Keep an eye out for Rebecca Zanetti’s CLAIMED,
on shelves in late October!

He shook his head without opening his eyes. “No. I don’t sense evil anywhere near us. We’re probably safe for a couple of hours, then we should move again.”

A couple of hours? Damn. She needed him in fighting shape. “Will drinking my blood help heal you?”

His lids flipped open, revealing those silver eyes that had haunted her dreams for fifteen years. Hunger, raw and pure, filled them. “Yes.”

Emma gulped in air. The husky timber of his voice caressed nerves she didn’t want to own. “I won’t become a vampire?”

His dimples winked at her “No. Vampires are born, not made.”

Fear and her damn curiosity blended until she could only whisper. “Okay.” She held out her wrist and shut her eyes. And waited. The breeze picked up outside the cave, rustling pine needles and leaves inside the small entrance, and she shivered. Finally, she opened her eyes in exasperation. “What?”

Reaching out with his good arm, he lifted her chin with one knuckle, waiting until her gaze met his. “I want your neck.”

Low and rough, his voice skittered need through her midriff. Talk about direct. “Um, well, why?” Her mind reeled and she fought the urge to drop her gaze to his mouth. She lost the fight. He ran a tongue along those full lips and need rippled through her. How did he do that?

He waited again until she focused on him, her eyes widening on the pure confidence shining in his. “I’ve been waiting to taste you for centuries—I don’t want you extending your wrist to me and looking the other way.”

“What do you want?” She shouldn’t have asked that. God.

For answer, he reached out with his healthy arm and lifted her until she straddled his lap. She should’ve protested, but the easy strength and warm hand on her hip caught the breath in her throat. Fascinating. Such true, raw power. She pressed both hands against the undamaged muscles of his chest, balancing herself. His erection lay thick and hard beneath her, and she fought the urge to clench her thighs against his legs.

He stared at her through half-lidded eyes, his hands going to the buttons of her cotton shirt.

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

“I don’t want to get blood on your shirt.” His gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts over the plain white bra. Fire flared within those silver depths and she fought a moan.

“That’s enough.” She covered his hands with hers.

With a nod, he gently placed her hands on his thighs before clasping the shirt and drawing it down both arms. The lower buttons remained engaged, and the material trapped her arms at her sides.

He pinned her with a gaze so full of hunger she couldn’t speak. “You’ll give your blood?”

Emma nodded, her focus narrowing to the man before her.

Sharp fangs emerged from his canines and he growled, reaching one arm around to cup her head and pull her to the side. Her neck stretched and vulnerability battled with arousal down her length. Every muscle in her body tensed to flee. His other hand grasped her hip, flexed, then slid up to her now bare shoulder, entrapping her.

There was no escaping him.

Tugging her closer, he buried his head in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She tensed, waiting for pain. Instead, he pressed one tender kiss to the rapidly beating pulse. She felt it to her core.

He inhaled, running his mouth along her collarbone and up to her ear, where he nipped. “You smell like spiced rum and peaches,” he breathed against her skin, his hands holding her firmly in place. “Some dreams I could smell you, but not this strongly. Never this fully.” He rose up, drawing in a deep breath. “Never so much I’d do anything to have you.”

Quick as a whip, he struck.

His fangs pierced her skin, and Emma cried out, shutting her eyes.

Her blood boiled.

Raw need flared her flesh to life and a hum began in her core. What was happening? Without caring enough to stop and think, she pressed against him, so hard, so full. His mouth pulled harder, and her nipples pebbled into pinpoints of need. Something contracted in her womb, begging for him. He drank more, and she exploded into a thousand pieces. The room sheeted white and an orgasm tore through her with the force of a furious tornado. She went limp, held upright only by his hands.

Sealing the wound, his tongue lashed across her skin and she shivered, nearly dazed. He held her in place and lifted his head away from her, his gaze piercing her heated face.

She should be embarrassed, but a warm haze clouded her vision, her brain.

“Emma?”

She lifted heavy lids to focus.

His eyes burned hotter than molten steel. “I want you.”