Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,35

briefly, but then it was back, the camera silent.

When Evan gripped a handful of her hair, twisting it in a closed fist so she felt the tug on her scalp, her eyes closed. As his fangs brushed her throat, she let out a little sigh of air. Her pulse pounded, an invitation. A plea he must hear.

Though Niall had goaded Evan about his misuse of time, she’d also detected an amused acceptance she now understood. The vampire might not respect a schedule, but his value of timing, if it was always like this, made up for it.

Since Stephen, she hadn’t realized how cold and lifeless she’d been inside, preparing to be a corpse. She’d been afraid to let in warmth or light, because fear of death would come with it. It was better to go ahead and make her mind believe she was already dead.

Evan wouldn’t allow her to be cold and lifeless. The two males felt . . . immersed in her responses. As Evan caressed the tender joining skin between her fingers and won a soft moan from her lips, Niall’s eyes flickered. Evan laid his other hand on her heart, fingers firm over the curve of her breast, her heartbeat increasing beneath his touch as he brushed his lips along her throat, teased her with his tongue, his breath.

He was touching her purely for his enjoyment, yes, but he wanted something from her . . . something more than a measurable physical response. Something more spontaneous, less trained. If she thought about what that was, anxiety could invade this moment, freeze her under their touch. Since she was certain that wouldn’t be what he desired, she tried not to think.

She was clutching Niall’s fingers, then releasing them, then stretching her own fingers out, a rhythmic cycle, an articulation of what they were making her feel inside. Had Evan been taking pictures of that as well, and she’d been too involved to notice?

It didn’t matter. Staring up at that moon, seeing the interplay of all the pieces of the picture, she wondered if what Evan had orchestrated was like what divine powers did, bringing together certain elements to see what kind of magic they produced, for their own wonder and delight.

Evan bit down, fangs piercing her artery. She cried out, clasping Niall’s fingers hard, then they were sliding free again, twisting . . . It was a tangled dance against a moon that became even brighter with the rush of emotion through her chest. She would once again have the mind of another in her head, that empty, cold area filled with something new. It wouldn’t be the third mark, but she’d take it, the closest she’d get to that feeling she’d missed so much.

The flutter of the leaves and slim branches that had joined the silhouettes of their hands, brushing and caressing those shadows, was too far up for contact, but she felt so connected to them that the movement of the wind over her skin felt like their touch.

As Evan released the second mark into her vein, she stiffened despite her best attempt not to do so. This one hurt even worse. She clutched Niall’s hand again, trying not to fight the pain. She wanted to embrace it, let it course through her. It was the best moment she’d had in a while.

Bring me back to life . . . you healed me . . . broken pieces . . . It was a song she’d heard once, on the music player of the gardener at the Berlin castle. The song had a Latin rhythm, soft guitar strands. The voice of the male singer was yearning, rough. In need.

Your touch makes me whole again . . .

She’d rarely spoken during those days she sat in the garden. But she’d asked the gardener the name of the song.

“Stitch by Stitch.” Appropriate. She was a broken doll, being stitched back together again, and the needle’s puncture hurt.

“Easy. There we go, lass. Easy.” The earlier mark was a burn, like a flame too close. This was like holding her arm again a hot stove, only the fire was scorching her skin from inside her veins. She gasped, struggling through it as Evan eased his touch on her hair. His thumb massaged the occipital bone, and when Niall’s hand closed over her wrist, that restraint, the stimulation to two erogenous zones, counterbalanced the agony, giving her something to combat it.

I would have liked you to only feel pleasure from that.