The Shape of Things

Published by Phaze Books Also by Mychael Black “Echoes Of the Past” from Coming Together With Pride with Shayne Carmichael: Dark Needs Dominion Dreams of Death Kitten Kitten 2 Onyx The Adventures of Captain Chase Sykes and Navigator Duncan Sampson The Cowboy and the Thief The Duke’s Husband The Power of Two Through the Dark When I Dream of You

This is an explicit and erotic novel intended for the enjoyment of adult readers. Please keep out of the hands of children.

www.Phaze.com

The Shape of Things a novella of paranormal homoerotic romance by

MYCHAEL BLACK

The Shape of Things copyright 2008 by Mychael Black All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Phaze Production Phaze Books 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222 Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC. To order additional copies of this book, contact: [email protected] www.Phaze.com Cover art © 2008 Debi Lewis Edited by Kathryn Lively eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-031-7 First Edition – October, 2008 Printed in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Chapter One “These are trying times.” Devon Hart managed to suppress a yawn and flashed the audience a calculated smile. He wasn’t here by choice, but his position decreed that he attend the agonizing meetings of the Council. Devon caught his reflection in the gleam of the polished table. The pale blue of his irises reflected the smile on his lips— a smile he certainly didn’t feel. Some say the eyes give away one’s emotions; Devon had learned a long time ago to hide his successfully. “Prince Hart, what do you propose?” Devon shook his head as the question brought his attention back to the matter at hand. He looked from one stoic face to another and realized he had no idea where the discussion had ended up. His silent curse gained him a knowing—and rather annoyed—glance from his chief vicar, Jareth Benedict. Devon swallowed a chuckle when he noticed the beads of sweat glistening around the top of the priest’s collar. “The Council Elders are not ones to be trifled with.” Devon responded to the priest’s silent warning with a broad smile. The priest quickly turned away. Devon sat up straight in his chair and brought his hands up to his face as if in thought— or prayer. “Perhaps the lords should be allowed to deal with these matters directly as they pertain to their own areas of rule.” “With all due respect, my Prince, to leave the lords with such powers would result in nothing but more war.” “And your point is, General?” Devon studied the old man’s face for signs of possible rebellion. A single flicker of anger in the general’s dark eyes told Devon enough. He leaned forward and cast a warning glare on the general.

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“Imagine, if you will, General Sterling: a wild animal held in a cage with barely enough room to turn and piss.” An audible groan from the vicinity of Vicar Benedict was heard and Devon continued. “Over time the animal will grow restless and weary. Fear merges with anger, anger leads to rebellion.” He stood, walked over to the general’s seat, and spun it around. With a hand on each arm, Devon leaned close to the general’s face. “If another law is imposed on the lords and the people, if they are not given the freedom to govern themselves, they will take that freedom—by force, if necessary. Do you want that on your hands, General Sterling?” Devon growled. “Or would you lead it yourself?” No sooner than the words left Devon’s lips, the room erupted into verbal chaos. Devon turned on his heel, leaving a fuming general in his wake. He jerked his leather jacket off of his chair and walked out. Behind him, he could hear Vicar Benedict shouting for him, but he simply didn’t give a damn. He had seen the stirrings of rebellion in the general’s eyes. That was something to worry about. By the time he reached the mansion, Devon’s mind was overburdened by the very real possibility of a full-scale mutiny. He hadn’t gotten any further than his own private chambers when the distinct sound of someone slamming a door shut reached his overly-sensitive ears. He stopped with his hand poised over the doorknob and waited for the inevitable. “Must you honestly anger the Council?” Devon turned slowly to face Vicar Benedict. He didn’t bother to hide his sarcastic laugh. “Me anger them?” He stepped forward and the priest backed up. “Who is the prince here? I don’t see anyone from the Sanguine Council anywhere in this mansion. I don’t see General Sterling answering the complaints of the common people. I don’t see the Elders settling petty disputes between lords. When I do see those things, then perhaps I will hold my tongue.” The vicar raised a finger and shook it at the prince. “You are treading on dangerous ground, Devon.” Devon rolled his eyes and looked down at the short, little man in his priest’s frock. “The Elders will have you removed by force if you do not cooperate with them. Your sire had no quarrel with them, why

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do you?” Devon sighed and leaned back against his chamber door. “Because they are warmongers and power-hungry assholes.” The priest cringed at Devon’s choice of wording. “Oh, spare me, Jareth. You’ve known me for over five hundred years. Don’t start acting now like my manner of speech bothers you.” “I am not a vampire,” the priest countered bitterly. Devon pushed off from the door and gripped both of the priest’s shoulders gently but firmly. “No, you are not. However, you have vampires to thank for your long life. Do you really want to throw that away simply because the Council is calling for tyranny?” “Your father would have been proud.” Devon wasn’t sure if he should hug the man or laugh at him. “Why do you say that?” Jareth smiled. It was a wistful, almost nonexistent curling of his cracked and withered lips. “Because your father was a truly remarkable man, Devon. He stood up for what he believed in, regardless of the consequences.” Devon released the priest’s shoulders and smiled back. “I suppose you’re right.” He turned and opened his door. “The hunger is getting worse. I’ve put it off long enough this evening.” He heard the rustle of Jareth’s robe as the priest retreated without a word. It tore at the priest’s heart, Devon knew, to know someone had to die, or come close to death, every evening for Devon to remain in this world. Devon didn’t mind it so much, however. He much preferred to drink after filling himself with other pleasures. Feeding from a lover at the moment of climax was a thrill, and the flow of blood into his mouth as his semen shot into a man’s body held a thrill all its own. Devon stepped into the entry room of his chambers and closed the door behind him. He much preferred the young, druglaced crowd that frequented the myriad of clubs along the city borders. Downtown Washington had become a haven for homeless vampires, young and old, who simply didn’t fit in anywhere else. Their presence annoyed the Council, but Devon found them to be quite intriguing. He had even been known to shelter a few of them on occasion, much to Jareth’s dismay.

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Hunting, however, had to be done outside the city proper; otherwise, competition was fierce for a quick meal. Devon stopped dressing and stood to look at his semi-nude form in the mirror hanging from the molded ceiling to the hardwood floor. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the denim of his jeans, and the muscles of his chest were just as rippled and hard as they had been when he had worn a suit of armor. He tossed his shirt onto the bed and began to brush his hair out. Aging was something he did not miss. He thought back to life as he had known it before he had been turned. Back then, life had been much harder, and even then he did not like the idea of war. Yet as the son of a powerful lord, he had been thrust into it time and again. His body seemed to remember the weight of armor and his shoulders sagged. He set down the brush and slipped his shirt over his head. He pulled his hair out of the back of the shirt and let the long, chocolate-brown strands settle over his shoulders. For the briefest moment, he wondered if maybe this era was harder by comparison. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, Devon grabbed his jacket and left the mansion. Tonight he was in the mood for something different, something a little more refined than his usual flavor. Even in a city as vast as Washington, D.C., there was only one place to satisfy such tastes: Coventry. Unlike the smoke-filled bars or the industrial clubs, Coventry offered up a delectable menu for a refined palette. Caramel-colored, dark as midnight, or pale as the silver moon; all flavors were well-represented, wrapped up in tempting packages of silk, leather, or lace. Tight, hungry asses; soft, kissswollen lips; hard cocks made for sucking down your throat. It was enough to lure in even the most cautious vampire, and Devon was a full-fledged addict. Life for a mortal wasn’t as difficult as one might think. Most were content to live side-by-side with vampires, provided the rules were obeyed. It was forbidden to drink from anyone under the age of eighteen, and it was forbidden to all but the Elders and the prince to take enough to kill. There were many times when Devon did not kill, and to survive a night—and inevitably a feeding—with the Prince of the Vampires was enough to cement one’s reputation for years to come. It was a

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mark of distinction that never ceased to bring a smile to Devon’s lips, as the donor would do nothing but recount how great the sex had been. As he neared the three-story, Victorian-style building, Devon had the distinct feeling this night would be one to remember. He wasn’t sure why he knew it; he just did. The door opened before the toe of his boot even touched the first stone step. “Prince Hart!” the young man at the door exclaimed. Devon mused that the man’s smile could light up the entire city in the event of a blackout. The young man stood to the side as Devon walked in. The scent of his cologne stirred up an already-intense hunger. Devon could hear the man’s heart beating a furious rhythm within his ribcage. He could smell the blood as it pulsed just beneath the honeyed skin. The sensations played havoc on Devon’s control and he quickly made his decision. “Are you free this evening?” he purred as he backed the young man up against the wall. The front door closed on its own with an audible click. “If Your Highness wishes my company, I will be free whenever you call.” The diplomatic answer made Devon smile. He leaned forward and angled his head down. The man’s breath hitched as their lips touched the slightest bit, the soft intake music to Devon’s ears. “What’s your name?” “Ty.” Devon blew gently across the man’s lips and leaned in for the first kiss of the evening. Ty let out a sigh that made every inch of Devon’s flesh prickle in anticipation of things to come. When their lips made contact and Ty’s tongue darted into his mouth, Devon thought he might even spare this one. He slid one arm around Ty’s slender waist and tunneled his other hand through the man’s silky black hair. Ty tasted of sweet honey and even sweeter sex. The potent elixir settled deep in Devon’s groin as he began to pull away from their kiss. Ty’s heavy-lidded black eyes sparkled with lust. “Where is your room?”

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Ty took Devon’s hand and led him down the hall. Two flights of stairs later, they stood in another hallway, lined on either side by doors. Ty led the way to one door and slid a key into the lock. When the door closed behind them, Devon pushed him back onto the bed. He had tasted the young man’s mouth, now he wanted to taste other parts of him. Ty stretched out and graced Devon with a beckoning smile. Devon slid onto the bed between Ty’s legs and hooked his fingers under the waistband of the thin silk pants. With a tug, the pants came down, revealing nearly seven inches of caramelcolored, hardened flesh. Devon unconsciously licked his lips before descending on Ty’s cock with the voraciousness of a starving man. He took all seven inches in one swallow and Ty’s hips rose as a startled gasp escaped him. Devon growled around the flesh and wrapped a hand around it as he came back up. He began to remove his boots and jeans with his other hand, working quickly as his arousal and his hunger grew exponentially. “Oh, God,” Ty breathed. He thrust his hips up again, driving his cock back down Devon’s throat. Devon groaned and kicked his pants across the room. “Fuck me, Your Highness,” the young man pleaded. Devon slid his mouth off of Ty’s cock and took the small bottle Ty held up. When his cock was slick and throbbing in his hand, Devon rubbed the tip along the crack of Ty’s ass. When he stopped at Ty’s hole, he pushed forward with a deep-seated growl. Ty cried out as Devon stretched him open. Devon fought the urge to come; it wasn’t time. When he was buried to the hilt in Ty’s body, Devon leaned down and thrust his tongue inside Ty’s mouth. He forced himself to take it slow, even when Ty began moaning. Ty’s movements were making even that much difficult and Devon broke the kiss. He gripped the backs of Ty’s thighs and fucked him harder. Ty’s mouth opened and his head tilted back on the pillow. Devon closed his eyes to avoid the enticing curve of Ty’s throat. It was almost too much. He wanted this to last. Then Ty’s body clamped down on him with a deep orgasm. Devon’s eyes fluttered open and his teeth descended before he could stop them. Ty jerked violently beneath him as Devon drank deeply.

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Devon growled as he filled Ty’s body with his release. He sat back and took several deep breaths to calm himself as he came down from the dual high. He had not meant to feed so much this time; he only wanted pleasure to begin with. But as was usually the case, the man’s orgasm brought about the sudden rush of hunger, of sharp need, and Devon could not resist. Ty lay on the bed, alive but in something akin to a drunken daze. Devon stood up and slipped on his jeans and boots. Ty would wake soon. After placing a handful of bills on the foyer table, Devon left. With his mind settled from feeding, he decided to take the long way back home. This route took him through what was once the Mall—the expanse of grass, trees, and walkways that acted as the centerpiece for the complex of the Smithsonian Museum, the Capitol building, and the Washington Monument. In the year 2015, World War III had nearly obliterated the entire city. The ones who were left—the ones like Ty—now lived side-by-side with creatures and races that mankind had long thought to be nonexistent. The crumbling dome of the Capitol building was a sobering testament to the self-destructive nature of the human race. As he started across the overgrown Mall, a movement to his right brought Devon to a halt. He watched in silence as a group of shape shifters gathered on the edge of the grass. He knew they could sense him, but they didn’t seem to be overly concerned with his presence. After all, it was they who were trespassing. He started walking again, taking care to watch the group closely should they start after him. It would be a move of tactical brilliance to abduct the prince, and he certainly wasn’t going to put it past them to try. Just as he thought himself well out of their range, Devon felt a hand close around his neck from behind. He tried to turn and found his body bound in black, pulsing chains of energy. This was not good. He started to look around for any sign of his captors, but a blow to his head sent him to his knees with a growl. Another blow to the back of his neck dropped him into dark oblivion.

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Chapter Two Devon rolled over and groaned when the room didn’t stop moving after he did. He gripped his head and forced himself to open his eyes. He stared up at the dark stone ceiling and fought to suppress the last of Ty’s blood when it threatened to come back up. “Ah, yer ‘wake.” He turned his head and peered through his fingers as they lay splayed over his face. A man sat on a stool beside the door and gave Devon a toothless grin. Devon closed his eyes again. “Where am I?” “Not ‘sposed t’ say,” the man ground out. Devon swallowed another rising bit of blood at the disease-riddled answer. He didn’t want to see what else the man was missing in addition to his teeth. “Well, can you tell me how long I’ve been here?” He winced and swallowed hard as his question was answered by a hacking, wet-sounding cough. “‘Bout two ‘ours.” The man finished his cough and spit. Devon nearly lost his battle with the rest of Ty’s blood when the product of the cough landed on the stone floor with a sickening, wet smack. A few minutes later, the locks on the door slid open and the door creaked and groaned. Devon wasn’t sure if he wanted to open his eyes at that point. When he did, he was grateful it wasn’t the old man. “You’re to come with me,” a young woman said to him. He sat up and braced himself to give the room a chance to stop spinning. “Sorry about your head, but we aren’t stupid enough to drag you here when you’re conscious.” He nodded, despite the fact that she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “Sure. Whatever.” He stood and waved his hand forward.

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“After you.” “Oh, no,” she countered. She pushed him forward and he felt the unmistakable sensation of a steel point in his back. “After you.” The woman led him at knife-point down a series of hallways, lit only by the occasional fluorescent light on the ceiling. He had no idea where he was, but from the moisture in the air, he knew they had to be underground. When the woman gripped his shoulder tightly, Devon stopped. They stood before a closed door. The woman entered a series of keystrokes on a computer panel and the door slid open. Devon blinked at the rude light pouring into the dimly-lit hall. “Go.” The woman pressed the knife into his ribcage. “Jesus,” he hissed. “I’m going.” He turned when the knife left him and watched as the door closed between them. Then he turned back to the empty room. A single camera was positioned in one corner near the ceiling and a flat screen monitor hung on the wall opposite the door. “Sit down, please, Prince Hart.” Devon gritted his teeth; he knew that voice. He sat down in the only chair in the room and faced the monitor. An image flickered on the screen and he gazed into the dark eyes of General Sterling. “I should have fucking known,” he growled. The general simply smiled. “Perhaps next time you will listen to your instincts, Prince Hart.” “Why am I here?” “An understandable question. You see, with you gone, no one stands in the way of a new regime.” Devon gave the screen a short, sardonic laugh. “And what of the others? Vicar Benedict is going to ask questions when I fail to return.” Devon felt his blood run cold when the general gave him a cryptic smile. “Ah, but we already thought of that, my Prince. Benedict was a tough one, but truth is, he was not one of us. Once the blade made it through the first layer of skin, the rest was a piece of cake.” Devon felt sick again. “But I must say, he put up one hell of a fight for an old man. Was that part of his training? Or did you teach him some of your knight tricks?”

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“Fuck you,” Devon hissed. He gripped the arms of the chair and ground his teeth together. “No thank you,” the general replied. “I don’t do men.” “What the hell do you want, Sterling?” “Absolute rule. You’re a pushover, Hart. You’re too lenient on the lords and the people. You don’t charge enough in taxes; you could be rich if you did.” “I have no desire to be rich. I have enough.” “You had enough. Your ruling days are over, I’m afraid.” “Then why keep me alive?” “Why indeed.” The general snapped his fingers and the door opened behind Devon. “Nadeen, take him to the border and get rid of him. If the exposure to the sun doesn’t kill him, the shifters will.” Devon didn’t bother to resist as the woman from before— Nadeen—brought the knife in her hand up to his throat. “Don’t fuck with me. I have no qualms about slitting your throat. Go.” She turned him around and shoved him out the door. Devon led the way as Nadeen steered him with the aid of her knife in his ribs. When the hallway opened out into a garage, he stopped. She pressed the knife harder and pointed to an armored truck. He sighed and walked over to it. With the push of a button, the back opened up. Nadeen shoved him inside and the door closed once more. Devon had no idea how long they had been riding, but quite a long time later the truck stopped moving. The back opened and he looked out into the blackness of the forest that acted as a natural border between D.C. and the outlying lands of the shifters. Nadeen was nowhere to be seen, but he knew his ride was over. He stood and walked out of the truck. He had barely touched the ground when the door closed. The truck’s tires squealed as Nadeen made a hasty retreat to the safety of the city. Devon turned and looked at the forest. If there was anywhere more dangerous for the Prince of the Vampires to be, he had not seen it. Beyond the forest, and most likely within it, the enemy waited. It wasn’t a war of his choosing, but he knew the shifters wouldn’t bother to hear his side of things, either. He looked to the east and took a deep breath. The sun was beginning to rise. Then a movement from

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the trees drew his attention back to the forest. Seconds later, creatures surrounded him on all sides. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed. “This is not good,” he muttered under his breath. “I am unarmed,” he said to the shifters. A young man walked out and stood before him. In his hand was a hefty length of wood with a sharpened end. “You are not welcome here.” “I didn’t come here out of choice,” Devon answered. “Who are you?” “My name is Devon Hart.” A flurry of whispers drifted around the circle. “Prince Hart?” the young man asked. “Yes.” “Very well. Come with me.” The young man nodded and several creatures came to bind Devon’s hands and arms. A strip of cloth was tied around his head and lodged in his mouth. Smart, he thought. When they were done, he followed the young man into the forest with the entourage of others at his back. No, this was definitely not good.

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Chapter Three Sarah came to retrieve her crystal, but Vincent Sheridan bade her to wait with nothing more than a wave of his hand. He watched the scene as it played out in the cobalt sphere. A distinct feeling of unease drifted through his mind as he watched Jacob lead the others back into the safety of the forest. These “hunting trips” of Jacob’s always left Vincent feeling like the overprotective brother that Jacob often accused him of being. However, there was another issue to worry about now. Vincent watched the young man as the others flanked him. Jacob must have thought this man to be of great importance to risk bringing him back. That alone was worth enduring Sarah’s annoyance. “Anytime now, Vince.” Vincent sighed and waved his hand over the sphere. As the image blurred into a smoky-white haze, he mused that he really needed to get one of his own. He looked up at his sister and held up the sphere. She snatched it out of his hand before he had a chance to realize that a claw had begun to emerge. “You’re going to scratch it up if you let that happen,” she said. Vincent willed the claw to retreat as the illusion mended itself. “Sorry,” he said. “What’s so important anyway?” Vincent sat back in his desk chair and sighed. “Jacob is bringing an interesting catch home.” Sarah’s eyes widened considerably. “Who?” “I don’t know. Rest assured, however, that I’m going to question him on this. He knows better than to bring anything living home from the city.” “Man or woman?” Sarah asked quietly while looking down at the floor. Vincent knew that tone. “Man.”

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Sarah looked up quickly and Vincent saw hope flash briefly through the black of her eyes. “Really?” Vincent nodded. “But I would use caution, Sarah. He’s a vampire and might not be companion material.” Sarah shrugged and grinned. “Do you think I’d catch too much hell if I were to try?” Vincent laughed. “I doubt it. We didn’t start this war, remember? If someone were to successfully bring a vampire into our midst and manage to change things as a result, all the better for us. But please use caution; I have an odd feeling about this one.” Sarah nodded and smiled. “I will. You know, you really are an overprotective brother, whether you admit it or not.” Vincent launched a ballpoint pen at her and smirked. “Get out of here. I’ve got work to do.” She laughed and closed the study door behind her. Vincent turned his chair around and watched Jacob’s company emerge from the cover of the forest. The man seemed to be cooperative enough, but it didn’t mean he could be trusted. Yet even from his study on the third floor, Vincent could see the man fully. He looked vaguely familiar, which was, in and of itself, highly disconcerting. Vincent couldn’t recall ever meeting this man before. When the entourage disappeared under the eave, Vincent stood. They were entering the house now, which meant his presence would be requested soon. Like clockwork, the door to the study opened and a sleek, feline form slipped inside. “Please tell me you didn’t change in front of him,” Vincent said with the vaguest hint of annoyance. He walked around to lean against the front of his desk. The cat stopped before him and he saw the hint of a smile. To anyone else, the effect would have been quite frightening, as it revealed a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Vincent, however, could easily top it if he were in the mood. This was not one of those times. “No, I didn’t change in front of him.” Fur gave way to flesh as the cat’s form gave way to that of a human. Jacob settled down into the plush armchair and fingered the metal studs holding down the faded, black upholstery. “Who is he, Jacob? You know it’s forbidden to—” “Devon Hart.”

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Vincent blinked several times, unsure if he had heard Jacob correctly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Prince Hart? You brought the Prince of the Vampires here?” Jacob nodded. “Are you out of your mind?” Jacob glanced up at him and flashed him a smile. His eyes were still those of a cat. It was a trait Vincent always found enthralling. His own reminder lay emblazoned in a diagonal line across his chest. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he pulled his shirt tighter around him, effectively covering the mark. Jacob lifted a dark eyebrow but said nothing. “I think the prince is just as confused as we are, Vince. He seemed to be out of sorts.” “How did he get there?” “We watched a truck pull away before we left the safety of the trees. Whoever was driving it left in a hurry and without the prince.” Vincent nodded. “Well, then I suppose I should present him with at least a semblance of welcome. I can’t imagine he’ll receive anything more from anyone else.” “He’s cute.” Vincent shot his brother a look that made his thoughts very clear. “Don’t start. He’s the enemy, Jacob.” “Oh, give me a break, Vince,” Jacob said with a sly grin. “You saw him; I know you did. You can’t tell me you didn’t have the slightest notion in your head.” Vincent grumbled and waved his hand toward the door. “Out. Besides, our dear sister has already expressed an interest.” Jacob laughed and shot a last remark back. “I’ve heard rumors that the prince doesn’t have a taste for the fairer sex.” Vincent stopped just as he started to close the study door. Jacob grinned. “You coming?” The double meaning was quite clear and Vincent allowed a warning growl to slip. Jacob’s grin widened as they started down the stairs. Before they even reached the bottom of the staircase, Vincent could feel the heat of the prince’s stare as their gazes locked onto each other. He thought briefly about Jacob’s rumor, but forced it to the back of his mind. There would be a lot of explaining if he were to even attempt to become involved with a

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vampire. By the time he set foot on the foyer floor, Vincent had steeled himself against any possible attraction. Or so he thought. The crowd parted and Vincent came to stand face to face with the most alluring man he had ever seen. To make matters worse, the prince seemed to be just as interested. Vincent swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and prayed other parts of him stayed down as well. He extended a hand in welcome. “I apologize for the manner of your escort,” he said, “but safety is of the utmost concern. I’m Vincent Sheridan, lord of the shape shifters in this region.” The prince took his hand and Vincent felt the resulting electric spark arc up his arm and through his body. “Welcome to my home, Prince Hart.” “Thank you,” the prince said quietly. “Why am I here?” He released Vincent’s hand, for which Vincent was utterly grateful. There was most certainly something there in the prince’s eyes, something within those pale blue irises that made Vincent’s body tingle and his heart skip a beat. He forced the thoughts from his mind and waved the prince toward the library. “Come. We’ll talk in private.” He stopped as one of his guards moved to join them. “No, we will speak alone.” He glanced over and noted the all-too-knowing look in Jacob’s eyes. The damn werecat could see through anything. “You’re not exactly what I expected,” the prince said as Vincent closed the door. Vincent turned to face him. “Likewise.” He motioned for the prince to sit down as he did. “Why are you here? Why were you so near the forest?” “It wasn’t out of choice. I was abducted.” “What?” Vincent asked him with a laugh. “Abducted? By whom?” The prince shook his head. “By whom, I don’t know. Why? Now that I do know.” Vincent settled back onto the couch. “Go on.” “Rebellion, Lord Sheridan. My general and the entire Sanguine Council have turned on me.” “Why?” “They think I’m too lax. They want to strangle the lords and people with taxes and control until there’s nothing left. I refused to do it. General Sterling took it upon himself to take me out of

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the picture.” “General Sterling?” Vincent felt the growl rumble to life in his chest, but he suppressed it. “You know Sterling?” “I wish I could say that I didn’t. How do you know him?” Vincent forced himself to calm down. “Hearsay. Rest assured that his name is a curse here. He single-handedly managed to wipe out an entire region with his ‘cleansing’ techniques.” The prince nodded slowly. “So I heard. That was before the Council promoted him to General of Border Control. I’m sorry.” The apology threw Vincent for a loop, but he hid the surprise, which was a lot to say, considering he was doing good to hide other things. He only prayed the prince was not as intuitive as shape shifters tended to be. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the prince’s pale eyes or the smoothness of his skin. Dark brown hair framed a face of striking lines and graceful curves. Vincent thanked all the gods he knew of that the prince couldn’t read his mind. “On the contrary,” the prince said quietly, “I can.” Vincent felt the revelation like a train wreck in his brain. He cursed silently when the prince’s full lips curled into a grin. It was a purely seductive expression, but Vincent could sense the danger in it as well. He forced the invading visions from his mind. They would do him no good. “It seems that we share an enemy,” he said in an attempt to return the conversation to its original purpose. “Yes, it seems that we do. However, I have no one but myself in this fight. The only ally I had is now dead.” Vincent thought for a brief moment on the implications of the whole situation. Here was a chance to fight fire with fire, as the saying goes. For the past several years, they had been forced to do small, calculated battles along the borders. To go deeper would require knowledge of the city itself, and that was something none of them had. Then the prince himself had been thrown into the mix. But would he be willing to wage war with his own kind? “If it means regaining my throne and the diplomatic rule of my people, then yes.” Vincent groaned audibly as the prince answered his

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unspoken question. That was a trait that could be either incredibly helpful or incredibly devious. The grin that graced the prince’s lips told Vincent that, more often than not, the latter applied. This man was dangerous; that much Vincent knew to be true. “What can I do?” the prince asked. Vincent looked back up and made eye contact. It was a mistake on his part, as it seemed to open his mind to the prince. He didn’t have to voice the sudden surge of desire the beast within him felt. The human part of him didn’t stand a chance. He remained silent as the grave when the prince stood and walked over to him. He tried his best to will his body to calm, but when the prince slid a hand through his hair to cup the back of his neck, all thoughts of control left him. “What would the others say if they knew what is in your mind right now?” the prince whispered. Vincent shook his head and swallowed hard. “My brother does know. He’s the only one who can read my mind.” “Until now.” Vincent’s breath stilled as the prince’s lips made full contact with his. The prince’s mouth opened and Vincent moaned softly as a slender, pointed tongue darted inside to slide along his own. Yet when he began to return the kiss, the prince pulled back, visibly startled. “What are you?” Vincent flicked out his tongue. The forked end was always a shocking discovery to anyone who tried to seduce him. “More than I appear to be,” he said. “Do you think seducing me is going to gain you anything?” “It could.” The prince sat back down in his chair. Vincent cleared his throat. “Prince Hart, I—” The prince raised a hand to stop him. “Please don’t call me that. Devon is fine.” Vincent nodded and continued. “Devon. I am not part of the bargain here. I want the lands back that rightfully belong to my kind. Vampires have pushed us to the far reaches of the borders and there is little room left for us. On one side, we have the sea. On the other, we have vampires. The area between D.C. and the ocean is dwindling. The sea is rising with every year, and when

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the waters rise, our homes and habitats are destroyed. We were not made to survive in a concrete jungle. We need the open air of nature.” Devon pressed his hands together and brought them up to his mouth. Vincent waited patiently for an answer, although he wasn’t sure what answer he would receive. Devon was quiet for several seconds. “All right,” Devon said finally. “But I have a few demands of my own.” “Go on.” Devon leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers together behind his head. “No more hunting vampires. We’ve had too many disappear while out hunting and no mortal is any match for one of us. That leaves us to believe the shape shifters are responsible.” “Agreed, provided we are shown the same respect. We’ve had several return from hunting with the marks of a vampire.” “To hunt shape shifters is against the law. I have a feeling the culprits are the Council members themselves. Anything else?” Vincent shook his head. “Nothing. My biggest concern is the survival of my kind.” “The survival of my kind is my greatest concern as well,” Devon said. “Now, what can I do to help you?” “Inside information. I want to know the layout of the city— sewers, tunnels, alleys, and passages—anything you can give me. I want the names of the highest-ranking vampires and the names of everyone on the Sanguine Council.” “And in return?” Vincent knew there was going to be a price, but he was more than prepared to pay it. “Name it.” “I want our races to live in peace.” Vincent laughed. “That won’t be so easy to accomplish. Shape shifters and vampires have been at war for many ages, and although this particular war is only a few years old, habits die hard.” “Then let us set an example for them,” Devon said as he leaned forward. The meaning was not lost on Vincent, who shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “You fear me, don’t you?”

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“No. I have no fear of you, but of the reactions I would receive from my kind. To them, you are the enemy, Devon.” “And to you?” Vincent rubbed his fingertips over his temples. “What I think is not important. I will have a room set up for you. You are more than welcome to stay here as my personal guest. However, for the safety of my people and yourself, I cannot allow you to leave the mansion unguarded. You are free to wander the mansion interior at your leisure.” “Have you no fear of me escaping?” Devon asked him with a wry grin. “No. The mansion, as you have seen, is surrounded by a moat and the windows are all barred. Guards are posted at intervals within and without. You wouldn’t get out of here.” Devon nodded and the door opened. Jacob stuck his head in. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure everything is going well. Anything you need me to do, Vince?” Vincent stood. “Yes. Find the prince a room. See to it that he’s treated as one of his station. No guards at his door.” Jacob nodded and left. Vincent turned back to Devon. “Follow me. I’ll show you around until your room is ready.” As he led Devon out of the library, Vincent could feel the prince’s gaze burn a hole through the thin silk of his shirt. The heat of the vampire’s stare was palpable, more than Vincent ever remembered any other vampire ever being. He stopped in the doorway of the ballroom and turned around. “This is the grand ballroom. As you can see,” he said, turning and extending a hand into the room, “it is never empty. Many enjoy dancing as a past time, although they tend to do it in their true forms, so be forewarned should you venture down here. You might see things quite unusual.” Devon smirked and nodded. Vincent moved toward the staircase. “I won’t bother showing you the kitchen,” he said as he started up the stairs. “But I will show you where my study is. If you ever have need of me, chances are good that you’ll find me there.” Vincent led him down the left hallway and stopped before his study door. As he put a hand on the door handle, Devon gripped his forearm.

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“What about my feeding?” Vincent had wondered about that himself, but he had no real answer. “When did you last feed?” “Last night. I won’t need to feed again until this evening.” “All right. I’ll speak with Jacob and we’ll think of something. In the meantime, this is my study.” He opened the door and stood to the side to allow Devon to walk in. As Devon brushed by him, Vincent could smell the metallic hint of blood. Devon had lied to him; he would have to feed soon. He didn’t say anything and closed the door to give them privacy. “Nice,” Devon said as he looked at the books nestled in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “A fellow bibliophile, I see.” “Just a bit.” Vincent sat down on the edge of his desk and watched the prince pace back and forth in front of the shelves. His desire for the vampire flickered to life once more as Devon’s jeans hugged his body with every move. His shirt was tight around his torso and chest, leaving no muscled line to the imagination. It was enough to make Vincent shift on the desk to hide the growing bulge in his pants. The door opened and Jacob stepped in. “The room is ready. I put him down the hall from you, in case he needed anything.” The grin on his face nearly drew a growl from Vincent’s throat. Jacob was determined to get them together—one way or another. “Come on, Vince. He wants you; just give in already.” Vincent shot his brother a scowl. Jacob laughed and left the room. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.” Vincent led Devon out into the hallway and down to his room. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be back in a while to discuss feeding arrangements.” “That’s fine,” Devon said. “I need some sleep. Under normal circumstances, I would have already been in bed.” Vincent opened the door and watched as Devon closed it between them. The last look Devon had given him only served to unnerve Vincent even more. He turned and nearly ran into Jacob. Without a word, he motioned toward his study. Once they were inside, Vincent closed the door and leaned up against it. He closed his eyes and forced all thoughts of Devon Hart out of his

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mind. “You’re hopeless, Vince.” “Shut up. I’m not going to get involved with a vampire, Jacob.” Jacob settled onto the couch with a sigh. “It’s been over three hundred years, Vince. When are you going to let it go?” Vincent went to his desk and sat down in the plush leather chair. “What do you mean?” Jacob raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t give me that. You know damn well what I mean. You can’t go around blaming every fucking vampire in the world for what happened.” Vincent drew both hands down his face. “I know, I know. But for someone like me, three hundred years is relatively little time, especially when it comes to mending a broken heart.” He looked over at Jacob. “I loved Lukas. I don’t think I could ever give my heart to another soul, especially another vampire.” “Who said anything about giving away your heart? Hell, I’m just trying to get you laid. You certainly fucking need it.” “Fuck you,” Vincent countered with a short laugh. “Since when do you care about anyone’s sex life other than your own?” Jacob shrugged. “I have my mate. But then again, we werecats mate differently than you do. How do you mate, anyway? I’m guessing you at least keep the illusion up.” “Yes, I do. I mate to enjoy myself, not to scare the life out of my partner.” Vincent felt an old, familiar heat begin to wash through him and pushed it away with a silent curse. “I suppose I’m avoiding the possibility of having my heart broken again. We mate for life, Jacob.” “Personally I think you’re avoiding him out of a fear of commitment.” Vincent rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We have other issues to discuss.” “Like what?” “Feeding. How are we going to work out Devon’s feeding?” “We can’t support him, Vince. Feeding from the wildlife will put the rest of us in a tough spot. And we can’t let him loose to feed on the other side of the forest. It’s a risk to him and it’s a risk to us.” “I think I might have an idea,” Vincent mumbled.

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“Although I’m reluctant to do it.” He looked up and met Jacob’s concerned but knowing gaze. “Are you honestly up to doing that? The last time you acted as a donor was with Lukas.” “I think it’ll be fine. Besides, what could possibly happen?”

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Chapter Four Devon knew it was only a matter of time. He hadn’t missed the lingering look his host had given him, and he certainly had the kiss to go on. The heat hadn’t gone unnoticed and neither did the presence of a forked tongue. That alone brought all thoughts to a grinding halt. It was unnerving to say the least, but intriguing as well. He wondered what Vincent Sheridan’s true form was. He paced the hardwood floor. Too much weighed on his mind and he had given up on sleep altogether several hours ago. The hunger also wrought havoc on his senses and he wished he had told Sheridan the truth. Ty’s blood had been enough at the time, but its effects were quickly waning. Devon clenched his fists as another surge of hunger rushed through him. Like an answer to a silent prayer, a knock sounded on the door. “Come in.” He prayed he sounded calmer than he felt. He wasn’t sure what to think when Vincent Sheridan himself stepped into the room. “You look surprised to see me,” Vincent said as he closed the door behind him. It clicked shut and left Devon wondering what exactly Vincent was here for. “Well, I didn’t honestly expect you so soon,” Devon admitted. “I thought you would be asleep.” He watched as Vincent sat down in the only chair in the room. “I don’t sleep much,” Vincent said. “I came to discuss feeding arrangements.” Devon leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t look entirely thrilled,” he mused. He was surprised when his mental prodding was met with little resistance. He couldn’t suppress the grin. “Feed from you?” “Yes.” “If you let me in to see that much, why not tell me why

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you’re so reluctant to do it?” Vincent’s shoulders were tense and he didn’t seem too enthusiastic about talking. Devon pressed further and felt only a minute amount of resistance. Scenes flashed by that didn’t concern him, and he watched Vincent’s facial expressions closely. It wasn’t until he tapped into a particular memory that Devon noticed a sudden shift in his host’s countenance. He pulled back quickly and Vincent looked up at him. A wall seemed to form behind Vincent’s blue-gray eyes. “Drink your fill,” Vincent said as he held out his arm unceremoniously. “Don’t worry; you can’t easily harm me.” Devon stepped forward and took Vincent’s hand in his. He knelt beside the chair and gave Vincent a questioning glance. When Vincent nodded, Devon brought his host’s wrist to his lips. He hated feeding like this; it was callous and impersonal. Yet he knew, simply from the flash of memory he had seen, that he wouldn’t be allowed anything more than this. He closed his eyes as his teeth descended and pierced Vincent’s skin. There was no hiss of breath, no curse; simply the sensation of Vincent’s blood. And heat. It began as a wash of warmth in Devon’s mouth. He gasped as the heat increased. It surged into his head and down his throat, and he tightened his grip on Vincent’s arm. The sharp metallic taste was laced with something more, something he couldn’t quite place. When he had his fill, he pulled away, releasing Vincent’s arm with an unfamiliar reluctance. Vincent’s face remained expressionless as he pulled the sleeve of his shirt back down. “Thank you,” Devon muttered. He looked up as Vincent stood. “My blood will sustain you longer than you’re used to.” “So I’ve heard. I’ve never fed from a shape shifter before, but I’ve spoken with those who have,” Devon said. “My blood will outlast most.” Devon rose, but forced himself to stand in place. He still sensed a wall within Vincent’s mind. “Don’t try to read beyond it,” Vincent warned. “There are things best left untouched. I’ll see you later.” “You haven’t told me what you are,” Devon called after

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him. Vincent paused with his hand on the door. “That isn’t your concern.” He started to open the door, but Devon closed it once more. “If we are to work together, then it is my concern. Why are you hiding? What are you hiding?” Vincent turned a warning glare to him. Devon saw the truth straight through it. “Your own people don’t even know your true form.” “Jacob and Sarah know,” Vincent countered. “It is not necessary for others to know.” “Bullshit. Why are you hiding it?” Devon knew he was getting somewhere when Vincent sighed and released the door. Yet before he could say another word, Devon found himself pinned tightly between the opposite wall and Vincent’s body. Vincent’s hands were on either side, palms pressed to the wall by Devon’s shoulders. Devon could feel the heat of his breath. “You are playing with fire, Prince.” Devon opened his mouth to say something—anything—but instead of words coming out, Vincent’s forked tongue darted in. Devon reached out to pull Vincent closer. He slid his hands around Vincent’s sides and Vincent’s body crushed his against the wall. He had never been overpowered, but he soon realized Vincent was fully capable of just that. Vincent pulled away from his mouth and locked a gaze on him that made Devon’s blood run cold. Devon knew that look; he had given it to every man he had ever fucked. “I’m warning you now: sex with me is nothing like what you’ve had in the past.” Devon let his gaze travel down the length of Vincent’s body. Vincent gripped his chin roughly and raised his head back up. The heat from Vincent’s touch lingered as he pulled his hand back. Devon wondered if every touch from this man would be like that. Before he could ask, however, Vincent spun him around and bent him over the chair. Devon growled and stood up. Vincent slid one arm around his waist and his other hand around Devon’s throat to hold him still. “I told you, sex with me is different. If you want me, I come with a price.” He moved his hand from Devon’s waist to the zipper of his jeans and began pulling it down. Once Devon’s jeans were open,

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Vincent shoved them to the floor. He pushed Devon back over the chair and unfastened his own pants. Devon turned his head to the side and glared at Vincent from over his shoulder. Submitting to a shifter had not been in his plans. He started to rise back up, but Vincent pushed him down and held him with one hand. Devon realized then he had no chance in Hell of winning this one. Devon sucked in a breath when two long fingers impaled him without warning. He could feel the heat of Vincent’s breath as it caressed the small of his back. Another finger joined the first two and Devon rocked back onto Vincent’s hand with a groan. Damn the shifter for making him want this! “Yes, Prince,” Vincent whispered as he leaned over Devon’s back. Heat pulsed through Devon’s body as Vincent blew lightly over his neck. Devon shuddered beneath the shape shifter’s weight. “You like that, don’t you?” Devon forced himself to remain silent. He refused to give his host the pleasure of hearing him beg. He wouldn’t beg—no matter how much his body ached to feel Vincent Sheridan’s touch. Vincent’s fingers coaxed another groan from Devon’s lips and he gripped the arms of the chair. Blood seeped into his mouth from where he had bitten his lower lip in an effort to keep from pleading. When the fingers inside him withdrew, Devon’s grip tightened on the chair. “Deep breath, Prince.” The moment Devon took a breath, Vincent thrust inside him. Devon snarled and backed onto him. Vincent gripped his hips and thrust into him again. Devon’s plea slipped free. “Please, Vincent.” He released the chair and circled his shaft in a tight grip. “Oh, God...” Devon hated this. He hated the mere idea of submitting to anyone, especially a shifter, but with every slide of Vincent’s cock inside him, he couldn’t bring himself to do even so much as argue. It had been so long since he had felt another man inside him, yet his body molded perfectly to Vincent. Even the feel of Vincent above him, holding him captive over the chair, felt right. Vincent’s grip tightened on his hips and every thrust drove him closer to orgasm. Devon sped up his own strokes, matching Vincent’s rhythm. He was so close...just a little bit more...

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Then he felt a sharp pain on either hip. He hissed as the unmistakable sensation of claws sent bolts of pain through his body to mingle with the pleasure. It was a known fact that shifters tended to let loose some of their true form during mating. He wondered if it was now happening with Vincent. Yet when he tried to turn around, Vincent released one of his hips and pressed him to the chair with a steel grip on his neck. Devon felt a tickle down each thigh and the smell of the blood reached him, sparking the hunger once more. He wanted to taste, to feel the searing heat of Vincent’s blood as it seeped down his throat at the moment of climax. It was unlike any blood he had ever tasted, and one taste had been enough to spark an addiction. Devon used his other hand to pull Vincent’s arm around in front of him. The move caused Vincent to fall against him, impaling him deeper than he had thought possible. He drove his teeth into the flesh of Vincent’s forearm, seconds before his body shook with his orgasm. Vincent thrust into him one last time and Devon released the man’s arm with a pained hiss as Vincent’s teeth imbedded themselves in his shoulder. Whatever Vincent’s true form was, it was very close to emerging. Vincent ground against him and Devon felt the shifter’s body go rigid. Seconds later a torrent of liquid heat filled his body, dragging a shout out of him. He bucked under the weight of Vincent’s body, the mix of pain and pleasure unlike anything he had ever experienced. When Vincent withdrew from him, Devon’s legs nearly gave way. Had it not been for Vincent, he would have hit the floor. Vincent caught him under his arms and steadied him, holding him tight. Devon’s body ached like he had spent the entire day and night in one long orgy. He slumped back against Vincent’s chest and struggled to catch his breath. “I told you,” Vincent whispered close to his ear. “Sex with me is different.” “I noticed.” Devon pulled away just enough to turn around. He looked up and met Vincent’s gaze. Vincent grinned and slid an arm around Devon’s waist, tugging him close. “The feeding arrangements remain the same, Prince.” “If this is the result of feeding from you, then I’ll gladly

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accept a donor,” Devon said. He glanced down and traced the wrinkles of Vincent’s silk shirt with his fingertip. “Although I must admit, I’m exceptionally curious as to what you really are. I’ve never heard of any shifter who could burn you from the inside out.” Vincent effectively avoided answering the question by luring Devon into a kiss. It was as heated as the first, even if it wasn’t as hungry. Devon groaned when Vincent released him and dressed once more. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Devon nodded and realized how tired he was now. He watched Vincent walk out the door without another word. For the first time, he wanted a man to stay with him after the sex was over.

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Chapter Five Vincent closed the door to his study and leaned back against it. It had been the first time he fed a vampire, much less had sex with one, since Lukas. He wasn’t sure now if it had been a good idea. He swallowed the unusual lump in his throat and opened his eyes to meet the steady, slanted gaze of his brother. “You did it,” Jacob said with a grin. Vincent rolled his eyes at him and pushed away from the door. “You know I did,” he said as he settled into the chair behind his desk. He fingered the curling edge of his desk calendar, not really paying too much attention to the amused look he knew was in his brother’s eyes. “And now you’re wondering why you did it.” “More or less.” Vincent looked up. “I don’t want to get involved with another vampire, Jacob.” Jacob smiled. “Ah, but the vampire is quite interested in becoming involved with you.” Vincent nodded and watched as Jacob closed his eyes. A few moments later a sleek cat sat where a man once stood. It was always amazing to watch the others change, but for Vincent himself, it was something that could never occur before anyone’s eyes. The expression in Jacob’s yellowed eyes turned from one of amusement to one of concern. “I love watching you change,” Vincent murmured. “When was the last time you did?” “Entirely too long ago. I try to avoid it, to be honest. Not many would understand and certainly they would all be frightened.” “What about Hart? Does he know?” Vincent sighed. “No, he doesn’t. He is intent on knowing, though, and that’s something I cannot allow. I don’t want to...” Vincent stopped himself before he said more than he was ready

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to. Jacob, however, saw through it entirely. “Hurt him?” Jacob offered. Vincent nodded slowly. “I know you, Vince. I know how your mind works, as well as your heart. You cannot deny what you feel, anymore than you can lie to me and tell me it isn’t there.” “Your abilities are thoroughly disconcerting,” Vincent grumbled. He often wished he had the gift of mind-reading, but that hadn’t been in the cards for him. He had other—more provocative—abilities. “I need to get out, Jacob. I need to feel the air under me.” “Then leave, Vince. Take the back way out, through the kitchen. Percil has gone to bed, so there should be no one to see you leave. When will you be back?” “At dawn.” Vincent stood, but then stopped before rounding his desk. “If Devon wakes and wonders where I’ve gone—” “I’ll simply tell him you’ve gone hunting. Don’t worry, Vince, I have the feeling you wore him out.” Vincent chuckled and slipped quietly out of the study. He prayed Devon was asleep as he tiptoed down the staircase, taking care not to rouse anyone. Once he was safely in the dark kitchen, he made his way to the back door. It opened onto the fields in back where they grew fruits and vegetables for the noncarnivorous. For Vincent, however, meat was the only thing he wanted. He picked his way through the gardens until he was in the safety of the woods. He could hear the sea just beyond the edge of the forest, the waves crashing onto a beach of white sand littered with kelp and shells. As soon as he stepped out of the forest and onto the sand, the illusion faded. Time-hardened wings of crimson stretched the span of six men as the heat within his body lifted him. The sensation of the wind beneath him—surrounding him—was one Vincent realized he had missed greatly. He enjoyed being a man when it was necessary, but the beast was never content in a shell, even if it was simply a magical one. Vincent soared into the air and through the clouds of an impending storm, savoring the moisture on his scales. The wind fluttered over the black wisp of hair down the ridge of his back and he arced once more, gaining another hundred feet. He followed the coastline, watching for signs of movement below. The beast was hungry.

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As he neared the beginning of the cliffs that had once been the state line between D.C. and Maryland, Vincent spotted a lone bear wandering in-between the trees. He chuckled to himself and exhaled a fiery plume. He descended rapidly and, before the bear had time to retreat, Vincent’s sword-like teeth drove into the mammal’s flesh, cracking bone and shredding muscle. He threw his head back, tossing the bear into the air, and swallowed it whole. It was the first, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was nearly six in the morning, judging by the sun’s position, when Vincent descended onto the beach. He slipped back into the illusion and made his way through the forest and back to the mansion gardens. He stepped into the kitchen and the chaos that was the morning meal preparation. As soon as the door closed behind him, everything ground to a halt. He nodded and walked through the kitchen, stopping to say hello to several people before he reached the other doorway. When he finally managed to escape the kitchen, he started up the stairs. He pulled his shirt closed over his chest as a group of three others descended the stairs. He gave them a quick nod, indicating he was tired, and continued. When he reached the landing and turned the corner, he came face to face with the prince. “I’m sorry,” Vincent said as he forced the illusion to hold. He was tired and his magic was weakening. A single hand under his chin drew his attention to the prince. Before he could utter another word, the prince’s lips were on his. Vincent allowed himself to be pushed back against the wall; he was too tired to do much else. Letting the beast out drew on considerable stores of strength and often left the man exhausted. “I couldn’t sleep,” Devon said quietly. He lowered his gaze and Vincent followed suit, knowing what was going to happen next but not having the energy to stop it. “Devon,” Vincent started, but he couldn’t finish his plea, much less his thought, as Devon’s body pressed along his in all the right places. It seemed as if the prince’s body fit every curve of his own perfectly. Devon slid his fingers down the front of Vincent’s shirt, parting the silk slowly. Vincent drew in a breath as he felt the pressure and heat of Devon’s fingertips as they grazed the

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surface of the crimson scales. Only then did Devon’s expression change to one of curiosity tinged with fear. He caught Devon’s hand just as Devon started to open his shirt. “Don’t,” he warned. “Why?” “Because I said so, Devon. There are some things best left to the imagination.” Vincent slid his hand up to thread his fingers through the prince’s. “Trust me, prince.” He moved Devon’s hand and started to pull him into another kiss when Jacob shouted from the entryway below. “Vincent! There’s been another attack on the border. Sarah and her team have left already. We need you. You’re the only one with infrared.” Vincent cursed under his breath and slid out from between Devon and the wall. He could hear Devon hurrying to catch up with him as he ran down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he turned around. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Get some sleep, prince.” He pulled the surprised prince into his arms for a kiss and then released him. “Infrared?” Devon asked him. Vincent turned and started out the door behind Jacob. “Yes, infrared vision. I see body heat.” He closed the door behind him, leaving the bewildered prince standing in the foyer. “Your illusion is weak,” Jacob said as they started toward the path cutting through the inner forest. “I know. I didn’t have a chance to rest.” Vincent glanced over and found Jacob looking at him. “What?” Jacob shrugged. “Nothing really. I just wonder how long you’re going to be able to keep it from him.” Vincent lowered his voice as they approached the way point where Sarah and her group waited. “Let me deal with that.” Jacob threw his hands up in mock surrender and Vincent grinned. “Vince,” Sarah said as she walked up to them. “Scouts have reported a small group just inside the forest.” Vincent took a deep breath and hoped he was up to this. “Vincent, they aren’t vampires. Since Lukas, there haven’t been any who could move during the day.”

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“If it isn’t Lukas, then who is it?” Vincent wasn’t sure he liked the look on his sister’s face. Sarah wasn’t easily unnerved. “It’s a group of mortals.” Vincent stood in a stunned silence for several minutes. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper as he drew Sarah and Jacob close. “Mortals? Since when do they send mortals in?” “Since they’ve become more intent on killing us off,” Jacob said dryly. “It sounds like something Lukas would do.” Vincent nodded; that was something he couldn’t deny in the least. General Lukas Sterling was quite well-known for using whatever means necessary to accomplish a goal. This time was no different. “Vince, we’re going to need your vision,” Sarah said. “Why is your illusion so weak?” Vincent looked to Jacob, who simply backed away and shook his head. “Don’t look at me,” Jacob said. “Woman’s prerogative, man.” Vincent looked back at Sarah. She seemed none too happy about being left out. “I went hunting last night and just got back not long ago. I haven’t been to sleep.” Sarah put her hands on her hips and a copper eyebrow lifted in question. “There’s more.” Vincent let out a defeated sigh. “The prince fed from me last night.” “Among other things.” Vincent shot Jacob a scowl. “Yes, among other things.” “I had the feeling it might happen,” Sarah said. “I’ve heard the rumors about the prince’s tastes. Does anyone else know?” “No, and I would prefer to keep it that way for now. At least until the war is over. Now, where is the biggest concentration that you know of?” Vincent nodded to the forest, which began half a mile from where they stood. “Closer to the D.C. border. They’re brave enough to camp out in the woods, but I have the feeling that’s where their courage ends.” Jacob glanced from Sarah to Vincent. “Do you have the energy to do this without letting the illusion slip?” “I can try. I barely kept it in check when I ran into the prince,” Vincent said as he gazed in the direction of the woods. “But just in case, move everyone to the old storehouse. Keep

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them inside. If I get into trouble, you’ll know.” Jacob and Sarah both nodded and turned to gather their groups. Vincent waited until both groups—thirty shape shifters total—were out of sight before he started down the path of crushed, browned grasses that led into the forest. He stopped five feet from the forest’s edge and allowed the illusion to slip just enough to bring about the dragon’s vision. Five clusters of people hid in the forest, some in trees, others among the brush. Vincent felt a smirk tug at his mouth— Lukas had obviously trained these mortals well. He watched the red-orange figures as they shifted against the blue-tinged background. Several of them were redder as their pulses thundered in their veins, their nervousness as bare as they themselves had been the day they were born. They might be able to hide from the others for a time, but they couldn’t change the heat as it radiated off of their bodies. Vincent counted the figures a second time before drawing the illusion back into its full state. He turned and made his way quietly toward the storehouses where the others waited—with questions about his abilities, no doubt. “Well?” Jacob asked as Vincent closed the door. “Five groups total, twenty people if you want an exact head count. They didn’t see me, but they know we’re here.” “What’s the plan then?” Sarah asked as she pulled Vincent and Jacob into a corner. “Split up and hunt them?” Vincent nodded. “Yes. Change now and follow me.” Jacob and Sarah left to relay the orders to their groups. Vincent watched in renewed fascination as thirty human bodies became thirty fur-covered ones. Wolves, cats, bears—they were all ready for a hunt. A small, slender cat with copper fur sidled up to rub Vincent’s leg. He reached down and gave Sarah a quick scratch behind her left ear. She purred and looked up at him. With a nod, he led his four-legged menagerie out of the storehouse and into the dense forest. He stopped and pointed in four directions, sending groups of seven out to flank the circle of humans. He then motioned for Sarah and Jacob to follow him to take the last group. Once they were all in place, the order to attack was given. With a snap of his fingers, Vincent set the two cats at his

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side on the group of mortals before them. Unable to allow his illusion to drop, he gripped one of the men by the back of his neck and pinned him face-first against the nearest tree. The man struggled against his hold and Vincent felt the beast’s rage build within him. He closed his eyes with a silent prayer and descended on the man’s throat. The man convulsed between Vincent’s body and the trunk of the oak and Vincent released him, stepping back as the body crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood. He turned around just in time to see Sarah’s fangs cut through another man’s side. Vincent could hear the crunch of bone and Sarah released the man, leaving him to die as she jumped onto another man’s back. She dug her front claws into the man’s shoulders and tucked her body in, heaving the man over and down. He screamed as her teeth broke through the flesh of his neck. Jacob, having put away another two men, left to help the other groups. Vincent stepped around the bodies as Sarah jumped off of the last man’s chest. She joined him as he ran to the next group. The last of the attackers died and a chilling silence fell over the immediate area. It had been the first time they had ever killed mortals. It was not a practice any of them were comfortable with, but as the morning light began to break through the trees, casting grotesque shadows across the forest floor, they all realized it wouldn’t be the last battle with mortals.

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Chapter Six “Mortals?” Vincent said nothing and simply sat down in his chair. He glanced up at the prince and nodded. Devon collapsed onto the couch with a blank look on his face. “Dear God, Sterling’s managed to rope others into this war. The mortals were never involved before now.” “No, they weren’t,” Vincent said with a sigh. He watched the prince’s expression change. “You know Sterling personally, don’t you?” Vincent nodded. “I wish I could say I didn’t.” “How do you know him?” Vincent leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. “I knew him long ago, before he became a general. I knew him as Lukas. He was the last man I ever loved.” “That explains why you’re so reluctant with me,” Devon said. Vincent nodded. “What happened? Or would you rather not talk about it?” Vincent sighed and sat back. He propped his feet up on the edge of his desk and tilted the chair back. “Four hundred years ago,” he began, “I met Lukas in a tavern in London. We hit it off immediately. We spent the next century at each other’s side. Then he started craving power and wanted me to go along with it all. I refused, as I was more content to live a quiet life. I still want only that. He tried to convince me to show him my real form. When I refused, he disappeared from my life. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest and I swore to never get involved again, especially with a vampire. That was three centuries ago, and I managed to stick to my conviction.” Devon leaned forward and gave Vincent an odd sort of smile. “And now?” Vincent met his gaze and wondered if he dared to put the

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word between them. He had only been with the prince once, but once had been enough. Even though the man was hesitant, the dragon was not. He watched the prince’s smile widen and realized his silent hesitation had given him away without the need for words. “We mate for life, Devon,” he said, unsure as to whether Devon really understood what he was walking into. “And you think that’s a problem for me?” Vincent shrugged. “In all honesty, I wouldn’t know. I’ve lived too long to know or do anything beyond my instincts.” Devon got up and walked over to him. He moved Vincent’s legs and sat down on top of the desk in front of him. “What are you?” he asked pointedly. “I have absolutely no problem being with you for life. I don’t know what the hell it is about you, but nothing could make me want to leave.” “Nothing?” Vincent asked him. He took Devon’s hand and placed it on his chest. “You wanted to know what I am, Devon; now is your chance to find out.” He drew in a breath and waited as Devon unbuttoned his shirt. When Devon pushed it open, he sat back with a bewildered look. Vincent chuckled, took Devon’s hand, and placed his palm flat against the crimson scales. He held Devon’s hand still, watching the prince’s face as the heat seeped into his skin. Devon’s mouth dropped open, but he did not move. “What are you?” he whispered. Vincent lifted Devon’s hand and sucked two of his fingers into his mouth. The prince drew in a quick breath and Vincent exhaled on his fingers. Holding the illusion wasn’t easy and the house was certainly no place to let it slip, but his breath remained the same. He could control the fire, but he could not control the heat. As his breath warmed Devon’s fingers, he watched the prince’s face closely. “Dear God,” Devon said quietly. “You’re a dragon.” Vincent released his fingers slowly and nodded. “The man you see before you is an illusion, Devon. Vincent Sheridan is a three-dimensional, fully-functional illusion.” Devon pulled his hand from Vincent’s and ran his fingertips down the line on Vincent’s chest. “I can see why you keep it hidden,” he said. “I can imagine the fear others would feel.”

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“And the fear you feel,” Vincent added. Devon looked up and met his gaze. “I won’t lie to you. It’s a bit unsettling to know what you are after what happened earlier.” “But…” Devon smiled. “But it doesn’t change anything, to be honest. And you can rest assured your secret will remain with me. Question is: are you ready to become involved with another vampire?” Vincent entwined his fingers with Devon’s and pulled the prince onto his lap. “I suppose I can try,” he said. Devon shifted and Vincent groaned. “You were the first person in three hundred years. I’m surprised I remembered how to do anything.” Devon chuckled. “Oh, believe me, you remembered. It had been quite a while since I had anyone inside me.” “What were you before you were turned anyway?” Vincent asked. Devon straddled him and Vincent felt himself grow hard from the contact. “A knight.” Vincent laughed. “You were a knight?” “I was the only son of a wealthy lord. I fought for King and country, whether I wanted to or not. War is not my favorite of pastimes.” “Can’t blame you,” Vincent said. “Although I have to admit, the thought of seeing you with a sword is an enticing one.” Devon gave him a wry grin and ground down on his lap. Vincent gripped the prince’s hips and held him tight. Devon leaned down to kiss him and Vincent moved his hands up to slide them through the prince’s hair. He felt so strong, so warm, and all Vincent could think about was burying himself deep inside Devon’s body again. He had just about reached the point of bending the prince over the desk when the door to his study opened. Devon pulled away from their kiss and Vincent looked around him. Jacob slipped inside and pushed the door closed behind him. Devon didn’t seem to be overly surprised as the black cat strolled over to them. Vincent looked from the cat to Devon. “Devon, you’ve already met my brother Jacob in human

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form. Now you see him in his true form.” Devon grinned and held out a hand. The cat jumped up, placed both front paws on the desk, and purred as Devon scratched behind his right ear. When he jumped back down, fur gave way to flesh. Jacob sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs and gave the two men an amused grin. “Well, looks like someone came to his senses after all,” he teased. Vincent groaned. “Enough already. You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a good reason.” “Yeah, yeah,” Jacob grumbled. “We spotted a group of vampires just beyond the forest. It looks like they might be readying themselves for an attack.” “Is Sterling with them?” Devon asked. Jacob shook his head. “Surprisingly, no. It’s a small group, which is a bit odd. He normally sends more than six to do anything other than annoy.” “Six?” Vincent looked up at Devon, but the prince seemed to be just as confused as he was. “Only six? Surely they don’t think they can do anything with so few.” Jacob shrugged. “Don’t know. Kind of funny, if you ask me. They even have a priest with them.” Devon turned around from kissing the top of Vincent’s head and stared at Jacob. “Priest? What does he look like?” “Well, from what I could see, he’s about Sara’s height of five feet, gray hair, red frock. He looked to be someone of great importance, although he didn’t seem to be overly amused with the company he was with. Why?” Devon looked out the window behind Vincent and shook his head. “They said they killed him.” “Killed who?” Vincent asked. Devon looked down at him. “Jareth Benedict, my chief vicar. Sterling claimed he killed Jareth. I don’t understand.” Vincent and Jacob exchanged glances, then Vincent looked back up at Devon. “The priest you knew is long gone, Devon. If he wasn’t a vampire before, I have the feeling he’s one now.” Devon nodded. “I’m afraid you may be right. I just can’t believe Jareth would allow something like that to happen.” “It might not have been a matter of allowance,” Vincent

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said. “Lukas was never known for showing mercy. If anything, I would venture to guess your old friend was forced to make a choice of some sort. And I have the feeling it was done to mess with you.” “What are we going to do, Vince?” Vincent returned his attention to Jacob. “We can’t let them in. A group of six is no threat to the adults, but they could easily harm the young ones.” He glanced up as Devon slid off of his lap. “Don’t suppose you have a sword handy,” Devon said with a grim smirk. “I have one in my chambers. When was the last time you used one?” Devon laughed. “Not long before I was turned, during the winter of 1443.” Vincent gave him a skeptical look. “But swordplay isn’t something you forget easily. Once I have one in my hand, my body will remember it.” “All right,” Vincent said as he stood. “There’s no need to make this a large-scale event. The three of us can handle six vampires. Jacob, we’ll meet you outside. Devon, follow me.” He led Devon to his chambers and as soon as the door was shut, Devon shoved him up against it. Vincent slid his arms around the prince’s waist and groaned as Devon descended on his neck with teeth bared. He briefly remembered what it had been like when Lukas fed, but it had never been anything like this. He gripped Devon’s hair with one hand and the prince’s waist with the other. Devon sucked on his neck and it sent shockwaves through Vincent’s body. “We have to go,” he said reluctantly. He felt the vibration when Devon groaned, but the prince pulled away. A tiny stray drop of blood remained on his bottom lip and Vincent pulled him close. He traced his tongue across Devon’s lips, licking away the blood. The prince shuddered in his arms. “Stay with me,” Devon said. “When we get back, when we can finish this; don’t leave me after.” Vincent leaned his head back against the door. He still held Devon in his arms and couldn’t believe how right it felt. “I won’t. You can keep your chambers, should you want some time to yourself, but when you need me, my door is always open to

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you.” Devon smiled. “Now, what about that sword?” Vincent shook his head to free it of other, more carnal thoughts, and went to the closet. He pushed the clothes on the rack apart to reveal another, smaller door in the back wall. He slid it open and pulled out a dusty length of leather. “I haven’t used it in ages,” he said as he handed the long sword to Devon. Devon drew the sword and studied the blade. At that moment in time, Vincent could easily see the knight beneath the guise of the vampire. Devon had been right; he would remember. Vincent closed both doors of the closet and Devon returned the sword to its scabbard. “Ready when you are,” Devon said. Vincent nodded and they left the mansion to meet Jacob. It was late enough that no one seemed to notice them leaving, and much as he had expected, Sara was waiting outside with Jacob. She was dressed in her green silk robe, which was a relief to Vincent. It meant she wasn’t going. She turned around and Vincent could do nothing but smile. She simply shook her head at him. “Janice is having complications,” she said. “I told Jacob to go and I’d watch over her.” “Janice?” Devon asked. Jacob smiled. “My mate. She’s pregnant with our first, but it’s been a rough one.” Devon nodded. “Gotcha.” Sara grabbed Vincent’s arm and pulled him off to the side. “So?” “What?” Sara rolled her eyes. “Oh, give me a break, Vince. When you fall, you fall hard and quick. Fess up. You like him, don’t you?” “Of course, I do.” A copper eyebrow lifted in what was clearly disbelief. “All right,” he conceded. “I do like him.” He glanced back over at the prince. “A lot.” “So you’ve finally let go of Lukas’ betrayal then?” she asked. “For the most part. Being with Devon just feels right, more

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than anything else ever has.” “Good,” Sara said. She pulled Vincent into a hug. “I love you, Vince. I want you to be happy.” He laughed. “I am, at least where my personal life is concerned.” Sara let him go, and he went back to Devon and Jacob. “Be careful, guys,” she said. “Always,” Vincent called over his shoulder. He led the way over the bridge and down one of the paths that wound through the forest. Before he started in, Devon grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss. When they parted, Vincent smiled. “Be careful,” the prince said quietly. “Always.”

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Chapter Seven Vincent stepped into the woods and started down the path through the forest. Devon and Jacob walked quietly behind him. When they came to a fork in the path, Vincent stopped. Considering they were hunting vampires, infrared was useless, so he looked back at Devon. Sensing his hesitation, Devon moved up to stand beside him. Vincent watched as the prince closed his eyes. Devon seemed to focus intently on senses Vincent simply didn’t have. Even the dragon had no mental connection to vampires. With his eyes still closed, the prince turned to their left. He opened his eyes and nodded. “That way,” he said, pointing toward the border between the woods and the city. His hand dropped back down to his side. “Toward D.C.” Vincent gripped the prince’s shoulder and turned him around. “Remember, Devon, your friend is not the same man you once knew. Let’s go.” With Devon leading the way, the three of them moved as silent as possible through the thick woods. Vincent watched Devon closely, waiting for a sign that their quarry was near. After several minutes of walking deeper into the forest, Devon stopped and raised his hand, signaling for Vincent and Jacob to do the same. “There,” the prince whispered. “I think they are camped there in a small clearing.” “Camped?” Jacob asked. “They have the balls to set up camp in these woods?” Devon nodded. “And they are feeding,” he said, turning to look back at Vincent. Jacob shot a quick glance at Vincent. The vampires were trying to drive the shifters out—by depleting their food sources.

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“One fell swoop, Vincent. Just one, and they would be destroyed.” Vincent shook head. “I’m not letting him out.” “Let who out?” Devon looked from Jacob to Vincent. “Did I miss something?” “Listen to me, Vince,” Jacob continued. “All it would take is one well-placed exhale. Besides, you can’t tell me the beast would turn down the chance to eat.” “Ah. I see.” Devon backed up, and Vincent looked over at him. “Are you certain you want to see this?” A curt nod was Devon’s immediate answer. “I’ll see it eventually,” he said. “Might as well make it now.” With a defeated sigh, Vincent closed his eyes and allowed the illusion to fade. He barely heard the startled gasp from the prince as he stretched out his wings. He turned his head in Devon’s direction and found himself momentarily confused by the blue color of the prince’s body. Then he remembered: Devon was a vampire, not a living mortal. “Oh, my God,” Devon said breathlessly. Vincent stilled his tail before it could give away their location. The last thing they needed was for the whip-like appendage to slash the trees to shreds. He tucked his wings in and lowered his head before Devon. Devon hesitated, then reached up to touch the crimson scales covering Vincent’s snout. Vincent watched as a shudder ran through the prince and he gave Devon his best attempt at a smile. The effect seemed to shock the prince even more, as Devon backed away from the razor-sharp teeth that graced Vincent’s mouth. “I would never harm you, Devon.” “I know. It’s just…different.” Vincent chuckled and the sound rumbled through the earth beneath their feet. Devon swallowed hard and smiled, although it seemed a bit forced. Vincent righted himself once more and sucked in a breath, lifting his enormous body from the ground. He looked down at Jacob and Devon, then started in the direction of the clearing. Below, he could see the cool blue shapes as they sat perched

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in trees. All six were spread out; two in one tree, three in another, and the last at the base of another tree. One exhale and they would be gone, roasted where they sat. A deep chuckle slid through Vincent’s throat and the attack began. The first two never had a chance. The fiery plume of Vincent’s breath turned the tree to a blackened stump; the vampires were nothing more than a pile of ashes. The three in the tree beside them shrieked as they tried desperately to stamp out the fires climbing up their bodies. The flames rose higher until they too were nothing but ash. The last one on the ground escaped the inferno and took off at break neck speed, faster than one of his apparent age could normally run. He hiked his priest’s robe up and Vincent followed, gliding atop the trees and quite enjoying the hunt. Just as he decided to end his fun, however, the vampire priest found himself face to face with Devon. The sword in the prince’s hand disappeared through the vampire’s body and emerged out of his back. The look on Devon’s face told Vincent this had once been the prince’s friend, his vicar. As Vincent touched ground, he waited, meeting Devon’s oddly calm gaze over the flailing vampire’s shoulder. With a coldness that surprised Vincent, the prince withdrew the sword, then swung it, severing the priest’s head from his shoulders. Then the sword clattered to the ground. “He was no longer the man you knew.” Devon looked up and Vincent could see the pain in the depths of his eyes. “I know.” Heaving his massive body over a fallen tree, Vincent made his way toward Devon and Jacob. He lowered his head to the prince, controlling his breath carefully as Devon reached up to touch him. When the prince’s fingers drifted toward his snout, Vincent opened his mouth. Devon showed no sign of fear this time and surprised Vincent by reaching up and stroking one of the razor-sharp teeth. Vincent slipped his tongue out and curled it around Devon’s wrist. The prince gasped, then bit his lower lip as he twisted his hand to stroke the strong, slender, forked muscle. A low growl rumbled deep in Vincent’s chest, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jacob make a quiet exit. “Have you ever…”

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When the prince’s words trailed off, Vincent released his wrist and moved closer. He slid his tongue beneath Devon’s shirt and circled his nipple with the tip, causing the prince’s breath to catch. “Have I ever…?” He held Devon’s gaze as he stroked his skin, edging lower. Devon’s eyes widened as Vincent slipped his tongue down the front of his pants. He could feel the prince’s stomach muscles tighten in response. “Have you ever… Oh, fuck…” Devon shuddered hard as Vincent curled his tongue completely around his cock, enveloping it twice. “Oh, my God…” Using the grip on his cock as leverage, Vincent pulled the prince closer. A dark fire smoldered in the prince’s eyes, then flared when Vincent began stroking him. “Is that what you were asking, prince?” Devon nodded, his breathing labored and quick. “And what else can you do with that tongue?” Vincent growled as he narrowed his gaze. He released Devon slowly. “Undress for me, prince.” He watched as Devon stepped back and removed his clothes. Vincent settled down and curled his right wing around Devon, easing him onto the ground, the leathery wing providing a much better surface than the rough forest floor. The prince shivered slightly, but Vincent knew it had nothing to do with a chill in the air. Stretched out on the underside of Vincent’s wing, Devon Hart looked vulnerable, and a touch bit nervous. “I won’t hurt you, Devon,” Vincent said. “I know.” Devon reached up and stroked his fingers over Vincent’s snout. “Touch me, Vincent…” “Turn over.” Devon met his gaze and shuddered. From the look in his eyes, it was clear Devon knew what he was asking for. When he turned over, Vincent watched as Devon rested his head on his forearms. With the tip of his tongue, he spread Devon’s legs, licking a slow path up the inside of each thigh. By the time he reached Devon’s balls, the prince was trembling and making needy sounds as he rocked back. “Oh, God…” Devon groaned as Vincent slid his tongue beneath him, drawing the tip over his belly, then his cock. The

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rough surface of his tongue grazed the prince’s skin, and Devon shook. “Vincent…” When he pulled away, Vincent’s gaze sharpened on the body beckoning him, the tight entrance he longed to slide into. He touched his tongue to it and Devon backed up immediately. “Yes… Vincent, please…” “Deep breath, prince…” A moment later, Vincent pushed his tongue inside, slowly impaling the prince on the muscular length of his tongue. Devon gasped, then backed up, his body shaking uncontrollably. The width was much more than a cock, and Vincent stopped, allowing the prince to get used to the sensation of his body stretching around something as large as two. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck…” Devon rose up on his hands and slipped one hand beneath him. As he started stroking his cock, he pulled away from Vincent, then slid back again. “Vincent!” Vincent growled as Devon rocked back, fucking himself on his tongue with hard, fast strokes. As the prince’s body tightened around his tongue, Vincent felt the need for his own release build inside. He wrapped his wing around Devon, then drove his tongue deep inside him, loving the way the vampire prince’s pale body writhed against the light crimson of his own leathered flesh. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…” Devon pleaded. “Oh, fuck…” His stroking sped up, and he fell forward, pushing his ass back and up. “Fuck me…Oh, shit, Vincent, fuck me!” Vincent plunged his tongue in and out of the prince, but soon found his own needs growing too much to control. Within seconds, the dragon shimmered and Vincent’s human hands locked to Devon’s hips as he shoved his cock deep inside the prince with a growl. It wasn’t enough. He pulled out, and flipped Devon over, barely noticing the look of tortured pleasure on his face. He shoved the prince’s legs up and apart, then drove his cock back in. Devon bucked against him, and seconds later his cock erupted, coating them both. Vincent leaned down and crushed his lips to Devon’s in a bruising kiss, as he came with Devon’s arms tight around his neck. They both struggled to catch their breaths, and Vincent

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slowly pulled out. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.” Devon smiled, although his eyes were still glazed over. He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just sore.” Vincent leaned down to kiss him before standing back up. He held his hand out to Devon and helped him to stand. “I suppose we need to get back to the house. No doubt, Sarah’s ready to kill us for staying out after Jacob returned alone.” Devon dressed, bent to pick up the sword, then nodded. “Lead the way.” **** “No more killing, Devon.” Devon turned away from the bookcase to look at Vincent. He had known this would come up, that his occasional method of feeding would become an issue. Question was: could he give it up? Could he just walk away from that part of himself, however dark it might be? Then another question entirely entered his mind. He turned back to the bookshelf and resumed perusing the selection of titles. “You wish me to give up something integral to my being, yet not a day has passed since you roasted six of my kind like they were the main course of an open pit barbeque?” Behind him, a growl sounded, and Devon knew he had hit a nerve. “That was out of protection for the young ones. It was done in the name of survival.” “And my feeding is not?” A thunderous sound shook the walls and their bookcases, startling Devon enough that he flinched. He jerked his head around to Vincent. “A temper? Now that’s something I wasn’t expecting from you.” For a brief moment, a voice in his mind tried to convince him he was completely insane—taunting a dragon—but he pushed it away. He would not give up something he enjoyed so much without a fight, no matter what was between them. “You’re playing with fire, Prince,” Vincent growled. Devon spun around fully to face him. “You dare ask me to stop killing when I feed, when you yourself would be labeled a murderer by my kind? I will not bow down to you, Sheridan! I am a prince! There is royal blood in these veins, and I’ll be

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damned if a shifter is going to tell me what to do!” No sooner had the words left his mouth, than Devon immediately regretted them. The roar that echoed through the room as Vincent stormed out left him numb. What the hell was he thinking? He turned quickly, intending to go apologize, but a large black figure blocked the door. “That must have been one hell of an argument,” Jacob said as he took on human form. “I need to go apologize,” Devon muttered. He tried to step around Jacob, but Jacob blocked him with his arm. “Let...me by,” he said through clenched teeth. Jacob shook his head. “Give him some time, Devon. If you go up there now, it will do no one any good. Let him come out in his own time.” “But it was my fault,” Devon countered. “He’s only trying to protect his people.” “And I am only trying to survive!” Devon closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” “You can feed without killing, Devon. You did it with him.” Devon turned around and slumped into the nearest chair. “But it’s something I’ve been doing for so long,” he said quietly. “Almost like it’s become habit.” “Some habits must be broken if progress is to be made,” Jacob said. Devon’s head fell back against the couch. “I know, I know.” Jacob left the library, closing the door quietly. Devon waited for nearly fifteen minutes before getting up. He knew Vincent had a point, and a good one at that, but he simply could not go down without a fight on this one. He slipped out of the library and started up the steps. A group of three others were coming down, but when they saw the scowl on Devon’s face, they moved on. Yes, he intended to apologize, but he also was going to make sure Vincent knew damn well how he felt about it. When he reached Vincent’s bedroom, he stopped, unsure if he should knock, or just walk in. Deciding that walking in on a raging dragon would probably be detrimental to his health, he opted for the diplomatic approach: he knocked.

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Chapter Eight “What is it?” Oh. Not good. Vincent still sounded like he was utterly furious. Steeling his nerves, Devon said, “It’s me. We need to talk, Vince.” A second passed. Then another. Devon was beginning to wonder if Vincent had even heard him, but then he answered. “What do you want?” Devon rested his forehead against the door with a sigh. Vincent wasn’t going to make this easy. “I’m sorry,” Devon said finally. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Several moments passed and Devon was growing irritated. “Damn it, Sheridan! Open the fucking door.” The moment the words left his lips, the door opened. Devon pushed it open the rest of the way and saw Vincent walking back toward his kingsized bed. “Close the door,” Vincent grumbled as he collapsed onto his back on the bed. Devon walked in and closed the door behind him, giving them some much needed privacy. He went over to the chair and sat down. “I’m sorry.” “You are hotheaded and arrogant,” Vincent said without looking at him. Devon bristled, despite the truth of Vincent’s observations. “And you are terminally stubborn,” he countered. “However, I will comply with your request.” “There is a price to pay.” “Peace always comes with a price. How does that adage go? ‘All is fair in love and war?’” Only then did Vincent look at him. The man’s expression was unreadable, and when Devon made an attempt to see into Vincent’s thoughts, he found a twisting thread of confusion

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plaguing Vincent’s mind. But confusion at what? With what? Devon closed his eyes as he focused on that thread, searching for its source. Then he found it. He opened his eyes slowly, meeting Vincent’s gaze. “That explains much,” he said quietly. No damn wonder Vincent was testy. For a man to fall in love with a vampire after swearing he never would again, was enough to cause a great deal of frustration and confusion. That much Devon did understand, considering he never expected to feel the same for a shape shifter. Standing slowly, he walked over to the bed and sat down beside Vincent. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Then he realized—nothing needed to be said. He leaned down and Vincent opened for him, drawing him into a gentle but mind-numbing kiss. When they parted, all Devon could do was stare at the man stretched out on the bed before him. “What price must I pay?” Vincent asked him. “I mark you as mine.” Darkness settled in Vincent’s eyes. “I belong to no one.” “You belong to me,” Devon said calmly, daring Vincent to deny the truth. “You are an arrogant, conceited bas—” Devon captured Vincent’s mouth with a hard kiss to silence him. But instead of pushing him away, Vincent gripped Devon’s head as he opened for him once more. Devon growled into his mouth, laying claim to the man, the dragon, everything. When Vincent showed no resistance, Devon knelt between his legs without breaking their kiss, thrusting hard against Vincent. Vincent broke the kiss abruptly and a touch of something dark flickered in his eyes. “Fuck me.” Devon didn’t give him time to reconsider. He ripped Vincent’s shirt open, sending buttons scattering across the hardwood floor. Shoving the silk shirt over Vincent’s shoulders, Devon attacked him, his fangs dropping as he nipped at the smooth flesh. Vincent’s hands wedged between them and within seconds, Devon’s jeans were open and his cock was enveloped in the tight heat of Vincent’s fist. Vincent gasped as Devon bit down, taking the first of what would be many tastes for the night. Sweet Jesus! The fire in Vincent’s blood scorched Devon’s

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throat as he drank, drugging his senses until he was aware of nothing but the two of them. When he felt the unmistakable sensation of claws tearing at his shirt, he pulled away, licking the wound closed. He sucked in a sharp breath as Vincent’s claws raked down his spine, leaving blazing trails of fiery pain in their wake. Vincent writhed beneath him as Devon pulled his jeans opened. Devon looked back up at Vincent’s face and the sight that greeted him took his breath away. “I can’t hold him back,” Vincent gasped. He arched his back, pressing their bodies together as the dragon fought its way to the surface. Fierce red eyes met Devon’s startled gaze, flames flickering in their depths. Devon gripped Vincent’s arms and pinned them on the bed above Vincent’s head. Those red eyes sharpened, the pupils forming vertical slivers. “I want him,” Devon growled. “The man, the dragon, every-fucking-thing.” “Then kiss me, Prince.” Devon shuddered, unable to stop his reaction to that voice— the dragon’s voice. It was a deep, rich sound that made Devon think of fire and earth, volcanoes and earth-jarring tremors. There was power in that voice, ancient power. It was ungodly sobering…and unbelievably intoxicating. When Devon lowered his head for a kiss, he quickly realized what he had asked for. Fire blazed between them, scorching Devon from the inside out without leaving a mark. Vincent’s forked tongue licked at his lips, tasting and touching, leaving no part of Devon’s mouth unexplored. His breath burned, almost unbearable, but Devon couldn’t pull away. He wouldn’t pull away. He knew damn well what he wanted, and Vincent was finally giving it to him. Devon released Vincent’s arms and slid his hands down Vincent’s sides, pushing his pants down; Vincent worked at his as well. Then flesh met flesh. Heat against heat. Devon gasped as their cocks slid together, Vincent’s hands gripping his ass, claws digging into his flesh. “Fuck,” Vincent growled. Devon nodded, unable to say a word. He shoved his jeans down and kicked his shoes off. His jeans quickly followed. He sat back on his heels and pulled Vincent’s jeans off, tossing them to the side. For a brief moment, he sat there, mesmerized. It was

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the first time he had ever seen Vincent fully nude, the crimson scales blazing across his chest. He knew if he touched them, they would be hot against his skin. “Burn me,” he heard himself say. It seemed distant, not quite his own voice. A dark smile across Vincent’s lips answered him. Vincent sat up and cupped the back of Devon’s head, pulling him into another searing kiss. As Vincent moved down, Devon threaded his fingers through the thick black hair, pushing him lower. The second Vincent’s lips touched his cock, Devon thrust his hips forward, driving his entire length into that smooth-as-silk inferno. In that brief moment in time, Devon prayed for his soul as he felt the dragon steal it away. Devon looked down as Vincent pulled back. Vincent looked up, those deep red eyes rolling up to hold him as a forked tongue darted out to lick the tip of his cock. Devon’s hips snapped forward, the touch like the lick of a flame. He felt the heat seep into his skin, and deeper still, settling within the sinew of his muscles, the marrow of his bones. Vincent’s tongue seemed to have a movement all its own, snaking around Devon’s cock and encircling it in delicious fire. As it uncurled, a dark ribbon of flesh wound around Devon’s cock, marking him as Vincent’s for all time. He had no words to protest. Just as Vincent belonged to him, he belonged to Vincent. “My prince.” Vincent’s voice curled around Devon like ribbons of fire, drawing his attention down to the ruby red eyes. “Make me yours…” That tongue flicked out, stealing a taste of Devon’s skin at the crease of his hip. The touch was like a flaming whip, leaving a red streak across Devon’s flesh. “Mark me for eternity.” Devon quickly regained his senses and pushed Vincent away, pinning him tightly to the bed as he drove his cock inside him. He cried out from the pain, the burning friction, but he needed this. He needed to feel everything. Vincent bucked beneath him, the muscles in his arms hardening as he strained against Devon’s hold. It was a power play, a test of their wills. A test…of their love. If he had thought Vincent’s mouth was hot, Devon had never known the meaning of burn until he sank his cock into the

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depths of Vincent’s body. He shook uncontrollably as the molten silk surrounded him, leaving him breathless. Vincent rocked against him impatiently, and Devon answered. He pulled out to the tip, then thrust back in, driving his cock deeper into that sultry glove. Over and over, harder and faster; Devon was lightheaded and dizzy as he plunged into intense heat. Vincent’s hands tightened on his, his fingers turned to claws that pierced Devon’s skin. Blood poured from the cuts, pooled around the tips of the claws, and spilled down his wrists and onto the bed. The smell of blood sparked another hunger, one he had no chance of controlling now. “Mark me.” Vincent arched his throat and Devon struck swiftly, Vincent’s roar filling the room as Devon’s fangs sank deep into his throat. Devon drank deeply, his thrusts turning desperate as Vincent’s blood ignited his, blazing through his veins. At the moment of Vincent’s climax, Devon released his arms and pressed his palm to Vincent’s chest, just over his heart. Vincent snarled and bucked against him, his body constricting around Devon as Devon’s hand pulsed on his skin, placing a mark on the surface that seeped into his heart. Devon tightened his mouth on Vincent’s throat and with several hard thrusts, drove his cock deeper inside as he came. **** “Where’s your prince?” Vincent rested his elbows on the desktop as he studied the map in front of him. “He’s on his way. He didn’t sleep well.” He heard Jacob sit down and, a few minutes later, the door to Vincent’s office opened. Vincent looked up and smiled. Despite the tiredness and pain in Devon’s eyes, the prince returned the smile. “Did you get any sleep?” Vincent asked him. “A little,” Devon said as he sank down into the cushions of the couch. Jacob looked over at Vincent. “Did I miss something?” “Quite a bit,” Devon grumbled. “But at least the sex was the highlight. I could do without the fucking dreams.” “Dreams?” Jacob asked, looking from the prince to Vincent. Vincent shook his head. “Okay… Well, I guess this is my cue to leave. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be stuck here if you two go

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at each other’s throats again.” He stood and shook his head before walking out. As soon as the door was closed, Vincent stood up and walked around his desk. He knelt in front of Devon and tucked a stray bit of hair behind the prince’s ear. “Don’t mind him. Jacob’s just pissed off at me, I think.” Devon shook his head, then let it fall back to the couch. “It’s okay. I hardly paid him any attention.” “You want to talk?” A few minutes passed before Devon finally said anything. “Jareth Benedict had been part of my family for ages. He was a friend of my father’s and like a second father to me.” “I know,” Vincent sighed. “Devon, if I had thought he would remain complacent under my rule, I would have spared him. But in truth, you are the only vampire I trust.” “Why me?” Devon asked him quietly. “I am no different from the others. I am still a vampire.” “Yes, but you have proven yourself to be trustworthy. Do you think I would have left you here, alone in my house, if I did not trust you?” Devon remained silent for moment, then shook his head. “No.” Smiling softly, Vincent leaned forward and kissed him. “Then do not question my reasoning for trusting you. Are you ready to go over the maps?” Devon nodded and Vincent stood, pulling the prince to his feet. He pressed another kiss to Devon’s lips, then went back to his desk. Seating himself squarely on Vincent’s lap, Devon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he studied the first map. Vincent shifted restlessly and tried to focus on Devon’s explanation of the abandoned subway tunnels, and not the vampire’s muscular ass situated directly over his hardening cock. Clearing his throat, Vincent said, “So which one leads to Sterling?” Devon’s head turned slightly. “I never pegged you as the vindictive type, Sheridan.” Vincent shrugged. “It’s more personal this time.” “Oh, and possessive, too?” He knew the prince was baiting him now, waiting for him to

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snap. A growl slipped free and Vincent dug his fingers into the prince’s hips, allowing his claws to emerge just enough to pierce through Devon’s jeans. He smiled when he heard the catch in the vampire’s breath. “Over what’s mine?” Vincent asked. “My kind is known for their possessive natures.” “And for hoarding gold,” Devon quipped with a chuckle. Vincent wrapped a hand in that silky, chestnut mane and jerked hard. Devon’s body tensed immediately as his throat was bared to Vincent. “For hoarding treasure.” Vincent’s forked tongue flicked out to taste the prince’s skin. “And treasure can take many forms, Prince,” he whispered. “So I am a prize then,” Devon said quietly. “A spoil of war.” Pens, papers, and maps scattered to the floor as Vincent shoved the prince over the desk. He pinned Devon’s body tightly to the hardwood surface, grinding his hips against the vampire’s ass. “You are mine,” he growled against the back of Devon’s neck. “Prove it.”

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Chapter Nine Vincent pulled Devon’s arms behind him, pinning them to the small of the prince’s back. Holding them at the wrists easily with one hand, he reached under Devon and made quick work of the jeans, shoving them off of the prince’s hips and down to his feet. When his hand found hard flesh, he gripped it tightly, tight enough to cause a bit of pain. Devon gasped and tried to move, his cock straining in Vincent’s fist. “Harder.” The breathless plea was barely audible, but the desperation in that one word rang crystal clear. Wrapping his fingers around the shaft, just below the flare of the head, Vincent squeezed hard. At the same moment, his thumb stroked the tip, slicking the smooth skin. Devon cried out then—a genuine tortured cry—and strained against Vincent’s hold. Vincent released Devon’s cock abruptly, dragging a sound of protest from the captive prince. The bare, round flesh presented to him was too much of an enticement. Without real thought, Vincent lifted his free hand and brought it down on a bit of flesh. Devon screamed against the wooden desk, but even as he struggled, his thighs parted, his body straining toward Vincent. Another slap and the sight of the prince’s legs quivering nearly had Vincent on his knees. A third slap and Devon let out a surprised groan. When Vincent looked down, he licked his lips as the prince’s cock throbbed with his release. He started to ease his hold on Devon’s arms, but stopped when Devon shook his head quickly. “Fuck me. Don’t let me go, just fuck me until I can’t see straight.” That was all the encouragement Vincent needed. Within seconds, his own pants were on the floor and he spit into his palm. Once he was slick, he didn’t bother with the pleasantries. He lined his cock up and with a hard thrust of his hips, impaled

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the vampire bent over in front of him. Devon growled and spread his legs more. Vincent tightened his hold on Devon’s wrists, pulled out, then drove his cock back inside that tight heat. Devon shook hard and with another hard thrust, his body clamped tightly down. Vincent reached under him and, finding Devon hard again, began stroking the prince’s cock. “Oh, God…” Devon panted and strained against Vincent’s hold again. Vincent pressed him harder against the desk. “Vincent!” Vincent stilled immediately, unable to move a single muscle as the violent tremors of an orgasm tore through the prince’s body. With the last of the tremors, he lost the hold on his own control and made one last, hard thrust before his cock pulsed deep inside Devon’s body. After several minutes, he pulled out slowly and helped Devon to stand. Before he could say a word, Vincent found himself shoved hard against the wall and Devon’s tongue down his throat. The kiss was hard and hungry, and when Vincent felt the cut along his tongue, he moaned into Devon’s mouth as the prince’s sucked hungrily. “You know where I stand, Devon,” Vincent said as Devon pulled back slowly. “But what about you?” Devon held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I haven’t said those words to anyone in quite a long time.” Vincent slipped a hand under the prince’s chin, turning his head to face him. “Do you feel them?” He brushed Devon’s lower lip with his thumb and Devon nodded. “Do you trust me?” “I do,” Devon whispered. “Implicitly.” “Then believe me when I say that I love you.” A small sound escaped Devon as Vincent pulled him into another kiss. The prince’s arms snaked around his neck, deepening the kiss. Vincent leaned back against the wall, his arms tightening around Devon’s waist. Words or no, he could feel the love in the prince’s kiss. It was enough for now. “Whoa.” Devon pulled back abruptly and Vincent nearly doubled over in laughter at the look on Sarah’s face. Sarah’s gaze shifted between them, a copper eyebrow lifting in amusement. Vincent bent down to pull his jeans back up as Devon did the same.

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“Sorry,” Sarah laughed. “Jacob said you two were in here. I should’ve known to knock first.” “It’s okay,” Vincent said as he sat back down in his chair. He pulled Devon onto his lap and leaned back. “What’s up?” “The others are ready whenever you are,” Sarah said. “They’ve been briefed already.” Vincent looked up at Devon. “You ready to go home?” The look on Devon’s face was surprising, but not as much as his words. “I am home, Vincent.” When Vincent didn’t say anything, Devon turned slightly and leaned down, brushing a soft kiss over his lips. “I am home.” **** “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Devon looked up from the map. “You think I’m going to let you have all the fun? I want Sterling’s head just as much as you do.” Vincent nodded. “Good point and I think your reasons are much stronger than mine at the moment.” “Perhaps,” Devon said as he folded the map, “but it doesn’t matter now. Lukas Sterling is too dangerous.” He slipped the map into a pocket inside his leather jacket and walked over to Vincent, sliding his hands up Vincent’s arms. “If there is to be any peace, Sterling and his supporters must die.” “Does it not bother you to kill your own kind?” Vincent asked him as pulled Devon close. Devon draped his arms over Vincent’s shoulders. “It does,” he said quietly, “but there are times when it is a necessity.” He turned and leaned back against the door, tightening his hold around Vincent’s neck. “I meant what I said, Vincent.” Vincent murmured something incoherent against his neck, nodding slightly. Devon shivered as Vincent’s hands gripped his hips, pulling their bodies together. “Please,” Vincent whispered, brushing another kiss to Devon’s throat. “I can’t undo it. Once you’ve had my blood, it marks you for eternity. It will become a need.” Devon gasped as teeth nipped at his skin. “Oh, fuck…”

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“I know that, Devon.” Vincent pulled back to stare into his eyes. “Have you ever done it with anyone else?” “Only Jareth, to save his life. Never in this context.” A smile spread slowly across Vincent’s lips and his tongue flicked over Devon’s mouth. “Then let me be the first,” he whispered. “The only.” “Yes,” Devon breathed. “The only.” With a quick motion, he made a small cut on his throat with his fingernail. “Drink.” Cupping the back of Vincent’s head, Devon pulled him close. When Vincent’s mouth latched onto the cut, Devon sucked in a sharp breath, shivers darting up his spine with every sucking pull against his neck. He threaded his fingers through black hair, groaning as he felt Vincent’s erection press against his own. Christ. At this rate, they’d never get out of the mansion. Without breaking contact, Vincent slipped his hands between them and unfastened their jeans, shoving them to the floor. When Vincent’s fingers curled around both of their cocks, Devon twisted his fingers tighter in his hair. Vincent’s grip was strong as he began stroking them both. Devon’s hips snapped forward, driving his cock through that fist, alongside Vincent’s. The pressure built up quickly inside him, starting at the base of his spine and shooting straight through his body until he cried out. Vincent groaned against his neck and Devon felt another rush of liquid heat sliding over his cock, adding to his own release. As Devon struggled to catch his breath, Vincent slid his tongue over the cut, urging it to heal. “Dear God.” Vincent chuckled and met him in another kiss. When he pulled away, he looked down. “We’ve got to do that more often.” “Any-fucking-time. For now, though, we have work to do.” “Yeah.” Vincent kissed him one last time and brought his hand up to lick it clean. Devon groaned at the sight of that forked tongue sliding through a thick white layer of semen. “If you don’t stop, we’re never going to get out of here,” he said. Vincent winked and stepped back enough for them to dress. Once they were both presentable again, Vincent opened the door. “After you, my Prince.” “My Prince.” Devon smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

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The moment they stepped out into the hallway, Sarah was there, scowling at both of them. Devon bit his bottom lip to stop the laugh before it could slip free. Seconds later, the petite figure of a woman gave way to a sleek, copper-furred cat. Without a word said, Devon and Vincent followed her downstairs. “We were beginning to think maybe we would need search parties,” Jacob chuckled. Devon looked over at Vincent just in time to see him roll his eyes. A glance from Vincent in his direction startled Devon for a brief moment. The dragon’s eyes stared back at him, cold and calculating on the impending events. The dragon would come out to everyone tonight. Something in Devon’s gut made that very clear. “We ready?” Jacob asked them. Vincent nodded. “Then let’s do it.” With map in hand and the sun newly set, Devon led them— Vincent, Jacob, Sarah, and all thirty able-bodied shifters— through the woods. The trek was quick and silent, the tension among the group palpable. Devon couldn’t blame them. This was it: the final deciding confrontation that would lead to either a full-scale war, or much-needed peace. Devon’s hope rested on peace, but he had his doubts. “This is it,” he said, coming to a stop at the edge of the forest. He pointed to a large drainage tunnel spilling out the side of a hill. “The old Metro lines. They’re used for shelter by any number of people, but most tunnels are swept empty by the drainage systems. The humans are worried about contamination from bodies, even though most are burned.” He turned and looked at the others, stunned into silence by the myriad of animals behind him. All but Vincent had already shifted. “Do they lead to the Council’s chambers?” Vincent asked him. Devon nodded. “They do. The Council now meets in what was once the Smithsonian Castle. There’s a Metro exit across the Mall. I’ll warn you now: the smell in the tunnels is far from pleasant. Too many of the diseased have taken refuge there, terrified the others will put them to death and burn them.” “Pleasant people.” “Very,” Devon said dryly. “Are we ready?”

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Vincent waved an arm toward the tunnel entrance. “After you, Prince.” With a curt nod, Devon led the way over the choppy field and down into the culvert. What had once been concrete walls were now broken and loose, ravaged by time and war. All sorts of refuse had been deposited here, everything from common household trash, to ancient vehicles. The smell of disease and decay grew stronger as they neared the tunnel’s gaping mouth. Brackish liquid ran out in slow rivers, the sight alone enough to threaten the last of Vincent’s blood to rise in Devon’s throat. The closer they got to the opening, the stronger another scent became. Devon stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and scenting the air. Fucking vampires. They were feeding down here, draining the diseased and leaving the bodies to rot where they lay. God. What had Sterling done? “What is it?” “Sterling is allowing them to feed down here,” Devon said. His brow creased with worry. “Something isn’t right.” “A trap maybe?” Devon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Sterling left me at the woods to die. Never in a million years would he begin to imagine the truth.” He turned his head slightly to look at Vincent over his shoulder. “He’s cleansing.” A dark look descended over Vincent’s eyes, the red within them almost blazing. Devon swallowed hard. He touched his hand to Vincent’s chest, just over his heart. Heat pulsed beneath his palm, matching the shape of his hand perfectly. Then Devon turned to the tunnel and jumped up onto the lip of the concrete cylinder. Vincent was right behind him, followed by the other shifters. The putrid smells were stronger now, almost choking. Devon’s strongest thought at that point, was gratefulness that breathing was not a necessity for a vampire. The others behind him, however, were not so lucky. Several times they had to stop as one or more struggled to breathe. He couldn’t blame them. Only Vincent seemed unaffected by the stench, but then, a dragon was used to such things as brimstone and eating maidens whole. Somehow, Devon doubted that Vincent even noticed. They continued for some time before Devon caught the

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undeniable scent of recent death. He stopped and sniffed the air, pinpointing the direction of the body. He motioned for Vincent and the others to stay put and went ahead a few yards. When he found the body, he spun around, bracing himself on the curve of the concrete wall as he lost his battle with Vincent’s blood. Within seconds, strong arms had him, keeping him on his feet when his legs threatened to give way. He felt Vincent motion for the others to stay where they were. “Children,” Devon whispered against Vincent’s chest. “They’re killing off the mixed children.” Vincent nodded and Devon felt a kiss on his head. “Any idea why?” Devon squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths to calm himself. “Mixed children are not born. They are made. Sterling and several others had been working secretly at it, or so they thought. They didn’t realize that I knew. They steal human children and inject them with a vampire’s blood. Sometimes, it works and the child is able to grow into adulthood, possessing a vampire’s abilities but retaining the ability to walk in sunlight.” “And when it does not work?” Devon opened his eyes and looked down at the mangled body of a young girl no more than seven. “They bring them down here and leave them. Having a need for human food as well as blood, the child is likely to starve to death.” He felt blood seep into his throat and doubled over, his gut twisting as the blood poured from his mouth. He was lightheaded when he righted himself and had to cling to Vincent for support until his head stopped spinning.

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Chapter Ten “Can you stand?” Devon nodded. “I’m fine, I think.” Vincent bent over and picked up what looked to be a small coat and draped it over the body. He then waved for the others. “Come on, love. Let’s find Sterling. We can take it out on him.” Nodding, Devon let Vincent steer him away from the body and down the tunnel. When they were far enough away from the body that Devon could no longer smell the girl’s blood in the air, he relaxed a bit. Up ahead, a spot of light signaled an exit. A few more yards and the faded sign on the wall confirmed Devon’s guess: Smithsonian. With a glance back at Vincent and the others, he started up the motionless steps of the escalator, stepping over rubble and broken areas of the metal belt. Out on the Mall, everything was still and silent. Not even the wind dared to blow, as if it could sense what was to come. Across the expanse of the Mall, the Smithsonian Castle loomed, appearing ancient. Just as Devon started toward it, however, a firm grip on his arm stopped him. Before he could utter a single word, Vincent’s mouth was on his, the dragon’s forked tongue pushing inside. Devon opened for him, a soft whimper escaping his throat. “Love you,” Vincent whispered. Devon smiled against Vincent’s lips and nodded. “Love you, too.” “Good. Then let’s do this.” **** Devon pressed an ear to the door, listening to the bullshit spouting from Lukas Sterling’s mouth. Purity of the blood, cleansing must be done, rebels must be eliminated. Never mind

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that the son of a bitch was the epitome of a rebel, having singlehandedly done away with the prince. Devon scowled and stepped back, landing a hard kick to the door. Wood splintered as the doors split open, leaving one to hang on its top hinge. “What the fuck!” Sterling jumped to his feet, his hands slamming down on the tabletop. Several others backed away from him. The look on Sterling’s face was priceless. “Guards!” Several well-armed men poured out of the woodwork, then stopped short, their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Devon stopped and smiled, knowing the presence behind him quite well. Heavy footfalls echoed in the cavernous room, a room large enough to accommodate a dragon. He started for the table and the Council members began to trip over themselves to get out of the way. When he reached the table, Devon jumped on top of it and crouched down. He grabbed the front of Sterling’s shirt and twisted his fist in the material, hauling the general up several feet in the air. “Don’t just stand there!” Sterling shouted at the other Council members and guards. “Kill them!” “Stop!” Without releasing the general, Devon turned a dark glare on everyone in the room, daring anyone to disobey a direct order. Goddamn it, he was still the prince. He turned back to Lukas. “You are a murderer,” he growled. He jumped off of the table and slammed the general against the wall. The impact left a cracked impression behind the general’s body. “Fuck you, Hart,” Sterling hissed. “You had your fucking chance. Goddamned pushover is what you are.” Somewhere else in the room, chaos broke out. Devon didn’t have to look to know that Vincent was snacking on a few guards here and there. Nor did he have to look to know that several Council members lay in mangled piles under the teeth and claws of the shifters. He kept his gaze on Sterling, letting the hatred build until he could no longer hold it back. “You are a traitor,” Lukas spat at him. “Fucking around with the enemy!” Something snapped within Devon then. He drew back his right arm and struck, snapping the general’s jaw. Lukas howled in pain and kicked at him. Devon growled and lifted Lukas over

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his head and hurled him across the room. The general slammed against the far wall and slumped to the floor, but stood a few minutes later, shaking his head. A whip-like tail circled him then, constricting around his body. His eyes grew wide and Devon could smell the sudden swell of fear. “For your crimes against the throne,” Devon announced as he rounded the table, “Lukas Sterling, you have been found guilty. Punishment is a slow death, my friend. A final death. Take him outside.” Vincent nodded and plucked the general from his tail, holding him tightly in a clawed foot. Lukas screamed as he was dragged across the floor and outside, beating against the dragon’s scaled foot. Once outside, Devon found two trees close together and a moment later, Jacob appeared at his side, rope in hand. Devon wasted no time and tied the general spread-eagle between the trees, facing east. “Enjoy your last sunrise,” Devon said coolly. “You can’t fucking get away with this!” Sterling shouted. “Your supporters are dead,” Devon shot back as he hoisted himself onto Vincent’s back. “Peace comes with a price. Your price.” “Devon Hart!” Devon ignored the screams, growing more frantic as the sunrise grew closer. He leaned down, resting his forehead to Vincent’s scaled neck as the dragon took to the air. “Take me home, Vincent.” It had been easy—too easy. Something didn’t sit right, but Devon was too numb to give a damn right now. All he wanted was to get home, to lay claim to his dragon, then slip into the darkness of sleep. The rest of the world be damned. **** The second the bedroom door closed, Devon shoved Vincent against it, the walls shaking with the combined impact of their bodies. Vincent gave up control easily, knowing Devon needed this, needed to release the rage within him. Devon’s fingers tangled painfully in Vincent’s hair, tilting his head to the side. Gentleness didn’t enter the equation as Devon’s fangs

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pierced Vincent’s throat, the bite sharp, the pull strong. Growls erupted in the heated air around them, but Vincent no longer knew which of them made the sounds. They brought out the beast in each other during times like this, when need and desire overrode everything else. Devon pulled abruptly from Vincent’s neck and nipped at his lips, tongue forcing its way inside. Vincent opened for him, hooking his fingers in the prince’s belt loops and tugging him closer. Another dark growl rumbled from Devon’s throat to drown in Vincent’s mouth. He felt the brush of the prince’s fingers to his chest, then his shirt was ripped in half, left to hang off of his shoulders. Devon pulled from their kiss and dropped unceremoniously to his knees, Vincent’s pants following the downward motion before Vincent even realized they had left his hips. Fangs scraped the hard length of his cock, then slick heat surrounded him, swallowing him down without fanfare. He threaded his fingers through Devon’s hair and started fucking the vampire’s mouth, groaning as the prince’s throat relaxed and took all of him inside. Devon’s fangs cut his flesh and Vincent roared, blood mixing with seed as he came. Devon licked him cleaned and stood, spinning him around toward the bed without a word. Vincent stepped out of his pants and went to the bed, crawling onto his hands and knees. A moment later, hot, naked flesh pressed against his ass and then two slick fingers pushed inside him. He groaned and backed up, driving Devon’s fingers deeper. Another finger was added and all three were spread apart, stretching him. He curled the blanket into his fists, his breathing staggered and shallow. Then the fingers left him and Devon’s cock thrust inside, hard, fast, and deep. The prince’s fingers curled to Vincent’s hips, holding him firmly in place. “Fuck me.” Vincent stared back over his shoulder at Devon. “I can handle whatever you give.” With nothing more than a dark smile, Devon pulled out and rammed back inside, pushing a hard growl from Vincent’s throat. Fingers tightening on Vincent’s hips, Devon did just that: fucked him, giving him every bit of rage and pain. Vincent opened a strong connection between them, drinking Devon

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deeper, reeling in the wash of anger and desire. In this body, Devon’s cock felt huge, satin-slick steel repeatedly impaling him, stretching him open with every hard stroke. “I want him,” Devon grunted near his ear. “Give him to me.” Teeth sank into Vincent’s shoulder and he roared. Flesh became crimson scales, his hair formed a black ridge down his spine, claws pierced the mattress. Devon cried out, the sound muffled by a scaled shoulder as the heat built up inside Vincent’s body. Vincent shot a look over his shoulder, blazing red eyes meeting black. Blood poured down his hips as the prince’s fingernails cut into his skin, the sharp, sweet scent of blood filling the bedroom. Devon’s thrusts were unrelenting—hard, fast, and deep, sharp snaps of his hips driving him. Vincent came first, grounding out Devon’s name as his body shook beneath the prince’s, fiery seed spilling onto the bed and scorching through to the mattress. His ass tightened around Devon’s cock and the prince shuddered. One last shove of the prince’s hips and Devon was coming, his cock pulsing deep inside Vincent’s body, filling him with liquid fire. Only when he stopped shaking did Devon release his shoulder. Collapsing face-first onto the bed, Vincent struggled to catch his breath as the dragon retreated, sated and content for the time being. Devon’s body covered his, soft kisses peppering the bite on his shoulder. Vincent shivered and turned his head, meeting Devon’s mouth in a slow, easy kiss. Hungers abated, they could relax again. Devon lifted up without breaking the kiss and Vincent rolled over, sliding his arms around the prince’s waist and pulling him close. For now, there existed nothing but them. Tomorrow was another day.

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Epilogue One year later… Devon watched the last of the building tumble to the ground. It was the end of an era. The end of the Sanguine Council. A new order was taking shape now, an alliance between Vincent’s people and his own. And cementing the alliance, the love between them. Vincent no longer hid his true form, using it to advantage whenever he was needed. Tales of knights in shining armor fighting dragons were child’s play. Devon smiled as a dark red figure circled the air above, overseeing the demolition. He was still a knight, and he had his own firebreathing dragon. With a fiery plume, Vincent descended several yards away. People weren’t quite as skittish as they had been at first and some of the younger ones actually found the dragon fascinating. It wasn’t every day that a storybook character proved to be real. Devon turned and surveyed the ruins of the Smithsonian Castle. The old Library of Congress building now acted as the headquarters for the Alliance. A pair of strong arms slipped around Devon’s waist and a kiss brushed the back of his neck. “An entire year,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it’s over.” Vincent turned him around and smiled down at him. “With a lot of hard work,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Devon’s. “I can’t believe you accomplished it in one year.” “We,” Devon corrected him. He pulled away just enough to see Vincent’s eyes. “We accomplished this, Vincent. I think, after seeing us together, people realized it really is possible to have peace between our races.” “I’ll buy that.” Vincent pressed a light kiss to Devon’s lips. Devon opened, his tongue sliding along Vincent’s for a taste,

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urging the kiss to deepen. With a groan, Vincent held him tighter, forked tongue circling Devon’s slowly, easily. When they parted, Vincent’s eyes remained closed and Devon kissed him softly. “I think we’re wanted,” he chuckled. Vincent lifted his head and turned. Sarah was walking toward them, her hands on her hips in her trademark stance of annoyance. Devon laughed and took Vincent’s hand, nodding to Sarah. “Little minx,” he quipped. “You know it,” Sarah shot back, giving him a quick smile. “Jacob’s ready.” Devon sighed and looked to Vincent. “Well, shall we go look at the new chambers?” “If we don’t, we’ll never hear the end of it,” Vincent said. Then he leaned forward and whispered in Devon’s ear. “Because otherwise, I’m just going to bend you over the nearest bench and fuck you until you can’t see straight.” A shiver slid up Devon’s spine and he met Vincent’s rubyred gaze. “Yeah.” He tugged on Vincent’s hand, knowing damn well he’d be begging to get fucked if they didn’t occupy themselves in some other way. “Come on.” They followed Sarah to the Library of Congress building and down a series of halls until they reached a set of double doors. She pushed them open and Devon grinned. The round table from the old Council chambers dominated the room, heavy wooden chairs surrounding it. At the head of the table—if one could call it such, considering the shape—two enormous chairs stood, almost resembling thrones. “Nice,” Vincent laughed. His hand tightened on Devon’s and Devon nodded in agreement. The only thing left to do was the bonding ceremony between them. Despite having had each other’s blood many times, the ceremony was a public ritual, designed to show everyone the bond between the two of them. Devon looked over at Vincent, seeing the same thoughts in the red eyes. “Gather everyone,” Vincent said without looking away from Devon. “Yes.” Sarah left, closing the door behind her. “Now?” Devon asked him.

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“Now.” Vincent turned and linked their fingers together, pulling Devon close. “Dawn is coming soon and I will have everyone know exactly where we stand with one another.” Devon nodded. “Me, too.” They went to their seats and sat down, looking out over the massive table. When the doors opened again, vampires and shifters alike flooded the room. Old habits being hard to break, each race kept to its own side, all faces turned toward Devon and Vincent. When they both stood, the chattering and a few growls silenced. Sarah walked up and handed Devon a stainless steel danger. Jacob handed the other to Vincent. Then Devon turned to face Vincent, dagger in hand. “Just as my blood is your blood,” Devon said, lifting Vincent’s left arm. He pressed the tip of the dagger to the inside of Vincent’s palm and made a three-inch cut, then continued. “Your blood is mine.” Vincent held his gaze for a moment, then took Devon’s left hand, saying, “Just as my blood is your blood, your blood is mine.” He cut Devon’s palm and then they brought their hands together, their blood mixing and running onto the tabletop, settling into the grooves etched onto the surface. Then they met in a kiss—deep, rich, warm, and full of an eternity of desire and love and passion and peace. Applause rose on both sides of the room, but neither of them cared. Devon dropped the dagger and slid his hand to the back of Vincent’s neck, tugging him closer to deepen the kiss. A groan slipped into his mouth and he smiled. A knight and his dragon. Wilder than any fairy tale.

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THE SHAPE OF THINGS

About the Author Mychael Black never set out to write erotic romance (or romance or erotica, for that matter). When Mychael first started writing (way back when), it was to be a fantasy author— someone along the lines of Tolkien or Mercedes Lackey. Mychael even thought about breaking into horror. Then, somewhere down the line, Mychael got hooked on gay porn. The rest is history. Born in Alabama in 1976, Mychael is known by many names. At this point, most people in the e-publishing world (readers and authors) know Mychael as Kay Derwydd. The name Mychael Black came about when Mychael started working with Shayne Carmichael. (See Shayne's bio for the progression of that whole thing.) To date, Mychael has written countless works with Shayne, plus several single-authored works as Mychael Black. When not writing, Mychael can usually be found researching anything medieval—arms, armor, history, religion; anything Welsh—culture, language, history; languages—namely Welsh, Hebrew, German; and only God knows what else. Aside from research, writing, and editing, Mychael spends most of the time chasing down two young children and fighting off the plot bunnies left and right. More information can be found at the following places: http://www.geocities.com/mychaelblack http://mychael-black2.livejournal.com

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