Free Blood Lust by Zoe Winters Page B

him. It wasn’t fair for him to take that to his grave. She bit her lip as she pressed the blade into his flesh. She took no joy in the act. There was nothing to be gained from orphaning herself but closure.
    Simon screamed, thrashed, and begged, much less stoic even than she’d been. Greta forced herself to look away. She was tempted to snap his neck and end it, but she pressed on, unwilling to let him take any small victory to the afterlife.
    It was still raining when the life slipped from her father. Dayne draped his coat over her shoulders and took her back to the cottage.
    ***
    She looked so lost. She kept insisting he do the ritual. He should have told her no, but he knew she sought atonement for the blood she’d spilled. Or perhaps she still thought he planned something villainous and wanted to complete her induction into evil.
    He didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t need her blood anymore with Simon dead. He took it anyway, draining about a tablespoon’s worth into a small, clear vial. He opened a book, chanted, and felt the magic flare up and disperse.
    He performed a spell to help the flowers in the garden grow better. With her blood, it was going to be quite the botanical extravaganza. She’d like it at least. He was deeply grateful for magical languages. It was the only thing preserving an ounce of his reputation.
    The first thing Greta said after the magic faded was, “What about Charlee? She tried to help me cross the border.”
    “She’s fine. Anthony wiped her memory last night.”
    They stood staring at each other, and then she flung herself at him, raining kisses over his neck, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Her hands wandered down his back and over his ass. Her eyes glittered with need.
    “Damn, woman, how many days does this go on?”
    “Couple of weeks sometimes. Was in a cage. No pills.”
    She reluctantly pushed herself away from him. Dayne could see the cogs turning furiously in her brain as she realized she didn’t have to stay with him; he wasn’t her only option. She turned to leave.
    “You’re not going anywhere.” Dayne felt the possessiveness curl around him as he grabbed her hand and moved it back to his backside where she’d been kneading his flesh and practically dry humping him moments before. “Let’s go upstairs.”
    “You really don’t have to do this.”
    “Let’s go upstairs,” he repeated. He wasn’t sure what could be going through Greta’s mind to make her think sleeping with her was a chore. He knew how she felt about the cycle, and he was sorry she hadn’t taken her pill in time. He should have thought of it before they’d started the ritual.
    Gift horse.
    He scooped her up and carried her up the winding staircase. “Your room or mine?”
    “Yours,” she murmured against his neck.
    Dayne took her upstairs and made love to her.
    ***
    Greta woke to birds chirping outside the window and a distinct desire to shift and go chase after them. She felt sore from the previous night’s fight and . . . other events.
    Her pills were on the nightstand with a bottle of water. She swallowed one down.
    Dayne’s back was to her, and he was curled in a ball like a large, old, and well-preserved squirrel. She wanted to curl her body around his and go back to sleep; let him wake her later. But she couldn’t. She was sure she’d been a nice diversion, but he’d only agreed to let her stay until after the full moon, and she wasn’t about to show her naiveté by hoping for more. She was twenty-eight, not eighteen. It wasn’t as if he’d professed undying love.
    The sorcerer’s hand closed over her wrist. “Good kitties don’t run away,” his sleep-filled voice rumbled.
    Greta gave him a questioning look.
    “Stay.”
    “I thought you said just until after the moon?”
    Practically every sexual encounter they’d had had amounted to pity sex. She couldn’t handle further pity or possible rejection. She’d become stupidly attached to him.
    “You