Succubus Unchained - Heather Long Page 0,83

stood with him.

Having had her gaze locked on his—and even better, burning into his as she argued with him and defied him—he couldn’t ever be content with anything less.

“Speak, Eleanor.” The fact that he’d had to order it at all served as a raspy file across his goodwill. She should have told him the information already, rather than trying to enter a flirtatious bargain. If he had to take it from her…

“It would be best if you took the memory, my lord,” she suggested. “I feel my words would be inadequate.”

Fiona snorted. “Wow, you must really be desperate.”

Eleanor shifted her gaze to Fiona again, and her eyes hardened. “My words and my memories are for my lord, just as my body has always been, no matter where he dallies now.”

They did not have time for these dramatics or for Eleanor to irritate his hellion into the role of scorned woman. Before he could say anything though, Fiona perched on the arm of his throne, and he slipped his hand from hers to wrap around her. Both acts were natural, as if they had been doing it their whole lives.

Oh how much sweeter would the long centuries have been if he’d found her a millennia earlier?

“That’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel,” Fiona said, her tone so amused, Alfred found himself intrigued. The way her mind worked…it defied all conventional thought and fascinated him. “I mean, you’re really stretching. So he’s pounded you. Were you trying to piss me off? If so, oops.”

“I doubted it would upset you,” Eleanor lied and then smiled, her expression so patently false, it made Alfred’s teeth ache just to look at. “Your type don’t mind who they pleasure or who their partners pleasure…”

Alfred tapped a single finger against the arm of the throne, and Eleanor jerked her attention to him. Blanching and wild-eyed, she dipped to her knees. “Forgive my tongue, my lord. I have not cared for being replaced.”

“That would suggest you had her place to begin with,” Alfred stated. “You did not. Now, tell me about my brothers. If this was merely a vain attempt to strike at my queen, I will be cross with you.” It was the only warning he’d give her.

Fiona glanced down at him, a faint smirk on her face. He stroked her side, an offer of comfort, but also petting her for his own pleasure. She trusted him to watch her back and took her eyes off the only potential threat in the room.

That pleased him on the basest and most primitive of levels.

“I literally can’t tell you, my lord.” Eleanor’s pained statement pulled his attention, and he eyed her.

“Why not?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Defiance flared in her eyes, and she tried again. Finally, she sagged. “I cannot tell you, my lord. Only that you must take the answers from my blood.”

“Did you leave the keep?”

Not once had her gaze lifted to his. Nor did it now. If anything, she cut it to Fiona. “After the gathering, after you sent me away that night. Yes.”

The fact that she remained focused on Fiona wasn’t lost on either of them. “Can you tell me?” his hellion inquired, and he frowned.

Eleanor said, “I have a message for you, yes.”

Tired of the games, Alfred rose. He gave Fiona a small squeeze of warning before he was in front of Eleanor and had by the jaw. No more force was necessary. When he dragged her gaze up to him, she practically wilted.

“Enough,” he ordered. “Tell me.” Not allowing her any choice but to look at him, he compelled her obedience. The compulsion vampires could enact came from the blood they took from their creators. The spark of life in them—the divine he supposed, though he loathed the term—demanded respect and obeisance.

Face crumpling as blood began to run from her nose, Eleanor shook her head. “I cannot, no matter how much I might wish.”

“You’ve been compelled already.” It wasn’t a question, and the woman nearly sagged in his grip, the relief flickering in her eyes as he withdrew the force necessary to make her obey him. “That is why you want me to take the answer from your blood.”

One of his kin.

He cut a glance to where Fiona sat and studied her. “You do not care for the offerings,” he said gently, as gently as he could when impatience crept through him. “If you wish—”

“I’m a big girl,” she told him sternly, arms folded as she descended from the