Free Hunters' Game by Denyse Bridger Page B

of his
hips.
    "Hate me, Cliantha." He was, even now,
unable to resist reminding her that he allowed this erotic
torture.
    Her head rose and she smiled. Reflected in
his glowing gaze, her fangs gleamed in the silvery haze of muted
moonlight that illuminated the elegant room.
    He pulled her to him and rolled, possessed
her body with his, biting into her throat in the same motion. She
spasmed in a shiver of pain and ecstasy. He mirrored her response
when he drew back and she found the softness of his neck.
    * * * * *
    Cliantha gasped as the mixture of dreams and
memories left her trembling and disoriented. She rose from her
seat, annoyed because this always happened when she permitted the
truth to surface.
    Ten years ago, Stavros had reclaimed her
from Demetri, but then Demetri had killed their master.
    Demetri now owned her in ways she hadn't
believed possible. What had begun as a game she'd controlled had
become an addiction, a trap from which she made no effort to
escape. Even when the truth had returned to her mind, Demetri's
seductive hold remained unbreakable.
    He'd destroyed Stavros, run a burning stake
through his heart. She'd wanted to die that night, but Demetri
refused to allow it. He'd forced her to live, lured her with his
seduction and his passion for the darkest desires she could
imagine.
    When she had run to her oldest friend
seeking shelter, Demetri had killed him while she watched. But,
even now, she carried a secret he'd never discovered. He was so
certain of his victory, he'd never questioned her absences.
    Demetri had chosen tonight's game, but
before the hunt was over, she'd planned a few surprises for him.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, moving through the throngs of
humanity, and burying the past with determined will.

Chapter Two
    Meeting
     
     
    Mortal heartbeats pulsed in Demetri's head,
an undercurrent to the steady throb of music reverberating through
the noisy club. A smile curved his mouth, though none who might
have witnessed the expression could ever have understood the source
of his macabre humor. Toying with the glass in his hand, his long,
tapered fingers stroked the smooth surface, tormenting him with
memories of her skin. Clia's flawless beauty never failed to
sharpen his hungers to near pain. His fangs ached, punching through
his gums while the remembered taste of her taunted him.
    Young people drifted through the room,
locked in their own worlds. Youth, wild and insolent, full of
deluded certainty that they were immortal and untouchable. They
played at death and immortality, but the truth would terrify them.
The reality he'd show at least one of them tonight would teach a
lesson they'd take to the grave–the price of truth in his
world.
    He tapped the glass, an unconscious mirror
of the pounding music. Cliantha was taking her time joining him,
and he wanted her. His muscles tensed, his cock and his fangs
ravenous for her, and anger stirred. She was toying with him, and
he loved and hated it. He'd lured her from hate to devotion over
time. Stavros had chosen a perfect mate in her. Demetri was
fascinated by the duality of her nature, sometimes pliant, other
times exhibiting a stubborn fury that astonished him. He'd
uncovered some of her secrets, but sensed there was much more to
know. The only time he could glimpse her mind was when he had her
writhing in passion, and from those precious seconds of abandoned
lust, he'd pulled hints of betrayal.
    A soft, breathless whisper brushed over his
senses, and he looked down at the mortal standing next to him. The
girl was no more than twenty, and she wore the pale make-up that
created a death-masque look that so many of the club's youth seemed
to strive for. Desire sparkled in her hazel eyes. He caught her
wrist as she reached out to touch him. Amused with her bold
recklessness, he lifted the slender limb he'd captured and stroked
the throb of life beneath the translucent surface of her skin. She
watched, enraptured, when he bent over her wrist. Her