Immortals After Dark 01 - The Warlord Wants Forever

somehow she kept running.

    She was fast and might have outrun him with her unnatural speed as she covered miles, but he traced, lunging from that momentum to snag her ankle, tripping her forward. She wore plugs in her ears from a music player. Enraged, he yanked them from her, heard the music blaring and threw the contraption into the woods beyond.

    She’d almost escaped him. Before he’d claimed her. Thoughts grew distant. A shadow fell over his vision. He pinned her down, tossed up her skirt, then ripped the silk from between her legs, glorying in that feeling. He was finally going to take his Bride.

    Hazily, he realized she was still struggling from him. Her words echoed inside him. “Wroth, you want it? I’ll fight you for it.”

    He would always fight for her, always. Would he fight her for the right to her body?

    “Then you’re mine.”

Chapter Eight
    A nightmare was about to take her.

    When his fingers dug into her skin, dragging her beneath him, she knocked her forehead against his. He bellowed with rage, until she squirmed around and drove her elbow back into his throat. As he fought for breath, she took advantage by scrambling from him enough to mule-kick his chest, sending him reeling.

    Why hadn’t she broken his neck with her elbow through his throat? She had before with other vampires. Why did she hesitate whenever it came to hurting him? She wouldn’t again, she thought as she leapt on top of him, drilling her fist into his face so quickly it was like a blur. His lip split. Another two hits in rapid succession. She thought she broke his cheekbone.

    “You’ll get no mercy now,” he bit out, his eyes black, his deep voice rumbling almost unrecognizably. He caught her fist when she struck again and squeezed. With her other hand she swiped her claws down his shirt, across his neck, hissing in fury. Lightning came down like a hail of bullets. Somehow he caught her free wrist and turned over on her, pinning her hands above her head.

    Just as she tensed to kick her leg straight between his and send him flying forward, he groaned as if in desperation, sinking his teeth deep into her neck. She shuddered and cried out, body going limp beneath him. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the lightning above. This wasn’t pain he was giving her.

    His bite was ecstasy.

    He did it again and again lower on her neck. Each bite, each time his fangs entered her skin was like the thrust of a man inside her. Each time he released her skin was like a slow, measured withdrawal. The pleasure was dizzying. Exquisite agony.

    She’d never been defeated before in a contest of two—no man had ever been strong enough. And Myst had an animal need deep inside her for a powerful male—like this one who’d pleasured her, fascinated her—to win. Her mind rebelled, reminding her of what he was. She’d killed the last three she’d blooded. Why not him? He’d planned to torture her in that horrid dungeon, planned to control her with the chain.

    But his bite…It made her body demand, growing wetter, feeling empty without him shoved tightly inside her.

    Please be strong enough…Please…For once in her life would a man take control?

    So she could finally lose it.

    When he pinned her wrists with one hand—hard—she arched her back in delight. He used his other to rip open her shirt and bra and bare her breasts. He palmed her flesh, then opened his jeans and freed himself. His huge erection jutted between them, the sack heavy beneath.

    Her eyes widened and she fought anew, digging her heels into the ground to scuttle back. Too large for her. Break her in slowly—that’s what he’d said.

    His palms landed with a slap on her upper thighs, lifting her pelvis. Her hands loose, she rose up and fought him viciously—scratched, bit, hit—but it was futile. Still clasping her thighs, he used his thumbs to spread her sex, then wrenched her down on his shaft. Yelling brutally as she cried out in pain, he buried himself into her flesh until he was thick and throbbing deep within her.

    He’d done it. Myst will want the first man who can defeat her. That’s what they’d always whispered about her.

    They’d been right. She’d challenged him and he’d bested her. In her mind, he deserved to claim his prize no matter the consequences.

    He stilled, then bent his head to her and dragged his tongue over her nipple as if to soothe her. As if somewhere in his crazed mind, he wanted her to have