“No modesty,” I said, barely able to form words.

“None needed,” he said, brow arched in authority, and dropped to his knees. He looked at me for a moment. Gaze raking over clothing like he might see through it.

But he still bore the bruises of the attack on him, and I traced fingers lightly over the mottled skin on his torso, near his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay for this?”

“More than fine,” he said and lifted his gaze back to me. “Are you?”

“Oh, definitely,” I said with a grin.

“Good. I want to see you.”

I matched my expression to his, proud and sure, and pulled the sleeveless top over my head, then removed my leggings. His gaze followed the line of my neck and down to the bits of dark satin and lace that remained.

“Beautiful,” he said. “And mine.” He beckoned me forward with a finger, and I joined him on my knees.

I put a hand against his chest, felt his heart race, blood and magic and desire rushing beneath taut skin. I closed my eyes, reveled in the sensation of it. And when I opened them again, I knew they were silver, my fangs descended.

His lips parted, his eyes brilliantly blue as desire and shock flared.

I knew what I read there. “You’ve never been with a vampire.”

Connor shook his head. “No,” he said, the words a ragged exhalation.

I leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his neck, above the artery that pounded there just beneath the skin. Could feel the power beneath it, roaring like an engine. He would be Apex, king of the Pack. Not just because he would demand it, because he would accept nothing less, but because his power was too potent to allow for any other possibility.

So much power, I thought drowsily, and scraped my fangs against his neck.

Connor went absolutely still, and I mentally cursed, afraid I’d gone too far in the thrall of his own magic, and nearly pulled back to look at him. But he held me tight against his body.

“Again,” he demanded. His voice was ragged, as if I’d scraped at it, too, and that nearly broke my own control.

I had to force myself to focus on giving pleasure, not taking what he hadn’t offered—what I’d never take unless he offered. I curled my fingers into his hair, flicked my tongue over his ear, felt his rumbling approval. Then used my fangs to ignite, to entice. To remind him who and what I was. And who and what he’d taken on.

And then I was on my back, the stars wheeling overhead, and Connor above me, body braced on strong arms that framed my head.

I smiled at him, and his answering grin was stunningly beautiful. “Of all the places I ever thought I’d be,” I said, “this wasn’t one of them.”

“Then we’d better make it worthwhile.” His mouth found mine, body sinking, lowering, until we were aligned. I gripped his back, felt the muscles contract as he deepened the kiss, mouth plundering, tongue dipping with mine, every inch of him trying, I guessed, not to snap.

“I want you,” he said, and his hand found my breast, and I arched beneath him. I felt electricity, potent as any spark that magic could fathom, as he teased me. I opened my eyes, found his gaze on me, watching, intense.

“Say it,” he said and lowered his mouth, suckled. The stars seemed to spin faster.

“I want you,” I said, and his growl was a triumph.

He moved his way down my body, slipping away any remaining satin, fingers, hands, mouth giving pleasure with slow and deliberate movements. And when he reached my core, I burst, nearly joined those wheeling stars. Another grumble of satisfaction, of victory. Of pride.

He climbed above me again, kissed me with a gentleness that was just as shocking. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, “for a very long time.”

It was my turn to go still, to be shocked. I put my hands on his face, searched his eyes. “What? What do you mean, for a very long time?”

His smile was slow and wide. “Even when you were a brat, Lis, you were desirable. I seriously considered trying to seduce you before you got on the plane to Paris.”

“You did not,” I said and brushed a dark curl from his forehead. “You were at the going-away party for, like, twenty minutes.”

He just looked at me expectantly.

“You left,” I said again. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“Because you were leaving. And it seemed wrong to, I don’t know, interfere. That’s why I’ve never touched another vampire. I’ve never known one who could compare to the possibility of you.”

The words staggered me, left me as breathless as the kiss. “I’d have said yes.”

He stared at me, his eyes darkening. “Yeah?”

“You were hot,” was all I managed.

His grin was exceptionally wicked. “Then we both have time to make up,” he said, and found my mouth again. Whatever tether he’d used to hold himself back was broken now. There was only desire, only love, as he aligned himself. And then we were connected, and he fought for control again, forehead against mine.

“Connor,” I said, a plea, and he began to move, and we began to move together, as the moon tracked across the sky and the stars turned and we soared through the universe toward our fates, whatever they might be.

I gripped his back like I could capture him, us, this moment in time. One of his hands was braced near my head, the other on my jaw as he kissed me, seduced me, destroyed me.

Stars burst again, and he cried out his triumph, with the darkness above us.

* * *

* * *

I didn’t consider myself prudish, but I also wouldn’t have predicted I’d be lying naked on a bed of grass in the middle of Chicago, feeling very smug, and with an equally naked and smug prince beside me.

“Well,” I said. “I guess I can check ‘outdoor sex’ off the list.”

He turned his gaze to me, surprise in his eyes, chased by what looked like sympathy. Made sense, coming from a shifter. “Seriously? You never—”

“I never,” I finished, and narrowed my eyes. “And you never had sex outdoors that was as meaningful as this, right?”

Connor rolled on top of me, a lock of dark hair falling rakishly across his forehead, his eyes brilliantly blue. “It is the most. The only.”

And proceeded to prove it again.

SIXTEEN

We slept together in his third-floor bedroom, which was as luxe as the rest of the house. A bed big enough for a Pack of wolves, covered in sumptuous fabrics, a sitting area near a silver-tiled fireplace of large pillows and faux-fur blankets, a glass artscreen across one large wall of a deep and foggy forest.

He was gone when I woke, and the hallway was dark and silent. When I made my way downstairs, it took my brain a moment to understand the scene in the living room: Lulu and Alexei twined together on the couch, both still in yesterday’s clothes, both still asleep.

They weren’t embracing. His head was at one end, hers at the other, their legs tangled in a position that looked remarkably uncomfortable. But Alexei held one of her legs, his cheek snuggled against one of her socked feet like it was the softest pillow a shifter could ask for.

I stared for a full five minutes, confident Lulu would raise her head and explain she’d lost a round of truth or dare. But still they slept.

I was going to need coffee to emotionally process this. And since Connor hadn’t stocked any, I grabbed a jacket, pulled it on over jeans and a fitted V-neck T-shirt. Then I used my screen to search for the nearest Leo’s, confirmed the location, and headed for the door. Thinking it would be better if I didn’t disappear without a word, I left a note on the counter: why is there still no coffee?

I didn’t bother to sign it. They’d know it was me.

I checked the street through the window before stepping outside, and closed my eyes to focus on the presence of magic. The only power I sensed was behind me among the still sleeping. I opened the door as quietly as I could, closed it the same way, and walked into the darkness.

The weather had changed; there was a new chill in the air. Winter would be here soon, bringing its tough wind and layers of ice and snow. Not that a few months cuddled up with Connor would be a hardship.

Lights were on in the town houses I passed as I walked, families visible in some as they worked through their evening routines. Dinner. Homework. Toys. Catching up.

Normalcy. And it was wonderful to see—to remember. This had been a good idea, I thought, and walked into the coffee shop, which smelled of smoky beans and vanilla. It was tiny, a narrow slice between larger restaurants, and just big enough to host a few small tables and a glass-fronted counter of pastries.

I bought coffee for the group because I was a thoughtful soul, and moved aside to wait while paper cups were filled. And felt my screen buzz.

Given the kind of messages I’d been getting lately, I considered chucking it into the recycling bin and being done with it. But I didn’t have the privilege of ignoring it, so I glanced at the screen.

thirty-six hours remaining, it read. we look forward to your commendation or surrender.

My hand shaking with sudden anger, I stuffed the screen back in my pocket. God forbid I should forget our bargain, or the amount of my remaining freedom.

“Troublemaker,” a woman nearby muttered. “Typical vampires.”

Startled, I looked up, thinking she’d seen the message. Then I followed her gaze to a large screen mounted near the counter, with the sound off, but the closed captions on.

“Elisa Sullivan,” the screen read, as video of me stepping off the plane from Paris played, “daughter of Ethan Sullivan, the head of Chicago’s Cadogan House, has agreed to surrender herself after a tense standoff at Cadogan House last night. Sullivan is accused of breaking vampiric protocols and assaulting those sent to capture her. More on this story as developments occur.”

It was lies. All lies, if effectively spun by Clive or his colleagues to whichever reporter decided to listen. Vampires causing trouble was a much sexier story than vampires paying their bills on time.

“Troublemaker,” the woman murmured again. “I’m sure she did whatever they’re accusing her of. She looks the type. Spoiled.”