Burning Dawn. Gena Showalter
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of rejection jolted her back to awareness. She was in a club. A club filled with immortals—his club. People were watching her with avid curiosity now. People who had seen him seduce hundreds...perhaps thousands...of other women.
Elin raised her chin. I didn’t want him anyway. One touch? Never.
“Gorgeous,” a dragon-shifter gasped. He reached out and ghosted his fingertips along the curve of Thane’s wing.
No fair, she thought with a longing she couldn’t deny, even now.
Thane reacted immediately, snatching the guy’s wrist and breaking it with a single squeeze. A pained howl scraped at her ears, making her cringe. Adrian appeared at the injured man’s side, taking him by the scruff and hauling him out of the club.
The entire scene played out in three seconds, tops.
O-kay, then. Wings: off-limits.
And there was no reason to make a mental note of that, since she’d already decided not to touch Thane, or to let him touch her, ever.
He resumed his walk through the club, stopping to address a table of Harpies. Elin couldn’t make out the words that were spoken, but whatever he said after the introductions caused each of the females to gape. Had he issued a death threat? His expression was harsh, determined.
Then he held out his hand to the tallest and strongest at the table. A striking blonde.
Blondie willingly placed her fingers in his, and, ever the gentleman, he helped her stand.
Not a death threat, but a seduction. A lance of something hot branded the center of Elin’s chest. Anger? Jealousy? A measure of both? Yeah. Nailed it.
Thane led the woman out of the bar.
To his special room?
That quickly? That easily?
Elin gripped her tray with so much force the board cracked down the center.
Startled, she peered down at the two jagged halves. She was that jealous? No, impossible. She didn’t know the man, and certainly didn’t want him for her own.
He didn’t matter to her.
Honestly, he was nothing more than a means to an end. A scary means to an end, at that. Stupid Thane was welcome to his stupid Harpy and his stupid love life and his stupid room and his stupid pleasure.
She would forget him just as easily as he’d picked up that skanky Harpy.
Name-calling? Who are you? The blonde was probably as sweet as candy, a stay-at-home divorced mom just looking for a night of fun to give her self-esteem the boost it needed after her husband cheated on her with their next-door neighbor.
Buck up, Vale. You have Fae snobs to charm and jewels to win.
Charm. Right. Except, she’d already failed in that endeavor.
So...what else could she try?
What would your mother do?
Easy. Renlay would kill everyone.
Well, that wasn’t going to work for Elin. There had to be another way.
As she thought it over, her eyes widened. There was another way. It might land her in serious trouble with Thane, but at the moment, she didn’t exactly care.
Victory, here I come.
CHAPTER FIVE
THANE TUGGED ON his robe, his motions steady despite the aggravation attempting to choke him. The Harpy was asleep and unaware of his mood, thank the Most High. She would have panicked—or asked for round two. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with either.
What was her name?
Not that he cared. It wasn’t as if he would ever speak to her again.
He’d used her. She’d used him. Pleasure was had. The problem was, he wasn’t satisfied.
Have you ever been?
He worked his jaw. Yes, of course. At least a little. For years, he’d brought his women here, to the bedroom across from his. It was where he’d kept Kendra.
She was the first, the only, woman ever to move in for longer than a few hours, and he’d allowed it only because she’d experienced no remorse after his depraved desires had been slaked. No matter how badly he’d frightened...and marred...her. No matter what horrible things he’d asked her to do to him.
A perfect union, at least on the surface. And yet, they had never actually fit, or balanced each other.
Same with the Harpy. While she possessed a measure of dark yearning, proved every time she’d run the tip of a blade over his skin, as demanded, and smiled as his blood welled, she hadn’t satiated him. Not when he’d chained her, and she had struggled, her wrists and ankles chafing, her eyes tearing up—not just with fear, but with uncertain anticipation. Not when he’d shown her an array of weapons and told her slowly and quietly what he was going to do with them, and the tears had streamed down her cheeks in earnest. Not even when he’d put his words into action, and she had begged for mercy...and for more.
Her whimpers hadn’t been sweet, sweet music, as he’d expected. Her fear hadn’t fanned the flames of his passion, and her pain hadn’t soothed the savage beast inside.
She hadn’t given him anything he’d needed.
What did he need?
He thought he’d known.
He could take her again, harder, harsher, and finally, hopefully, exhaust himself, but he refused to bed the same woman twice. Never again would he risk enslavement.
Oh, he knew there were only a handful of females like Kendra, capable of enchaining through sex, and none that were not Phoenix. But what if the Harpy had Phoenix blood in her ancestry? How was a man to know?
Besides, why take the Harpy a second time when his body craved another woman?
The...don’t say it...ignore the desire, and it will go away...human.
He had to bite back an aggravated snarl. He couldn’t ignore—and he couldn’t forget. Somehow, she had branded her image in his mind. Her name, he was suddenly desperate to know. He wished he’d confronted her, today, yesterday, every day, and drank in every word about her.
What was it about this female?
At the camp, she had looked at him with wild panic and even fear, and he’d hated every moment. He should have enjoyed that, as he did with other women, but no. He hadn’t. Therefore, he shouldn’t desire her. But earlier in the club he’d taken one look at her and hungered as if he had never eaten.
She was prettier than he remembered, and he’d somehow scented her from across the room. He’d had to fight the compulsion to close the distance between them, sweep her into his arms and carry her away to ravage her.
She had been dressed provocatively, yes, but that shouldn’t have had any bearing on the situation. Since the opening of the club, his female employees had worn that barely-there uniform. It was like white noise to him—there, but hardly noticeable. And yet, on the human, he’d noticed.
Despite her fragile build, she had lush, ripe breasts made for a man’s hands and dangerous curves made to cradle the hardest part of him. Her legs would fit perfectly around his hips, anchoring him as he plunged into her—
No!
Tomorrow, he would force her to wear a robe.
He no longer screwed the staff. He could always find a lover, but he couldn’t always find a dedicated, trustworthy worker. And if he took the delicate human the way he liked, the only way he could, he would do more than panic and frighten her. He would harm her irrevocably. In body...and in mind.
He didn’t like the thought of her alabaster skin blighted...or fear in her smoked-glass eyes.
How