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T hat sense of calm overtook Celandine again. She should have been afraid of what he would do to her when his fangs sank into her throat. But after everything she had suffered in the temple, what was some more pain?

For a decade, the temple had done everything in their power to destroy her pride and break her spirit. She had let them believe they had won. They thought her a cowed shadow of her former self who would not dare defy them.

Tonight, she would prove how wrong they were.

Just outside the bed curtains, she paused to pull the flax farther down her distaff, exposing the sharpened end. She had staked her fair share of lesser undead whenever a corpse inconveniently rose during its own funerary rites.

But this would be her first Hesperine. She had read all the temple’s gory scrolls in preparation, but she had no illusions she was a match for an immortal at full strength.

With the sharp end of her distaff, she pushed back the curtain and looked upon the infamous Prince Troilus Tauri.

Her breath caught. The bedclothes were pulled up to his waist, leaving an expanse of bronze skin bare.

Only a few days’ worth of stubble covered his strong jaw.

His dark hair lay tousled around his broad shoulders, and a slight flush darkened his cheeks.

Lying in the intimate shadows of the bed, he might have fallen asleep mere moments ago after a long night with a lover.

She shut her mouth, her own face heating.

No matter how long it had been since she’d touched a man, that wasn’t enough to make her lust after a desiccated Hesperine who had been a Taurus in his human life.

Even in his sleep, he must have had some kind of innate immortal allure that was toying with her.

His chest was eerily still, for his kind didn’t breathe in their sleep. But she knew he wasn’t dead. When Hesperines were slain, their remains self-destructed in a flash of light. The unfairly attractive body in this bed was quite alive.

He was lean as a hungry wolf, but she could see a warrior’s strength in the contours of his torso. And he wouldn’t need those muscles to hurt her, not with Hesperine magic.

She flung back the curtains to let in more light. “So, your branch of the mighty Taurus family has been reduced to this. What would your forefathers say if they could see you now? The last prince of their line, not only dethroned but transformed into an unholy monster.”

Banishing the shadows did not make him any less handsome. She ignored the vee of his hips peeking above the sheets and went about her business. Keeping her distaff aimed at his heart, she adjusted her spindle in her hand.

“I hate your ancestors, and I hate princes who think they’re entitled to take anything they want.

In your human life, you were no better than the man who is now sitting on my throne.

But we both have reason to want revenge on him.

That is the only reason I’m doing this for you.

So take my blood and be grateful for it, you filthy Taurus. ”

The mattress gave under her as she knelt over him. She pried his lips apart. After all the illustrations of ravenous Hesperines, his canines were underwhelming. “Not so impressive, even as an immortal.”

Celandine pricked her finger on the end of her spindle. Sliding her finger between his lips, she put a drop of her blood on his tongue.

He didn’t stir. Would she have to stab him a little with her staff to rouse him? That would be satisfying but probably unwise.

When he moved his tongue, she started. He gave her finger a slow lick. Suddenly her knees were not so steady. Then he clamped his mouth around her finger and sucked. She pulled back. The sensation of her finger gliding out of his mouth sent a frisson over her.

She didn’t see his hand move. He caught her wrist in a firm grip, and she froze. His nostrils flared, his chest lifting as he drew in a breath at last.

Those unassuming canines slid out of his gums, unsheathing to two long upper fangs and a pair of short, sharp, lower ones.

Purely on instinct, she fought his hold. His grip slackened, and she was able to break free. She retreated across the room, her palm sweaty around her distaff.

She took a deep breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. Good. He was definitely not at full strength. She could escape if she decided to. She could change her mind about all of this if he demanded anything she was unwilling to give him.

Celandine approached him again. He didn’t open his eyes, but he turned his head slightly toward her, sucking in another breath. He licked his elegantly shaped lips.

She swallowed hard. She had wanted him desperate for blood, hadn’t she?

But as she knelt on the bed again, she had to wonder if his hunger really gave her power over him…or put her at his mercy.

She pulled her hair away from her neck and leaned down over him. When she gripped his stubbled chin, the heat of his skin took her aback. He wasn’t cold as the grave but feverish. From bloodlust?

Slowly, she guided his mouth to her neck. The first brush of his lips sent a shock through her. It had been so long since she’d been kissed. Why was she thinking of that now? This wasn’t a kiss at all.

But it felt like one as he moved his mouth roughly, desperately, down her throat. He laved her skin with his tongue as if his life depended on the taste of her.

It did, she reminded herself. He was acting on pure survival instinct, and she couldn’t afford to forget it. She was nothing to him but a meal.

He opened his mouth wider against her skin. Oh gods. He was about to do it. He was going to bite her now. She braced herself for pain.

But it was pleasure-pain that broke her skin and pierced her neck and drove deep inside her. A cry tore out of her, and she stiffened against him.

Then he sucked, and she gasped at the air. The aching draw at her throat seemed to pull at the very core of her, waking long-forgotten things. Her nipples peaked, brushing his chest through the fabric of her tunica.

He dragged hard at her vein. Warmth spread through her, and the rhythm of his sips began to throb low in her body. For the first time, she understood the tales of Hesperine seduction.

Oh gods . This was not part of the plan.

Celandine braced her palm on his chest and pulled her distaff closer. But then he buried his hand in her hair, and sensation cascaded over her scalp. His next swallow sent another rush of warmth pooling between her legs.

She felt more in this moment than she had in ten long years.

Another of his limbs came awake. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him with a fierce, possessive hold. And she remembered how it felt to be desired.

He didn’t want her. All he wanted was her blood. But why shouldn’t she take what she wanted from him while he was at it?

Her grip slackened on her distaff. She barely heard it thump onto the carpet. She clutched his powerful shoulders to brace herself, now against the waves of pleasure building inside her.

She squeezed her thighs together. He had barely touched her, but her underlinens were already soaked. How could he do this to her with nothing but a bite?

Panting, she gave in to the urge to move and arched against him. Yes. Oh, yes. She dug her nails into his shoulders, riding the edge. Her plan could wait. The rest of the world could go up in flames. Nothing mattered right now except release.

Deep, gratifying spasms broke through her at last, and her jaw dropped. He growled against her throat. She felt that sound to her curling toes. He kept a tight hold on her shuddering body and worked her vein, pulling her into the next wave of ecstasy, and the next.

When she was spent, she lay still against him, trying to breathe. His fangs slipped out of her, and curse him, even that movement sent pleasure sliding through her. He was pulling back. Turning her face to his. Her blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She swallowed hard.

His long lashes rose. His deep brown eyes focused on her.

“Who are you?” His gravelly voice sent shivers rippling out from where their chests touched.

“Celandine.” She spoke it aloud to another person for the first time in years. Her real name, the one they had taken from her when she had entered the temple. The one she still knew herself by.

“Celandine.” He said her name as if savoring the most exquisite delicacy on his tongue. His gaze swept over her, and the spell lights struck his reflective eyes. They glowed bright gold. Within the fallen prince, she saw a starving predator.

Troi had thought her blood a dream. But his eyes were open, and she remained.

He had dreamt of waking before. How many times had he opened his eyes in one nightmare to find himself in another? How many years had he spent waking and waking through endless layers of figments, still trapped in his Slumber?

Now he held life in his arms, her heart pounding against his, the taste of her climax on his tongue.

Celandine was real. He was awake.

He tightened his grip on the thick waves of her dark hair and licked a smear of blood from her neck. The musk of desire clung to her amber skin. He should turn her over and keep her under him until they were both glutted.

Her pulse pattered faster against his tongue. A salty scent overtook the fragrance of her lust. Fear.

That shocked Troi fully awake, and he instantly let her go.

She scooted cautiously away from him, straightening her tunica with great dignity. When he made no move to pursue her, she snatched a staff off the floor and sat with her gaunt frame propped against the footboard, the sharp end of her stick between them.

She carried a mage of Chera’s distaff, and yet she had thrown herself into a Hesperine’s bed with no regard for chastity or the consequences of consorting with a heretic like him. He knew her name, but who was Celandine in truth?

He pushed himself up, keeping the bedclothes gathered around his waist with one hand. The arm supporting his weight trembled. He fell back against his pillows, already exhausted from the effort of achieving a sitting position. As memories overwhelmed him, his head spun.

Someone had finally come for him. Not a party of powerful Hesperines. One mortal woman.

A beautiful, half-clothed one who both desired and feared him.

The thin fabric of her tunica clung to her nipples, and he could smell how wet she was.

And yet wariness sharpened her aristocratic features.

Now he saw the strands of silver at her temples and the dark circles under her large brown eyes.

As he gazed into her soul, her emotions washed over him.

He had always hated this aspect of Hesperine nature.

The Blood Union constantly inundated him with the feelings of any creature that had blood in their veins, and he had never mastered the art of controlling it.

Hesperines called their empathic ability their greatest strength, but he considered it a curse to feel others’ sentiments as if they were his own.

Until now. After his long solitude here, he drank down her vibrant emotions. She was a banquet of passion and pride, sadness and anger. So much anger. His fangs throbbed.

“Thank you for waking me, Celandine.” Hardly recognizing his raspy voice, he cleared his throat. “You have my gratitude.”

She inclined her head. “I believe we can help each other, Troilus Tauri, Prince of Galeo.”

He gave her a humorless smile and gestured to his fangs. “The only title my kind may hold in the human world is ‘heretic.’ My Hesperine name is Firstblood Troilos.”

“It appears you still harbor some bitterness about that. I understand that Rixor Pavonis is the man who took everything from you. A grudge I share, for reasons of my own.”

“What do you want with the man who betrayed me?”

Malice glittered in her eyes. “He stole your throne. His descendant stole mine. Will you help me wipe their legacy from the face of the earth?”

The word descendant sent another shock through Troi. “What year is it?”

She hesitated. “When you fell asleep, did you not know how long the curse would last?”

What curse? What did she believe about him?

She was no ally of the Hesperines. She was here for her own ends, and she made no secret of it. Her fear told him she thought of him as a monster.

He was as weak as the night he’d been turned. If she decided he was more useful to her dead, she could be a genuine threat. Especially if she knew how to use that staff.

No matter the bond of gratitude he had with her for waking him, until he knew what she was planning, he must consider her his enemy.