intrigues, she listened and watched. Daniela the Watcher, observing and imagining. Forever a spectator.
But not tonight. She finally had a secret. She thought . . . she thought she might be growing infatuated with the vampire, even though her kind had a bitter history with his.
Wars, deceptions, atrocities.
Aside from Myst, the only other Valkyrie whoâd been with a vampire had borne him a childâthen died of sorrow shortly after.
Danii could lie to herself and say that Murdoch made it easy to forget he was a vampire. Yet in truth, she was aware of that every second with him.
She simply didnât give a damn what he was. For two thousand years, the Icere had tried to destroy her, either outright with attempts to execute her or with bounty hunters insinuating themselves into her life. Sheâd never met an Icere male that she trusted enough to be with.
Two millennia of stark loneliness did not a discerning Valkyrie make.
The broken doll wanted to be fixed. And somehow, she knew Murdoch was part of her journey. Even the fact that he was a vampire wouldnât sway her.
What he is canât compete with the possibility of what he could be â
She heard a stifled groan from the shower. Ah, gods, heâs still hurt. She dropped the wallet, racing for him.
Just inside the bathroom, she stopped short. There was no steam, so she could see straight into the tiled shower stall above the half wall screening itâcould see cold water sluicing over his broad chest, drops trickling over the indentations of his rock-hard torso.
Her lips parted, and her claws curled with desire. Her half sister Regin liked her men young, dumb,and hung, as she put it. Danii now knew her type: vampire with an Adonis physique. And she didnât say that lightly. She knew Adonis well.
Murdoch was leaning back, staring up at the ceiling, one brawny arm flexing as he washed himself. Stubble shadowed his lean cheeks.
She could see the trail of hair descending from his navel, but not where it ended because of the half wall.
Her ears were twitching. A warning? But why? âMurdoch, are you hurt?â
His arm stilled. When he met her eyes, she saw that his irises were black, burning with some hidden emotion. His gaze dipped.
Why is he surveying my body? Stingy about his shirt? âI borrowed this. Hope you donât mind.â
He didnât answer.
âOkay, then,â she said absently, distracted by the broad expanse of his chest. He had a few battle wounds from the Icere and a couple of old scarsânot unexpected, since heâd been a warrior as a mortal, too. But his skin was surprisingly tanned.
Gods, she wanted to sweep her palms over those sculpted planes. She gazed at him greedily, taking in detailsâthis would make choice fantasy fodder.
Wait. Had his chest just risen with a . . . breath? No, it couldnât be.
Her ears twitched again, and even over the sound of the water, she heard his heart beating, strong and fast. Her mind could scarcely comprehend this. Heâd been unblooded before, but now . . .
âWh-whatâs happened?â
In a husky voice, he said, âCome see.â
As she blankly moved to the edge of the stall, he pressed his hands against the walls to lean forward, his chiseled muscles bunching and tautâ
His engorged shaft extended straight out from his body. She gaped at his size. He was glorious .
And he hadnât been washing himself as his strong arm flexed.
â I blooded you?â If so, that would mean his erection was for her, and her alone. In answer to that hardness, her sex grew moist for it. Any lingering aches from her injuries were fading, no match for her mounting desire.
âYouâre . . . my Bride .â
He sounded angered by the fact. Maybe his need was making his tone sharp? Of course, that was it. What vampire wouldnât want to be blooded?
âDo you know whatâs happening?â