Heiress to a Curse. Zandria Munson

at the side of the bed. He would do it quickly—she wouldn’t even awaken from her sleep. His gaze crept over her a second time. Such a waste, he thought. A woman like her was every man’s dream—she was made for loving. Another surge of desire shot through him and his grip tightened on the hilt of his knife. He should be done with this task before he lost himself to witless thinking.

      He lifted a long tendril of ebony hair from the spill that covered her pillow. It was soft, weightless gossamer threads of shimmering silk. One quick flick of his blade and the smooth length fell away from the lock that remained in his hand. Carefully, he placed it within a leather pouch at his waist.

      In her sleep, Alexandra sighed softly. A flash of silver between her breasts caught his attention. She wore a small amulet attached to a rope chain. With the tip of his blade, he lifted it then took it between his fingers to examine the outline of the falcon at its center. The symbol was unmistakable, for it had haunted his family for hundreds of years; it was the Dancescu crest.

      Slowly, he replaced the amulet against her chest, his fingers grazing her soft skin. His hand lingered in that spot, gently circling the circumference of the heirloom.

      Again she sighed, her full breasts rising and falling with the effort. Marius stilled and his gaze crept back up to her face, fixing upon her lush lips. She was so enchanting. He would taste her just once before leaving.

      He placed the blade to the right of her pillow and lowered his hard mouth to graze her lips in a tender kiss. When he withdrew he noted that his pulse had quickened and his breathing was slightly labored. And what was worse, he yearned to taste her a second time. Before he could justify this desire, his head fell again, bringing his lips against hers with increased intensity.

      Alexandra groaned beneath him and her lips parted to welcome his hungry kiss. He devoured her, tasting every inch of her mouth. When her soft, wet tongue grazed the tip of his own, he retracted as if seared by hot iron.

       What vile witchery is this? The woman is intoxicating!

      Blood surged through his veins and he could feel his manhood strain against the material of his pants. With a predatory growl, he dipped again and his mouth found the delicate curve of her neck and shoulders. In her sleep she gasped, her soft breath warm against his ear.

      Marius worked his way along her shoulders then found the ripe mounds of her breasts. His fanged mouth enclosed one at a time, sucking greedily while his large, clawlike hands moved to encircle her slender waist.

      With a wanton cry, Alexandra arched from the bed, offering herself to him. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please, don’t stop.”

      With this encouragement, Marius traced a path of fiery kisses down her flat midsection. A haunting voice at the recess of his mind screamed at him and he knew he should take heed and cease this blasphemy, but it was too late. His self-control had fled and he could think of nothing save possessing the soft and beautiful woman beneath him.

      He spread her legs wide then slipped his hands beneath her rear, lifting her off the bed. He took only a moment to gaze upon her smooth softness before his mouth descended upon her hot, moist core. He ate greedily, his studded gargoyle’s tongue thrusting deep as he drank of her sweet nectar. Tender flesh began to writhe beneath him in shameless and suggestive undulation, urging him to complete his onslaught.

      He lifted her higher, allowing his tongue deeper invasion into her secrets and a moment later, her entire body began to tremble with a climatic orgasm.

      Marius fought to catch his breath. He couldn’t understand what had just happened. He’d come with only one task in mind, yet somehow he’d found himself driven to touch and taste her. Even now he battled the urge to pin her where she lay and appease the ache in his loins. He’d allowed himself to be weakened by her, his enemy. He was unworthy of the Drakon title.

      She dreamed of a sensuous heat that engulfed her, seeping in and out of her mind and body. She was helpless against it and could do nothing but succumb to the intense pleasure it offered.

      Alexandra screamed. She spread her thighs wider and arched higher off the bed as she welcomed the shuddering release. She felt herself being lowered back down and she abruptly realized that this was no dream. Her eyes flew open and her moan of pleasure quickly became a shriek. Thinking only that she needed to get away, she rolled off the bed and landed on the floor.

      The broad shadow that was crouched at the foot of her bed glared at her with fiery eyes that reflected a deep and burning passion. It rose slowly and the spill of the moonlight fell over it.

      Alexandra was rendered motionless. The creature was unlike anything her mortal mind could conjure. His face and body resembled those of a man—he was tall and powerful like the Greek gods she so loved to read about—he wore only a fitted pair of black pants that clung to his lean waist and sculpted thighs, and boots of the same foreboding hue complemented his attire. Yet, he was no man, for horns crowned his head and great wings guarded his back. Is he a demon?

      With a savage growl, the creature snatched his blade and fled through the open door and into the night.

      Had what she’d seen been real? Her heart was racing, and her trembling fingers found their way to the wet and throbbing place between her thighs. One thing was certain—she’d experienced an intense orgasm. A gust of cool night air flooded her room, lifting the sheer drape, and she shivered. She was also certain that the glass door had been closed. Something or someone had climbed in and assaulted her while she slept.

      Still trembling, she grabbed the phone off the night table and began to dial the police, but paused before her fingers could engage the third digit. What would she tell them? That a demon had just invaded her seventh-story apartment and given her great oral sex? She hung up and dialed her psychiatrist instead.

       Chapter 4

      The next morning Alexandra was still unsure if what she’d seen had been real or some sort of twisted dream. She’d decided to keep the experience to herself, at least until her 7:00 p.m. appointment with Dr. Peters. Instead of dwelling on it, she poured herself into her work. The story on the mysterious Hyde Park fires still needed to be finished.

      She sat behind her desk and began sifting through the countless photographs and notes that she’d collected over the past two weeks. Her mind immediately began to race, its performance no doubt fueled by last night’s events. Images and words began to flash within her thoughts. She snatched a pen from her desk and began scribbling down everything she saw.

      Alexandra was about to leave her desk to follow the leads she’d obtained from the photographs when her attention was drawn to the plasma TV, mounted on the wall, that broadcasted the news during the day.

      “In Pennsylvania, the body of a female was discovered in an abandoned building early yesterday morning.” The reporter spoke somberly. “The partially decomposed corpse has been identified as twenty-seven-year-old Trish Gooding, who has been missing since last Tuesday. This murder brings the count to three within the Union City area, and detectives have concluded that it is the work of the Penn State Serial Killer.”

      Alexandra’s heart felt heavy. She didn’t understand how an individual could be so callous as to regard human life as nothing but a tool for his amusement. How could a man’s conscience allow him to snatch a young woman from her home, rape her, torture her and kill her?

      She was about to turn to go when an image on the TV made her pause. A photograph of a young girl.

      “In other news, twelve-year-old Mady Halman went missing on Friday evening,” came the reporter’s voice. “She was last seen a few blocks from her home in the South Bronx area.”

      Alexandra froze as blurry images flashed before her eyes. The reporter’s words were lost in the heavy drumming of blood rushing to her brain. She could see Mady, walking in the park. A tall man, his face obscured by a hooded sweatshirt, talking to her. Taking her. Then darkness. Blood. Pain. A young girl’s screams. Then the uncanny image of Trish Gooding, fleeing for her life.

      Alexandra