Love Bites (14 page)

The dragon stared at her, his expression first stunned, then, to her surprise, hurt. She hadn’t thought his feelings for her ran that deep.

Her tone softened. “Soren, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’ve taught me so much about the control and use of my power. But as I told you, Percival is my Oath Master, and he’s quite right that . . .”

It was evidently the wrong thing to say; fury flooded Soren’s gemstone gaze again. He curled a lip at Percival, baring a mouthful of inhumanly sharp teeth. “He’s not fit to be your master in
anything . . .”

“Yes, Soren, he bloody well is!” She stopped to wrestle her temper until she was able to continue more calmly. “I was not
forced
to give him my Oath. I had the option of going to another team, but I wanted Percival.” She took a step closer to Soren, and for once, let her true emotions show. “I wanted Percival, and he accepted me. You’ve been a good friend, and I hope our friendship can continue. But we can no longer be lovers.”

Soren stared into her eyes, and for a moment she felt the sheer weight of his inhuman intelligence, age, and power. Then he nodded and straightened. “I see.” He rested a big hand on her shoulder. “And of course we will remain friends. But when your year of service is done, do remember . . .” He gave Percival a long, level look.” . . . I will be here.”

Directing a courtly bow at Morgana, Soren turned and swept out. Automatically, she moved to close the door behind him.

A brawny arm blurred past her face and hit the door, slamming it so hard it rattled in its frame. At the same moment, Percival’s hard body hit her from behind, flattening her against the closed door.

“Are you in love with him?” the vampire knight spat.

Morgana’s first startled impulse had been to send him flying with a spell, but of course nothing happened. Genuinely confused, she asked, “Soren?”

His free hand wrapped around the front of her throat from behind and tightened. Not quite enough to choke her, but the don’t-fuck-with-me message was definitely there.
“Are. You. In love. With him?”

Morgana struggled for patience. She’d never have dreamed that Percival and the Dragonkind ambassador would lock horns like a pair of elk in rut. “No, I am definitely not in love with Soren.”

“Don’t play with me, Morgana,” Percival snapped, still holding her pinned against the door, his groin pressed pointedly against her arse. His erection made her sore anus twitch, reminding her of his ruthless possession earlier that evening. “You and that lizard have been lovers for a decade.”

“We’ve been fucking—infrequently—for a decade,” she corrected him impatiently. “We have never been ‘lovers.’ Soren just enjoys screwing mammal girls, you know that.” Given the chance, Soren would happily bed a different woman every night.

“Yeah, he certainly acted like a man who isn’t your lover when he challenged me to a fucking duel just now.” Percival leaned into her even harder. His cock felt like a steel bar against the small of her back.

“I have no idea why he acted like . . .”

“Why in the fuck did you let him in?” He leaned down until she could feel the heat of his breath on her ear. “Especially dressed like
that?
”

She knew better than to explain she’d done it to keep Soren from going after Percival. And she couldn’t try to come up with a more palatable explanation, because he’d smell the deception in her scent. Which left her with no way to defend herself against his suspicions. “I told him he couldn’t come in, but he insisted. He also refused to wait until I was fully dressed, so I grabbed the first thing that came to hand. Which happened to be this.”

All of which had the advantage of at least being the truth.

The hand around her throat tightened almost to the point of pain. Percival’s angry gray eyes narrowed. “You’re talking around something you don’t want to tell me. What is it?”

Goddamn it
. She couldn’t refuse to answer without violating her Oath. “He threatened you. He told me if I didn’t let him in, he’d come after you.”

“Then you should have let him. What were you going to do, fuck him to keep me safe?” The rage in his voice made the hair lift on the back of her neck.

“Don’t be absurd.”

He stepped back until he could spin her around and glare down into her eyes. “I am incredibly tempted to take off my belt and give you such a flogging, you’ll think I used a single-tail. Fortunately for you, I never discipline a sub when I’m this pissed.” He curled his lip in a snarl. “Any damage I do to you is going to be intentional.” Opening the door, he stormed out.

Leaving Morgana shaking in his wake.

*   *   *

I
hate to say it, but she actually had a point,” Marrok told Percival when the three men met at Cador’s Tudor mansion later that night. “You’re good, but nobody’s good enough to take on a dragon single-handedly with no magical backup. Soren would have handed you your head.”

“That wasn’t her decision to make,” Percival growled. “She shouldn’t have come to the damned door.”

Cador eyed him. “I see why you’re ticked off—you’re her dominant; it’s not her job to protect you. But getting in a pissing match with a dragon isn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done. I think this thing with Morg is screwing with your head.”

“He’s right,” Marrok agreed. “When’s the last time you let me tag you in practice?”

“Look, I was worried about her, all right? I fed pretty hard last night. It occurred me that she might have failed to show up at sunset because I’d taken too much blood. Distracted me for a minute . . .” They were both staring at him as if he’d grown a third eye. Irritated, he snapped, “What?”

Cador eyed him in unabashed horror. “You’re falling for Morgana le Fay.”

If Marrok had said something like that, Percival could have dismissed it; his friend had a romantic streak as wide as a woman’s. Cador, however, was as far from being romantic as it was possible to get and still have a pulse. “Oh, bullshit.”

“Fuck,” Marrok groaned. “I was afraid of this.”

“I am not in love with Morgana!” Percival said through his teeth.

Cador started ticking points off on his fingers. “You talk about her so incessantly, we’re sick of hearing about Morg’s pussy, tits, and arse . . .”

“Something I never thought I’d say . . .” Marrok muttered.

“. . . You lost focus while worrying about her
in the middle of practice
and got yourself knocked cold. That’s aside from almost ending
up in a duel with a dragon. If all of that doesn’t add up to a dangerous level of obsession, I don’t know what does.”

“Yeah,” Marrok agreed, his expression resigned. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”

Put that way, it did sound pretty bad. Percival glowered at his friends. “Not as bad as all that,” he growled, and told them of the plans he had for his Super Bowl party.

“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but are you sure that’s a good idea?” Cador looked uneasy. “As much as I’d love to get my hands on Morg, our partnership means more to me than pussy.”

Hell, no, he had no desire to share her with them, friends or not. On the other hand, he also knew that sometimes a warrior had to confront the thing he least wanted to do. Otherwise, he’d end up giving whatever it was even more power over him than it would have otherwise had.

“Not only do I wish to share her with you, I want you to help me punish her for her actions with Soren.” Percival bared his teeth. “After which we will give her a fucking she won’t forget.”

His friends exchanged a quick look, but Percival ignored their obvious doubts. He was bloody well going to reestablish control over himself where Morgana was concerned.

*   *   *

O
n Sunday evening, Morgana made a point of presenting herself at Percival’s house fifteen minutes before the time he’d given her.

She walked in dressed in the long leather trench Gwen had given her. Percival swept a cool glance from her black stiletto heels to the gleaming dark crown of her head, then gestured. “Drop the coat.”

Nervousness clenched her stomach, but she tilted her chin and extended her arms to let the trench slide off. Glancing up at him from under her lashes, she waited for his reaction.

The black lace merry widow just barely veiled her curves, revealing the rose shadow of her nipples and the dark delta of her sex. Lace stockings clipped to a satin garter belt.

Percival’s gray eyes heated with predatory lust, and his lips curled in a dark, hungry smile. “Very nice. But I think you’re . . . overdressed.” He crouched and drew a thin bladed dagger from his boot.

“This is what you told me to wear!” Morgana protested as he stood, taking a step back in a futile effort to defend her already miniscule wardrobe.

“I changed my mind.” Hooking a forefinger into her bodice, he tugged it away from her breasts, then sliced the thin lace in two. The blade was so sharp, and Percival was so outrageously skilled with it, he didn’t even scratch her.

Until he did. The knife’s point traced a slow path across the top curve of her breast, spilling a thin line of crimson. She drew in a breath at the sting. “You did that deliberately.” Her voice sounded tight, hoarse with thrumming desire.

The knight’s gaze flicked up from her breasts to meet hers. One corner of his lips curled in a feral half-smile. “After fifteen centuries using a blade, anything I cut, I always cut deliberately.”

His big hands gripped the sliced lace of her merry widow and ripped it like a man tearing into a birthday present. Then, with a deliberate flash of his knife, he severed the ties of her thong, leaving her helplessly creaming pussy bare.

Percival dropped the shreds, hooked one arm around her waist and the other around her arse, and lifted her off her feet to haul her against his body. His erection felt huge, a meaty length bulking behind the button fly of his jeans. Morgana gasped at the erotic threat of it pressed against her bare pussy.

The vampire knight bent over her breast, his gray eyes hot on hers. “For the record,” Percival growled, “you’re mine for the next year. No other man will touch you unless I allow it. That includes my brothers.” His eyes narrowed, taking on a metallic gleam as he bit off the next two words. “You’re.
Mine
. Is that understood?”

She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, but everything below the waist seemed to be liquid, melted like chocolate by his demanding male stare. “No other man will touch me unless you will it.” His eyes narrowed, and she quickly added,” . . . Lord Percival.”

He lowered his blond head over her desperately erect nipple. His tongue traced a hot, wet path along the length of the cut he’d inflicted, neatly licking away the blood.

His eyes lifted to her face, his gaze possessive, demanding, and very male.
Mine.
He didn’t say it again.

He didn’t have to.

*   *   *

P
ercival led her down to what Morgana privately thought of as his lair, with its massive U-shaped navy blue sectional couch and oak coffee table. A flat-screen television occupied most of one wall next to the barrel-shaped bar he’d stocked with pricy liquor and microbrews.

The knight strolled over to the marble-topped coffee table and lifted it as though it didn’t weigh roughly as much as a compact car. He put it down on the opposite side of the sectional, and ducked into a walk-in closet to the left of the bar.

“Morgana, get over here,” he said from its depths.

Licking her dry lips, she clicked after him in her high heels, acutely aware she was naked except for the stilettos, lacy stockings, and her garter belt. Which, come to think of it, was the same nonexistent costume he’d reduced her to the last time he’d taken her in this room. Apparently he was a heels-and-stockings man. She grinned.

“Morgana.” The growl from the closet sounded distinctly menacing.

“Yes, Master,” she muttered, the last word a touch sarcastic, and stepped in after him.

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t hear that?” One strong hand seized her left shoulder as he whirled her around and jerked her back against his thick erection. “You just added another five to the halftime flogging I owe you.” He lowered his voice to a rumbling growl. “Cador and Marrok are going to enjoy themselves thoroughly.”

Oh, shit.
“I’m sorry, Lord Percival,” she gasped.

“Not yet, but you’re going to be.” Something jingled as he started buckling a leather restraint around one of her wrists. After checking the fit to make sure it wasn’t too tight, he attached the matching cuffs to her other arm and both ankles. He checked to make sure the three cuffs weren’t tight enough to cut off the circulation, then leaned in until his hot breath gusted against her pussy.

Morgana froze, her eyes going wide as Percival’s tongue slid between her labia in a long, seductive lick. She damned near fell off her stilettos.

The knight grabbed her hips, steadying her, and laughed. The sound was just slightly taunting. Leaning in even closer, he traced a figure eight around her clit and the opening of her sex, once, twice. Three times.

She gasped in helpless arousal and caught his massive shoulders to keep from falling.

At last Percival drew back from her by now desperately creaming pussy and looked up at her, flashing his fangs in a wicked grin. “The scent of wet cunt was driving me mad. I had to see if you taste as good as you smell.”

He pivoted on his knees and picked up something that rattled, then rose and handed it to her. Accepting it, she discovered it was a wooden chest, its curving top carved with what looked like some kind of sterilization spell.

Which meant the box was probably full of sex toys. The Magekind were immune to sexually transmitted diseases, but clean was clean. Judging from the sigils carved into the lid, you could put a toy in the box, and five seconds later, the spell would ensure it was sterile enough to use in an operating room.

Percival bent and picked up what looked like a long bench, before giving Morgana a carnivorous grin. “Well, Party Platter, it’s time to get you ready for my
very
hungry guests.”

Oh, Horned God.