He traced back to his tent, his mind focused on the task ahead: access her memories.
Which meant sleep. He was running out of time to complete all the things left for him to do. If he'd turned his back on his kingdom only to lose his Bride as well . . . ? To have neither in his life?
He would have no identity. No future. I will not be who I was.
Nor who I want to be.
Must sleep. Removing his sword, he lay back on his bed, struggling to dictate the direction of his thoughts. Do not replay how she looked coming in your hand, Trehan. For gods sakes, do not revisit the slick heat you just reveled in.
But her scent lingered on the furs, tantalizing him. Last night, her hair had fanned out over his bed as he'd rocked his shaft against her sex.
When only the hot, soaked silk of her panties had barred him entrance to her core . . .
Too much! He groaned, his shaft straining against the confines of his pants. Once he unfastened them and his length sprang free, he grunted in relief.
He took one of Bettina's gloves and wrapped the cool silk around his aching length, pretending it was her palm gripping him. Should've kept her panties.
As he began to stroke, he fantasized that she told him, "You know you can do anything to me, Trehan. I'm yours-I always will be."
Only to him would she make those promises. . . .
His fangs sharpened, dripping in his mouth for her. He dragged his tongue over them, sucking on his blood, pretending it was hers.
Like a true vampire.
Trehan had begun remembering more from his youth; as a lad, he'd stroked himself to fantasies of sinking his fangs into a trembling female while coming inside her. He recalled that particular fantasy could make him ejaculate until his back bowed.
Now he imagined piercing Bettina's slim neck. Drawing her scorching essence into me as she writhed from her orgasm. Her sex would squeeze my c*ck with greedy tugs. As she gave her blood, her body would demand my seed-
When he began to spend, he yelled her name; his back bowed violently.
When he wiped himself clean and redressed, he shuddered, grieved to be parted from her.
When he drifted to sleep, he knew he'd dream of her.
My memories? Or hers?
He woke not even an hour later, straight from reverie. Though he hadn't experienced the memory he'd sought, he'd seen something he could scarcely describe.
The world through Bettina's eyes.
Her memories were . . . sublime. She noted details he would have missed, searching out beauty in everything from a spider's web to a weathered basket. When he compared her way of seeing to his, he felt as if he had a layer of film over his eyes.
He was awakening. After living so long as staid, boring Trehan, he craved more.
He'd also learned much about her personality, confirming all the facets he'd already admired. Indeed, she was remarkably intelligent, she was sensitive, and zeii, she was lusty.
That night in his tent, she'd viewed him with an artist's eye. And she'd liked what she saw. Just as he'd observed, she'd been happy.
She'd marveled at his erection, musing what it would be like to part her lips for it and touch the tip with her tongue. She'd wondered if he would shudder and groan.
Yes, Bettina. Yes, I would.
He groaned now, just from the thought of it.
During that day he'd spent with her, as she'd slept, she had dreamed of Trehan. She was intrigued by him, reluctantly attracted to him. She'd absently thought of his eyes, I've seen that color green before. In the deepest forests of Abaddon.
If only Caspion didn't stand between them.