Page 14 of Spar of Hearts

“All set.” He pulled her close, feeling her chest rise and fall with excited breaths.

“What are you waiting for?” She teased a claw down his neck. “Take it off.”

He reached a hand to the buttons of his shirt, then paused.

The mask. The mask, you dunce! He rolled his eyes at himself.

To his surprise, removing the mask seemed a far more vulnerable gesture. But he was shrouded in the safety of darkness. Tonight, they were just two strangers, a man and a woman. Beating hearts; starving souls. He removed the silver dragon mask and rested it on the bedside table.

The woman’s hair swished as she whipped her mask off and tapped it next to his, followed by the clink of a pair of spectacles.

“Finally,” she growled, unbuttoning his shirt with predatory fire. He countered her by slipping the shoulders of her dress down to her elbows and kissing her exposed collarbone.

His fangs shouted for release, for him to finally, finally, give in to his most primal desire. He’d never tasted blood. If this woman’s tongue bore honey, her veins surely carried ambrosia. But it was far too intimate a request for a stranger. Simply having them out would have to suffice.

“I’m a Centarian,” he whispered. “Do you mind if my fangs are out?”

“By all means.” She nuzzled into his chest. “Tonight is for nothing but our unadulterated selves.”

“Ngh…” He groaned as his fangs locked into place in his gums, relief washing over him. “Ha…I’d been holding them back all evening.”

“Hold nothing back. Give me everything.” Her gown slipped to the floor, giving way to a silky slip and warm, soft skin. He glided his hands over her waist and hips and pulled her close.

“It would be my honor.” His shirt joined her gown on the floor. He pressed a hand to the nape of her neck, and their lips found each other once more. A tingling rush at the base of his neck drove him closer, to fill his every sense with her. He finally gave over to every gasping breath and sultry touch as her hands roamed his body. She dug her claws into his back, drawing painful pleasure from his core. That move was a cry for more.

Roderick reluctantly pulled himself from her lips and chuckled softly. “This is strange without your name.” Exchanging names before going any further seemed the right thing to do.

“I suppose we have left the manor…” He could practically hear the smile in her voice. “You first.”

“All right,” he took a shaky breath. A sweat broke on his forehead. It was just a word. A single word. But did he dare pierce the veil of their nameless night? If he wanted to continue seeing her, it was inevitable. He’d tell her his name and ask her to join him for dinner after the spring Council session tomorrow. He nodded to himself. Yes. Good plan.

“Roderick.”

Chapter 7

Anya Delemond

A flood of panic and shame ripped Anya’s passion and affection away in its tide. She pulled away from Lord Bryson’s embrace. The warmth drained from her body as the chilling word set in.

Roderick!? She covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Her emotional hackles surged.

Had he sought her out? Put on this gentlemanly act to seduce her and shame her?

Oh stars, oh damn it, damn it, damn it! Anya’s thoughts raced as she clawed her dress up from the floor.

“Do I…get to know yours?” Confusion infected his tone as took a step toward her. He grasped her hand. She yanked it away and slammed into the bedside table. The lantern fell and shattered around her.

“Are you all right?” Wood creaked as he knelt in front of her. “Take my hand. I’ll help you up.”

By the mercy of the Moon, Lord Bryson didn’t seem to realize who she was, what with the darkness and the vocal tonic. Anya tried to steady her breathing as she swatted him away with one hand and clawed at the table with the other, searching for her spectacles.

“I forgot my friend at the manor! I need to take her home!”

“I’ll escort you.” His peppermint scent grew stronger as he stepped closer. “It’s late. What kind of man would I be if I—”

“No!” Anya shouted. She fumbled around in the darkness, finally finding her mask. She clumsily pulled on her gown and fastened her mask, snapping the thread painfully against the back of her head.

“Ah!” She hissed as a shard of glass dug into the arch of her foot, sending searing pain into her calf.