamlike stage.

Deidre’s world shattered. She cried out,
body convulsing under waves of pleasure intense enough to push her
towards unconsciousness. He rested on top of her, breathing hard,
as he pressed her into the bed. She panted. Their bodies were slick
with sweat, and she lingered in the afterglow, lost in the heat and
silk of his skin. The effect of his blood in her body was twofold:
she felt it moving through her, changing her, while her mind once
more was lulled into dreamy confusion. One thought emerged, fed by
urgency that was quickly swallowed by cool magic.

She slept with the Dark One – drank his
blood like a demon might. No part of it felt unnatural.

Or was it a nightmare only?

Bite me.

There was no way it was real. She’d never
drink anyone’s blood!

Deidre lay still for a moment before her
eyes opened. She was alone in bed. Fevered and shivering, she felt
too weak and hungry to focus well, but the shape of the black
hourglass was unmistakable. It sat on the nightstand beside the
bed. She reached for it. Her clumsy hand missed it, and she stared
at the black sand as it fell towards the bottom of the glass.

It’s too late.
Like her other thoughts, this one escaped before
she was able to understand its meaning. Whatever was working
through her system was making her sick. The dream of Darkyn was no
doubt a fever dream, one that caused distant alarm despite her
illness.

Exhausted, her eyes fluttered closed. Deidre
stopped fighting her body’s cry for sleep and fell into a deep,
dark slumber.

Deidre awoke alone and naked in bed. Her
head hurt, and she felt grimy from the night sweats. The night was
a blur in her mind, a combination of strange, fuzzy dreams about
blood and tossing and turning from the horrible fever. She
remembered touching Darkyn’s chest and feeling aroused by the idea
of his hands on her. From there, the night was a blurry fever
dream. She’d dreamt of sleeping with Darkyn. Just the thought made
her head hurt worse. The dread and guilt at the pit of her stomach
were countered by the confusion of knowing that she’d fallen into
the grip of the Immortal laws first with Gabriel then with
Darkyn.

Was any of what she felt real?

Was Darkyn or Fate right about what was
supposed to happen?

She was so hungry! Distraught, she rolled
over to find the first surprise of the day on the block of stone
that acted as a nightstand: an obsidian tray of fruit and fresh
pastries. The scents made her stomach roar to life.

Hell had a magic library. Did it have a
magic bakery, too?

Unable to dwell on how Hell knew what she
liked for breakfast, she wolfed down the pastries and a banana
before crossing to the bathroom for a shower. She scrubbed herself
down, angry at the Immortals as a whole for tolerating a system
that screwed over their mates and eliminated free will. Darkyn’s
assertions about her destiny being with him left her in a foul
mood.

The Dark One was not capable of a healthy
relationship. Gabriel had been, and she was furious at herself for
not taking him more seriously and for choosing to accept Darkyn’s
deal instead of taking a chance with Gabriel. If Gabriel had killed
her while trying to save her, he’d kill the soul in her head, too,
the one that damned Deidre to Hell. All of this would’ve been
avoided.

She hadn’t been ready to die, though. Did it
make her a bad person for wanting the best chance at life? She
hadn’t thought so, but then again, she never expected to end up in
Hell.

Unwritten
terms
, Darkyn called them. The ones only
he knew that let him win.

Maybe Zamon had answers. He might at least
explain what these laws were that condemned her to Darkyn. She
didn’t believe that her bet with Past-Death wouldn’t make a
difference. If Past-Death being dead had rendered Deidre the mate
of Gabriel, why wouldn’t it work again, once Deidre won their
deal?

“I feel like crap,” she muttered and rested
her forehead against the black stone wall of the shower. The water
was hot and the water pressure brutal. It helped wake her up
without completely lifting the fog of a fever that had been present
since yesterday.

Darkyn’s amusement at the deal made her
shudder. She had to figure out what she was missing fast and how
permanent it was to be an Immortal mate.

Deidre turned off the shower, some semblance
of a plan comforting her. She dressed then went through the motions
of brushing her teeth and dressing without the aid of a mirror,
irritated that the only mirror in the bedroom was in the inside
door of the wardrobe. She wiped the last of the toothpaste from her
mouth and glanced down. Blood bubbled from the cut on her index
finger. She stuck it in her mouth and cut it again. The wounds
healed almost instantly.

Puzzled, she studied her finger, not
understanding what was cutting it. She had no old wounds she was
reopening. She ran her tongue across her gums again and froze.

Deidre whipped the door open, ignoring the
sting of her wet hair against her shoulders. The dress shifted
around her as she hurried to the wardrobe. She pushed open the door
with the mirror and stared. Petite, white, pointed fangs extended
from her upper gums to rest on her plump lower lip.

“No, no, no,” she whispered and pushed at
the teeth with a finger. They were real. She bared her teeth. Her
two canines were larger than before and gave her the appearance of
a vampire.

Or demon. The Dark One was going to turn her
Immortal. Had he made her a demon?

She controlled her breathing to keep her
frantic emotions from consuming her.

Her eyes went to the mantle where the
hourglass remained. Deidre strode to the hearth and picked up the
time marker that was no larger than her pinkie. She tilted it. The
sand only moved one way, even when upside down.

She found herself poking the new teeth with
her tongue to confirm they really were there.

Maybe they were temporary. When the sand ran
out, she’d have no Darkyn tattoo, no demon fangs, no Past-Death
standing between her and Gabriel.

How certain are
you?
Darkyn had baited her.

She wasn’t. At all. What if she won but
stayed a demon? What if she lost and stayed a demon? Whose bright
idea was it to turn her into a demon anyway? What if she lost the
bet entirely?

She swallowed hard to keep tears from
forming.

There had to be a way out of this. Fate said
to do what Darkyn said. Fate wanted Past-Death dead. Thus far, he’d
been the most helpful of the Immortals. He wasn’t going to abandon
her, too, was he?

Deidre went back to the mirror and gazed at
herself. She wore the Grecian style gown of Hell: secured around
her neck by a loose band, it draped over her curves and pooled at
her feet, leaving her arms, shoulders and back bare to the hips.
She wore the metal collar that marked her as Darkyn’s food source.
The scars the Dark One created when he turned her Immortal were
more faded today than yesterday.

Her pink hair was up in a bun that revealed
the delicate cut of her elfin features. Her large blue-green eyes
were clear and calm, the curves of her slender frame complemented
by the cut and drape of the dress. Her lips were red and her
features flushed from the fever. She sensed more than saw the
largest difference within her. The sunny glow she was known for was
gone, replaced by a sultriness rendered dangerous by the fangs
resting on her lower lip.

She looked seductive, no longer sweet. The
distinction left her feeling torn. She’d lost something when the
Dark One turned her. At the same time, the petite woman in the
mirror was beyond gorgeous, the combination of shimmering
seductiveness and cool beauty stunning.

She had fangs.

Deidre closed the door, near tears once
more. She raised the hourglass. She had to make it only a few more
days.

“You still don’t believe me.”

She tensed at his low voice. She hadn’t
heard him enter but doubted the Dark One used doors.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she replied.
“None of this is real.”

“It is.”

“What did you do to me?”

“I turned you.”

“Into what?”

“What do you think?”

Deidre faced him. Across the room, Darkyn
held the tension of a taut rubber band. His predatory gaze was on
her. No part of his stance or piercing look was welcoming and yet,
she felt the urge to cross to him. A flash of a dream went through
her mind. It was of his lean body pressing her into the bed while
they made love. She shook her head, not about to believe anything
of the sort happened outside her nightmare.