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Into stone. She pulled away, but only by a hand’s width, so she could meet his eyes.

“Your lips are warm,” she said, still whispering.

“Yours—yours are unimaginably soft.” He somehow got the words free from where they had lodged in his

throat.

“May I kiss you again?”

He knew she could feel his body trembling under the uncommon and bittersweet pleasure caused by the

weight of her small hands. Not trusting himself to maintain control of his voice, he nodded.

This time her lips lingered. With a supreme effort of will, he pushed aside the white-hot jolt of pain and drank

her in. Her scent filled his senses. Mikado was sweet rose spice and warm mortal woman, and she was

touching him—kissing him—almost in his arms. It was more intoxicating than any of the magick he had at his

command.

“It’s better if you kiss me back,” she murmured against his lips.

As he had watched so often in other men’s dreams, he opened his mouth slightly and tilted his head. When

her tongue flicked briefly against his, Asterius’s body responded automatically. With a growl that changed to

a moan, he dropped the palla so the luminous threads spilled all around them on the stairs. His hands came up

and circled the gentle curve of her waist. She leaned farther forward so her full breasts pressed against the

leather of his cuirasse. He could feel the heavy heat of them, just as he could taste her. He wanted her with a

lust that was as white hot as the agony that was coupled with his desire. His pulse pounded in his temples as

his blood surged in streams of liquid fire through his body. There was nothing in the world except

Mikado—her touch, her taste, her heat. He had to have her. Even if the pain destroyed him, he had to have

her! He had to bury himself in her and pump an eternity of need into her seductive warmth. Her arms went

around his shoulders, and the kiss deepened. He slid one hand up the smooth line of her back as the other

dropped down to cup her eme±Ђ†irresistibly round ass and bring her closer, holding her tightly against his

throbbing length.

Ah, Goddess! He’d never felt anything like the delicious pain of having her body pressed against his.

His pain-filled and lust-fogged mind didn’t register her first cry. He only heard the second because she had

begun to struggle to get away from him. Breathing hard, he forced himself to lift his mouth from hers. Then he

smelled blood. Her blood. He stared at her lips. They looked swollen, bruised. One was cut and bleeding. Her

eyes were wide and she, too, was panting for breath.

“No!” he growled. Releasing her, he staggered back a step.

She took a shaky step back, too, so her body pressed against the banister. When her back touched the marble,

she winced.

“What have I done?” he rasped.

“Your claws . . .” she began, her voice sounding unnaturally shrill. “You must have scratched me.”

He looked down at his hands. His claws were fully extended. His eyes shot to her. Oh, Goddess! Please no!

Please don’t let me have harmed her!

“Let me see your back,” he said, but when he started to move toward her, she jerked back another step away

from him. He stopped, as if she had driven a stake through him, impaling him into place.

“It’s fine. I’m sure I’m fine.”

Mikado’s eyes were filled with fear—and something else. Something he was sure he recognized—loathing.

He knew the look too well. He’d seen it the night the other Empousa had rejected him. Her eyes, too, had told

him she feared and loathed the beast. Slowly, making no further move to touch her, he collected the spilled

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threads, gathering them into the palla. Then he straightened and walked down the staircase before allowing

himself to look at her again. She was still standing with her back pressed to the banister, watching him with

wide, stunned eyes.

“I did not mean to hurt you. I do not ask you to forgive me, because I know that is not possible, but I do ask

you to try to believe that I did not want to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you.” With a choked growl,

he turned and fled into the night.

When he was gone, Mikki wiped a trembling hand across her mouth and winced. She felt the cut on her lip

with her tongue. She hadn’t even known his teeth had done that. Her knees were wobbly, and she climbed the

winding staircase slowly, but she didn’t go to her room. She kept walking along the length of the balcony and

down the stairs that hugged the eastern side of it. Thankfully, she didn’t have to call for Daphne. As she’d

ordered earlier that evening, the servants had begun leaving thick towels and extra chitons and nightdresses,

along with soaps and oils and jugs of wine in large baskets near the baths. They had, of course, protested that

it was their duty to attend to the Empousa’s needs at all hours. But Mikki had insisted. She’d known she

would want the privacy to bathe without being attended to and watched—she just hadn’t known she’d want it

this soon.

She unwound herself from the chiton, filled a goblet from a jug of red wine aown±Ђ†nd gingerly lowered

herself into one of the steaming pools, sucking in a breath as the mineral water covered her back.

It had scared the shit out of her. She’d been kissing him and liking it. He’d tasted like man with something

musky mixed in—something as alien as it was exciting. And he’d felt . . . she shivered. He’d felt like stone,

only his body was warm and unbelievably powerful. And he’d wanted her. Desperately. She could feel his

muscles bunch and quiver under her touch. She reveled in the hard length of his erection as it pressed

insistently against her, and her own body responded with an answering heat and wetness that felt so damn

good it made the back of her teeth ache. She’d rubbed against him, teasingly erotic, loving how easily she

could feel his body through the thin silk of her chiton. The low, rumbling growl he’d breathed into her mouth

had thrilled her. She was doing that to him! It was she who had held that incredibly powerful beast in her arms

and made him tremble for her. She’d molded herself against him, fitting her softness to him. It had been like

her dream, only better. She didn’t have to wake up alone and limp from an unsatisfying solo orgasm. He was

right there. She could have him—all of him.

Then the pain had mixed with the pleasure. She’d known he hadn’t meant to extend his claws. He had simply

been lost in her and passion had triggered an automatic response. She’d tried to tell him—tried to push him

away. He hadn’t seemed to hear her at first, and then . . .

She sighed and closed her eyes. Then he’d been horrified. He’d seen the fear in her eyes and he’d run,

especially after she wouldn’t let him get close to her. He’d misunderstood. Of course he would. How many

women had looked at him with fear in their eyes? That’s probably what that other damn Empousa had done.

When he’d said that Hecate had no reason to make a rule stating that the Guardian and the Empousa could

not desire one another, he’d been intimating that there had been nothing between the two of them, but she

knew he was hiding something. They were all hiding something they didn’t want her to know. The other

Empousa had broken his heart. Maybe that’s why Hecate had sent him away, so he could get over her. And

maybe she’d fired the other priestess because she’d rejected him. Who knew why? Who knew the why of

anything in this strange realm of dreams and magick and desire?

Mikki thought about the hopeless look on his face as he’d left her. She’d broken his heart, too. She hadn’t

meant to. It was just that she’d been so shocked—shocked and afraid—when his claws had scratched the

length of her back and she’d felt the raw rush of lust that had been her response. She’d wanted to sink her

teeth into his lip and demand that he fuck her right there, rough and fast, over and over. To feel his strength

fill her and to know that his lust, his passion, his barely controlled violence was hers . . . Mikki shuddered with

the pleasure of remembering how it had felt to imagine that she could claim him whenever she wished and

that he would respond with that same flame until she was finally sated as none of the inadequate men in her

life had ever been able to do. It had overwhelmed and intrigued and shocked her to get a glimpse of what

would finally satisfy her—and know that “what” was not a man, but a beast.

The simple truth was that she hadn’t been afraid of him; she’d been afraid of herself.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“I THINK we got a lot accomplished, esp aw had pagecially for only working half a day.” Mikki wiped her

hands together and surveyed the neat beds of newly fertilized roses that framed Hecate’s Temple. If she

didn’t look too hard or think about the weird sick feeling she carried around in her gut whenever she was near

the unhealthy roses, the gardens appeared almost normal, especially in this area of the realm closest to

Hecate’s Temple. Here the roses were all in shades of lavender and purple, and even in their sad condition,

their sweet fragrance filled the space. Water flowed from the huge multi-basined fountain to trickle steadily

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