After retrieving the bottle, he discovered a few swallows of wine left in the bottom. He put the bottle to her lips, and she took a sip. A droplet of wine clung to her bottom lip. Rather than lick it off, he drank from the bottle. It did nothing to quench his thirst, especially after the tip of her tongue darted out and caught the droplet.

“The spell is broken?” He needed to occupy his thoughts with the looming danger, or else he would stretch himself out beside her, or cover her body with his own, seeking out her hot and yielding places.

“The other Hellraisers may cross water now. I have summoned them to us. The matter of getting here, and how quickly, that is theirs to determine.” She let out a long exhale. “Bram?”

“What is it, love?”

“I feel strange.”

“How?”

“Heavy and lethargic, and my eyes keep trying to close.”

He leaned over her, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “You’re simply falling asleep. Nothing to give you concern.”

“I haven’t slept in so long. I don’t remember what it’s like.”

“It can be very pleasant. Peaceful. You may even have dreams.”

“What if . . .” She swallowed hard. “What if I do not wake up?”

“You will. I vow to you that you shall awaken.” She still looked uncertain, rare vulnerability in her gaze. “I’ll watch over you.”

Already, her lashes fluttered as sleepiness overtook her, and her words faintly slurred as she said, “Thank you.”

“Rest now, love. I’m here. And I will be here when you wake.”

As he watched, she dozed off, her breath becoming even and slow. This was the first time he had ever seen her asleep, or anything other than vigilant and aware. Her beauty at all times pierced him, and in repose she had an unguarded softness, a pliancy.

An illusion. She was steel and fire, her will as indomitable as his own. Precisely as he desired. Yet in her weakened, sleeping state, she needed protecting. He would watch over her—for as long as she needed.

* * *

He kept his vigil, leaving her side in brief intervals to patrol the building. Restlessness gnawed at him, the need to move, to take action, yet there was little to do except wait.

Some hours later, as he made another sweep of the warehouse, he was alerted by the sound of her gown rustling. By the time she blinked open her eyes, he sat beside her, brushing loose strands of hair from her forehead.

“There, you see,” he murmured. “Still amongst the living.”

“And you are still at my side.”

“No sign of trouble while you rested,” he said. “We’re safe.”

“For now.”

He was well aware of the impermanent nature of their safety. “And how do you feel?”

“Restored.” She stretched, pulling her arms overhead and arching her back. The action had the effect of pressing her breasts tighter against her bodice. The gown’s previous owner must have been a woman with a smaller bosom, for Livia all but spilled from the neckline, a vision of dusky golden flesh. He inwardly groaned when he caught sight of the barest edge of her nipple, a lush tawny brown.

He gave a hoarse laugh.

She glanced at him questioningly.

“God, Livia.” He held up a hand. “This is what wanting you has done to me.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Like a damned boy with his first woman.”

Her puzzled expression shifted into a smile of pure feminine allurement. “It’s been over a millennium since I’ve had a lover. But we’ll not speak of anyone else.”

“There’s only us.” He’d never known this kind of need before, not in all his years of sensual experience. Here she was, stretched out upon this bed, answering desire in her gaze.

Her pupils were fathomless and wide, her cheeks flushed. She reached up and curved her fingers over the back of his neck. Her gaze was flame.

Bram slowly exhaled. The moment he’d wanted for so long had finally arrived, and he would not rush. He did not care what it cost him to go slow. Every second with her needed to be savored.

He braced his hands on either side of her and brought his mouth down onto hers. Lust and need and fire blazed through him, yet he took her lips in deep, searching strokes. Her fingers tightened against the back of his neck as she pulled him closer. He tasted the wine, and her, and the sensations expanded within him in hot, heavy pulses.

He felt her other hand tugging open his coat, her fingers slipping beneath his waistcoat to grip his shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt. She, too, shook, and it unnerved him a little to know how much they wanted each other. No veneer of sophistication, no cultivated distance. They revealed themselves with every touch and exhalation.

It took forcible effort to break the kiss long enough to lean back and pull off his coat. As he did, Livia helped by undoing his waistcoat buttons.

For all the heat in her gaze, she took her time, slowly tugging open his waistcoat, allowing her nails to scrape against his torso. Each scratch shivered through him.

“Witch,” he murmured.

“More powerful than a witch,” she answered. With his coat and waistcoat tossed aside, she bent forward and bit him through his shirt, just beneath his collarbone. “This is the feast I want.”

He moved away long enough to tug off his boots and disarm himself. Yet he kept both his pistol and sword close, both of them just beside the couch.

No sooner had he divested himself of these cumbersome obstructions than he lay fully on the bed, stretching out atop her. She purred as he settled himself between her legs, one arm wrapped around her shoulder, the other moving in heated exploration of her clothed body. She held his shoulders, stroked down his arms and back—all the while they kissed with a building, insistent hunger.

He learned anew her mouth, her flavor, her need as covetous as his own. She whispered against him, words that could have been a prayer or incantation or demand. Whatever it was she asked for, he was more than eager to give it to her. As her hands shaped over his straining back, he slipped from her mouth to graze his teeth along her jaw and down her neck. He inhaled her scent and warmth, and when he bit lightly at her collarbone, she arched up, moaning.

“Need to feel you,” he muttered thickly. He pulled at the fastenings of her gown, hands clumsy with desire. He knew his way around women’s clothing, yet suddenly everything became a mystery, an obstacle to her flesh.

She tried to help, though she knew the way of these garments far less than he. “Curse these modern fashions. Sewn by fiends.” She tugged at the ties beneath her stomacher, and the hooks attaching the skirt to the bodice.

“Let me.” He urged her up. With single-minded purpose, he stripped her from her gown and threw the whole thing aside in a flurry of peach fabric.

He allowed himself a moment to admire her in her stays and chemise, delighting in the contrast between the white cotton and the olive shade of her skin. Yet he could only admire for so long before he needed more.

He turned her around. Rather than immediately unlace her stays, he ran his mouth down the length of her neck, and lower, between the wings of her shoulder blades. The stays prevented him from moving farther down, so he traced the exposed flesh of her back with his lips, murmuring formless words against her skin.

“Please,” she gasped. “Free me from this cage.”

Quickly, he unlaced the stays, the stiffened material spreading apart until he was able to pull it off and cast it onto the discarded gown. She tugged off the chemise, dropping it to the ground, and turned back to him.

Thought fled. He could only stare at her as she sat upon the bed, nude, dark hair loose about her shoulders. She was lushly formed, narrow of waist, long of leg. Her generous breasts, full and round, had large coffee-colored nipples drawn into hard points. Between her thighs, her curls were ebony black. He drew his heated gaze up her body, lingering over her curves, to her face. She wore a look of changeless female power as she gazed back at him.

“In all my cursed life,” he rasped, “I’ve never seen anyone or anything as beautiful.”

She tipped her head in acknowledgment, and he smiled to himself, for she accepted his compliment as her due. This was a woman who understood her own strength and allure.

“I demand the same privilege,” she murmured.

He obeyed at once, throwing off his clothes with a lad’s haste. He no longer was the veteran seducer, who had divested himself of his garments with a seasoned and practiced air. All he desired at this moment was to remove all barriers between them.

Their clothing made twin piles upon the ground. The dust would stain everything. He didn’t care. He concerned himself only with the longing and desire in her gaze as she watched him disrobe. When he was naked, standing beside the bed, she sighed with pleasure.

“I could not conjure a man half so wondrous,” she breathed. Her gaze moved over him, seeming to take pleasure in all his hard surfaces, the body he had meticulously maintained as a weapon. Even his scars seemed to excite her. Yet when she looked upon the marks of flame on his chest, her eyes darkened, and her lips compressed. The markings had grown, dipping down all the way to his hipbone. Consuming him.

She appeared to deliberately move her gaze away from his markings, and her attention centered precisely where he showed his need for her most. His cock grew even harder under her scrutiny, pulling high and curved up toward his navel. A look of purest lust crossed her face.

“We’ve looked long enough,” he growled. He lay down upon the bed.