Tyrus' mind had been preoccupied. He'd been thinking about the task that the sub-council had set for him. He wasn't surprised that there were rebels going against the Governance. Resentment against their laws was common, and some of the younger ones simply did not understand the delicate balance that allowed predators to coexist with their prey. It wasn't going to be easy, and he should be making preparations for the journey.
At the same time, he was also bothered, and intrigued by the revelation of Anya's cloaking spell. Who would go to such lengths to hide her? Why would they need to hide her true nature? After everything that had happened, and all the guilt that he had placed on himself for taking her away from her human life, it turned out that she was from his world after all.
He could only guess at what she could possibly be. Nothing that he had ever encountered seemed to fit. She tasted and smelled human. But then again, that could have been the spell.
What confused him was that his blood and venom affected her as if she were human too. He didn't know if a spell could hide someone's nature to that extent. How could she have broken Maarav's mind-hold on her but been so easily overpowered by his strength? It was without question that she still needed protecting, even if she proved more resilient than she appeared on the outside.
And then he had marked her.
When the thought of claiming her as a slave had first come to him a few days ago, he hadn't taken it seriously, even after he'd realised that she met the criteria for him to take her. It simply went against what he believed in, especially after his past with Satine. He had never taken a slave since becoming a vampire.
Anya's response had stunned him. She
wanted
him. He still couldn't believe it. He had barely processed what she had said when she'd taken the glass and drank everything. He'd never dared dream that she could want a monster like him. She didn't know even half of the things that he had done. He still had the image of her shrinking away from him, and the pain of her terror when she saw his true face. He shook his head.
She should be running from him by now. Instead, she was standing in front of him now, the empty glass in her hands. Even though Tyrus knew what his blood would do to Anya, he wasn't prepared for the effect that
she
would have on
him
.
The hint of her arousal that he had picked up earlier was now hitting him at full force. No doubt she was wet and ready for him. Her scent filled his nostrils, triggering his own arousal.
He felt his thoughts take a backseat to what was happening in front of him.
Anya gazed at him through her long lashes, running her tongue over her lips. The move was... sexy. With a glint in her eye, she slowly peeled off her dress, drawing his full attention. Black lace dropped to the floor, revealing a skimpy matching set of a black satin bra, and panties.
Screw it. The rebels and the subcouncil could definitely wait.
Tyrus felt his teeth lengthening into fangs, crowding his mouth. His predator was rising. And so was something else.
He stared greedily at her curves. Her full breasts were pushed up provocatively by her form-fitting bra. Creamy mounds of flesh threatened to spill over the edge of their satin constraints. She had a flat, narrow waist that expanded into full hips. His eyes travelled downward and he felt a surge in his groin. Her cunt was barely hidden by the tiny strip of cloth that she wore.
Her delicious scent, now carrying the mark of his blood, rolled towards him in waves. Even though he didn't regard her as his slave, the scent of his possession was really turning him on. It overwhelmed his senses, causing him to draw a sharp breath.
She pressed her body against his, practically purring as he wrapped his arms around her. He felt her tug at his shirt until the hem came apart from his jeans. Her forwardness was so different from the Anya he had first met a week ago.
Tyrus hesitated. He knew that the change in her was due to his blood. He wondered if he should have given her more time to process what was going on. Although he had heard her words, he still found them hard to believe. It had all happened so quickly. The noble thing would be to wait out the effects of his blood, refuse her advances, and talk to her again when she was sober, when the worst of the effects wore off.
Small hands slid under his jeans and groped at his hardness, making him lose all coherent thought.
His demon coaxed him to forget his doubt, telling him that this was the right thing to do. It definitely felt right, holding her in his arms. For two centuries he had taken everything he wanted, and he had never wanted anything as badly as this. Forget nobility. He let himself go, allowing his demon to take over.
Anya's fingers had proceeded to pull on his shirt buttons, nearly ripping the shirt fabric. Her pretty features twisted into a frown of frustration as she tried to undo the buttons as fast as she could.
Stifling a chuckle, he helped her remove his clothing, following her eager hands as they worked on each article and pushed them, one by one, onto the floor.
He reached around her back. With a quick flick of his fingers, her bra came undone. It dropped to the floor, releasing her gorgeous, perky, full breasts. Pink erect nipples greeted him. They were nothing short of perfection. He lifted her easily and carried her to the sofa, placing her on his lap. Gently, he took each nipple into his mouth and sucked them, occasionally stopping to flick his tongue over the sensitive tips.
She went wild at his efforts, grinding against his crotch and pulling her panties to one side, trying to slip his thick rigid cock into her.
"Slow down, Anya. Enjoy the ride," he grunted through his fangs.
He had waited too long for this to rush through it now. He gently held her by the hips and pushed her aside, but not before dipping a finger into her pussy. He felt her slickness as he traced a line slowly upwards along her cleft to the little nub beneath the hood of her lips... So wet.
"You're much too delicious to wait, Tyrus," she replied breathily, gasping from his touch.
