Gently, Raven licked her skin. That brought a weak smile to her lips, and a tingling sensation to her neck. His hand cupped her face, his thumb brushed her mouth. It felt as if sparks had landed on her lips.

“Do not worry.” Mrs. Darkwell spoke in firm tones from the gathering darkness surrounding Ophelia. She could not see anything beyond Raven anymore.

“You love her so you cannot hurt her.” The goddess’s voice broke at the end. Ophelia heard a sob, and it stunned her.

“Now, love,” Raven whispered.

A swift, hot pain punctured her neck. The strangest, most frightening sensation of rushing water went through her throat. It was her blood.

Weakly, she tried to pull back, afraid of the feeling. He kept caressing her, and a warm, calming sensation washed through her. The rushing feeling was gone. She felt as if she were floating, turning slowly in the air, hovering just a little above the floor.

An aching feeling grew between her legs. She shifted her hips. The sensation between her thighs became a hungry, demanding throb.

She wanted him. Now. She was on fire for him.

She didn’t care that she was weak. Even that he was. Forcing her numb arms to move, Ophelia caressed him all over—his shoulders, his chest, his bare arms, then lower, to stroke his hips and the bulge in his trousers, while she wriggled madly, on fire with need.

Then she opened her eyes wide and she couldn’t see anything. The warmth went away like a candle’s flame disappeared when snuffed. Cold attacked her. Remorseless cold.

She slumped back, falling to the floor, but instead of hitting hard, she seemed to land the way a feather would.

Raven got up and moved over her. She couldn’t see him, but she would sense him. His warm, hard forearm pressed to her mouth. She knew from the iron-hard feel of it, the ropy veins, the taste of his skin. Another taste touched her almost numb lips. Coppery. Wet. Hot.

He held her so she had to keep her mouth in his blood.

“Drink,” he coaxed. “Drink, Felie. It will save you.”

Drink his blood. Courage failed her. She couldn’t swallow. But it was leaking between her lips, filling her mouth. Finally, reflexively, her mouth moved. Her jaw ached, and her teeth felt strange, as if they were growing larger in her mouth. She felt her teeth bite into his skin and she took his blood in.

She meant to gag. She expected to be sick. But the taste changed as it flowed into her and became something delicious. More intoxicating than wine, sweeter than cream and candy. She craved more.

Her lips worked against his soft, beautiful skin. The motion, the pressure, drew more blood into her mouth. She didn’t care that it was strange or should be terrible. This was joining them.

He held her closer, fed her his blood, then his hand caressed her. His palm lightly nudged her left breast, bumping it.

An instant climax exploded in her. She cried out against his arm, and her body arched helplessly as pleasure shattered in her head.

He held her so close and so tightly, and he kissed her all over her eyebrows, her eyelids, her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. She’d never felt anyone show love to her like this.

She hadn’t died, but now she knew what heaven was. It was the glorious power of love.

“You,” Ophelia said quickly. “I have to save you. How do I do it?”

“Your blood,” said Mrs. Darkwell from the edge of the room, from the doorway. “Do what he did. Cut your wrist and feed him your blood.”

“Cut it—?”

“With your teeth, my dear. You will find you now have fangs.”


Blood stained her lips a rich scarlet. The pallor of her skin was gone. Raven knew what that shattering cry meant. The transformation had made her come. In the afterglow of her orgasm, color bloomed in Ophelia’s cheeks and her blue eyes glowed like sapphires.

With eyes wide, she looked at him tentatively as her tongue slid around her teeth. When she found the tips of her brand-new fangs, she cried, “Oh!”

She lifted her wrist to her teeth and gently rubbed the tips of her long, curved white fangs over the delicate skin. She grimaced.

“No, Felie,” he protested.

“Yes.” Shutting her eyes tight, she pushed her teeth into her wrist. She gave a cry of shock and pain, then sliced her fangs along her wrist so a line of blood welled. Her scarlet, sweet-scented blood.

She bravely held out her wrist, with a droplet racing down her arm. “Drink, Raven. Please.”

Shifting so he sat on his arse, he pulled her onto his lap and cradled her close to his chest. Raven bent until his lips caressed the top of her hair and he kissed her. God, he wanted to kiss her everywhere.

He couldn’t hurt her now by taking her blood. Closing his eyes, he drank in the perfume of her blood—like heaven flowing through her—and put her wrist to his mouth.

Ambrosia must taste like stewed mutton compared to this. His head soared like a drunken man’s. His body was hot in an instant, his cock rigid.

Fight the pleasure of it. Don’t take all her blood.

The words thrummed through him as he drank, as her blood flooded into his mouth. His cock pulsed, feeling as if her warm hand stroked it. Up and down in a sensual, erotic rhythm.

His breath came fast. Don’t drink so much. Stop.

He couldn’t stop. Damn, he was going to come. Like usual, once he was rushing to his orgasm, he was out of control.

Don’t trust me, Felie. Stop giving me your blood, take your wrist away. I’m an animal. That’s what I am. A mindless monster—

No, you aren’t. You aren’t an animal or a monster. You are the man I love. I trust you.

Her words broke the spell. Raven’s heart slowed. Lust stopped driving him. He didn’t have to rush to a climax and mindlessly take her blood. He wasn’t a slave to his vampiric nature. He damn well wasn’t.

He was in control. He could be free. He could be the kind of vampire who could be a husband.

For the first time, Raven knew he wanted a future. He wanted to fight for eternity with Felie.

Panic hit him with that thought. All his bitter thoughts slammed into him. Margaret’s tears and desperation. The empty horror when he’d learned she had killed herself and taken her unborn baby with her. All the young men he’d watched die on the battlefield. His victims—

I love you, Ophelia said firmly in his thoughts. I know I am not wrong to do so.

He pulled back and released her wrist. Before his eyes, the wound marring her pale skin began to knit. Her skin now glowed like pearl, as if an inner fire burned within and yearned to radiate out. He kissed her cut as it healed before his eyes.

His strength came back with a rush. Knowledge came faster: he owed his very life to her.

“You’re alive,” she whispered.

“Thanks to you.” Words failed him. His throat was so tight he couldn’t have made a pretty speech if he tried. “Thank God, you’re alive.”

“She is undead,” Mrs. Darkwell corrected. “She is your mate, to be with you for eternity.”

His for eternity. He loved the sound of that. Throughout his mortal life, he’d heard people speak of their hearts swelling. Now Raven knew what it meant. His heart felt larger, filled by love.

He gazed down at Felie, who lay in his lap. “I’ve made you a vampire, but I promise we will go to the vampires of the Royal Society and learn how to live with mortals so we do not act as predators. I want to change. For you.”

“Again, I love you, Raven.”

He had never said the words, for he’d believed he had no right to say them. Strange how easily they came now. “I love you, Ophelia.”

Gleeful clapping sounded behind them. Raven jerked around to look. Guidon stood beside Mrs. Darkwell in the doorway, and he applauded merrily. Beaming from ear to ear, the gnome-like vampire gazed up at Mrs. Darkwell and clasped her elegant hands. Laughing, Guidon proclaimed, “You have completed your labors, my darling, my beautiful daughter of Aphrodite. You have found love for all of these happy young couples. Now, you can go free.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it.

Mrs. Darkwell nodded slowly. “This was my gravest challenge. I was told that her mate was a vampire assassin, and I knew I could not take her power away from her until she found him. It has been a hard journey for you, Ophelia. I wish I could have made it easier, but then, you two might not have found love.”

Ophelia sat up from his lap. Despite disheveled hair, torn clothes, and traces of blood on her neck, her cheeks, she looked gorgeous. His heart soared.

“We were destined for each other?” she asked bluntly.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Darkwell. “It was my duty to find soul mates for you girls. You are the last of my labors. And now, if you will stay still, I will take your power away. Forever. As a mortal, you would not have survived it. But now that you are a vampire, you are strong.”

“But what about your son?” Ophelia asked softly. “What did you have to do to him? Not destroy him—?” She, who had feared she could hurt her family, could not imagine how horrible that would be.

“I had to imprison him again. He is safe and this time I will ensure he does not escape. He will have his freedom if he changes, if he learns to set aside his bitterness and hatred.”

“He will,” Guidon insisted gently. “We will help him.”

“Are they safe?”

Raven recognized the concerned feminine voice. Lady Brookshire. “Yes, my lady,” he called out. “We’ve survived. Ophelia is my soul mate for eternity, and Mrs. Darkwell, a demi-goddess intends to free her, finally and completely, from her power.”