“Fallon—”
“I need bowls,” she abruptly interrupted.
He lifted his head, his brows arched. “Bowls?”
She gave another push against his massive chest. He was more than just invading her space. He was battering her with sensations that were as unfamiliar as they were unnerving.
“Yes.”
Perhaps sensing she’d reached the limit of her endurance, Cyn reluctantly loosened his hold and backed off the step.
“I will have food delivered.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking all broody again. “I assure you there’s no need for you to slave in the kitchen.”
As if she would know how to slave in a kitchen even if she wanted to.
“I need them to scry.”
He gave a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll take you there.”
“If you’ll just tell me where—”
With a blinding speed, Cyn was grasping her shoulders and sealing her mouth in a kiss that spoke of hunger and irritation and a smoldering frustration that was oddly echoed deep inside her.
Fallon was too shocked to immediately respond.
No doubt a good thing since she didn’t have a clue if she wanted to slap his face or melt into his arms.
Instead she whipped up a less than convincing appearance of outrage as he pulled away.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ll let you know if I figure it out,” he growled, turning as if he intended to lead her to the kitchens. Then, without warning, he was whirling toward the front door, his fangs fully exposed. “Wait.”
Fallon clutched the banister, her heart halting. Had her father found her? Or worse . . . Magnus?
“What is it?”
“Gargoyle,” he snarled, the word barely leaving his lips before there was the sound of a small pop and a tiny creature with large fairy wings and stunted horns appeared in the middle of the foyer. “What the hell are you doing here?” Cyn demanded.
“Siljar sent me,” the gargoyle said, spreading his arms and grinning at the furious vampire. “Lucky you.”
Tonya had all sorts of reasons to be in a PMS mood as she switched on a lamp to battle the gathering shadows.
She was stuck in Chicago instead of taking care of the demon club that she managed for Viper. God only knew what disasters would be waiting for her when the Anasso allowed her to return.
She’d be lucky if the damned place was still standing without her to keep an eye on the volatile clientele who didn’t consider a party started until someone was bleeding.
And now she was seated at the massive desk in Styx’s library, staring at the mind-numbingly gorgeous Chatri prince who was strolling across the priceless carpet with enough arrogance to make her teeth ache.
A part of her wanted to grab the heavy crystal paperweight off the desk and toss it at his head. But a larger part of her wanted to rip off his black slacks and crisp white shirt and rub herself against his lean muscular body.
It was annoying as hell.
He was a rude, condescending ass who was clearly convinced she was far beneath his lofty royal position.
Precisely the sort of man she detested.
But the moment he walked into the room, she was zapped with such an intense sexual reaction that she felt physically compelled to reach out and touch him.