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“And you can live a very nice life as an atheist. Trust me.” She ran her hands under his shirt, feeling his strong back. “You think my sister’s up in heaven, eating her favorite Fudgsicles on a cloud? Nope. Her body was buried years and years ago, and now there’s not much left of her. I’ve seen death. I know what happens after we go, and there’s no God to save us, Vishous. I don’t know who or what your Scribe Virgin is, but I’m damn sure she’s not It.”

The barest hint of a smile tilted his lips. “I’m going to love proving you wrong.”

“And how are you going to do that? Introduce me to my Maker?”

“I’m going to love you so good and so long you’re gonna be convinced no earthly thing could have brought us together.”

She touched his face, imagined the future, and cursed. “I’m going to age.”

“So am I.”

“Not at the same rate. Oh, Jesus, V, I’m going to—”

He kissed her. “You’re going to not think about that. Besides…there’s a way to slow that down. I’m not sure if you’d be into it, though.”

“Oh, jeez, let me think. Um…yeah, I’m into it.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“I don’t care. If it prolongs my life with you, I’d eat roadkill.”

His hips moved into her and retreated. “It’s against my race’s law.”

“Is it kinky?” She arched up to him again.

“For your kind? Yes.”

Jane figured it out even before he lifted his wrist to his mouth. When he paused, she said, “Do it.”

He bit down and then put the twin punctures to her lips. Jane closed her eyes and opened her mouth and—

Holy shit.

He tasted like port, and it hit her as hard as ten bottles of the stuff, her head going on a spin after the very first swallow. She didn’t stop. She drank as if his blood would keep them together, vaguely aware through the roaring in her body that he was pumping into her and making wild growling noises.

Now V was inside of her in all ways possible: in her brain with his words and her body with his arousal and her mouth with his blood and her nose with his scent. She was completely taken over.

And he was right. It was divine.

Chapter Forty-three

With the white curtain clutched to her breasts, Cormia stared across the Primale’s temple, dumbfounded. Whoever that male was, he was not Vishous, son of the Bloodletter.

But he was definitely a warrior. He was huge against the marble wall, an absolute giant, with shoulders that seemed big as the bed she was upon. His size terrified her…until she looked at his hands. He had elegant hands. Long fingered, broad backed. Strong yet graceful.

Those elegant hands had freed her. And done none else unto her.

Still, she waited for him to yell at her. Then she waited for him to say something. Finally, she waited for him to look at her.

He had beautiful hair, she thought in the silence. Down to his shoulders and full of so many colors, the waves golden blond and deep red and dark brown. What color were his eyes?

More silence.

She wasn’t sure how fast time was passing. She knew it was, as it passed even here on the Other Side. But how long had they kept at this? Dear Virgin, she wished he would say something, except maybe that was the point. Maybe he was waiting for her.

“You are not who…” Her voice gave out as his stare lifted.

His eyes were yellow, a resplendent, warm yellow that reminded her of her favorite gems, the citrines. Truly, she could feel warmth in her body as he looked upon her.

“I’m not who you expected?” Oh…his voice. Smooth and low and…kind. “Didn’t they tell you?”

She shook her head, abruptly without words. And not because she was scared.

“Circumstances changed, and I took my brother’s place.” He laid his hand upon his broad chest. “My name is Phury.”

“Phury. A warrior’s name.”

“Yes.”

“You appear as one.”

He put both palms out to her. “But I’m not going to hurt you. I’m never going to hurt you.”

She tilted her head to the side. No, he wouldn’t, would he. He was a complete stranger and thrice her size, yet she knew with no doubt that he wouldn’t harm her.

He was going to mate with her, however. That