He took her to the ground and spread her thighs. Alys could not fight down the panic that filled her, but he did not shove brutally inside her. He did not even drop his body onto hers. Instead, he returned to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, biting softly at her nipples, sucking them deep into his mouth. Between her thighs, she felt heat.

When he cupped a big, warm hand over her, Alys moaned. The sound was startling, rough and needy.

But even more startling was how his touch made her feel. It made her feel empty.

She wanted to feel him there.

When he began to caress there, she arched up to him with a cry. Two fingers pushed inside her and there was no pain, just a sweet pleasure that made her hunger for more.

He continued to touch her just like that, pumping his fingers in and out. Alys grew hotter and between her thighs, she grew wetter. That was not completely unknown. She had felt that creamy moisture before, when she had watched him mount his Mistress.

When he finally came into her, Alys exploded, screaming into his mouth.

Malachi was dreaming-he knew he was. Some wine-induced fantasy. Not the woman from his dreams, but certainly someone sweet, someone soft. Someone who wasn't bedding him just to get with child. She was delicate, sweet, almost timid. He had not been with a woman like her before. Looking into her eyes was nearly as pleasurable as sinking his c.o.c.k inside her. She stared up at him with an awed, needy gaze. n.o.body had ever looked at him with such naked need before.

Since he had no idea when he would have another sweet dream like this, he intended to enjoy it to the fullest. As she climaxed around him again, he slowed his strokes. He wanted her to calm, wanted to watch the fog fade from her pretty green eyes. Then he wanted to watch them darken with need again as he rode her.

Maybe then he would come.

Maybe...

Hours later, they lay under the star strewn sky. Malachi was certain he could not move if he had to. He had stopped thinking of this as a dream some time ago, although if he woke and found himself alone in the woods, it would be little surprise.

There was just something...real about this. Something solid. That feeling only intensified as she rolled atop him again, staring down into his eyes with a sad gaze. "You should rest," she whispered softly. Her voice trembled a little as she spoke.

Malachi wanted to know what made her so sad. But before he could ask, she stroked his cheek.

"Sleep, Malachi."

He did not wish to sleep. And he knew he should not. It was time to return to the Master's lands. He would think of some way of keeping Heta from the punishment he had surely brought upon her.

Yes, he needed to return.

But suddenly he could barely keep his eyes open. The bone deep la.s.situde had turned into true exhaustion and he could not even keep his eyes open, much less force himself to his feet for the long walk ahead.

His lids drooped low and as he drifted into sleep, she started to sing.

When she struck his neck, her fangs pierced his skin easily and he barely flinched.

His eyes were gritty with exhaustion well before sundown. But Malachi would not be sleeping that night. He had returned to the Master's property just as the sun was rising, but all of the guests were already sleeping. Many of them were sprawled on the grounds where they had dropped.

There were empty wine jugs scattered around and the remnants of the meal Heta and the other kitchen slaves had worked so hard on. Already, the slaves were busy cleaning up the mess, but it would take much of the day to clear it all away.

From the looks of it, it had been a very successful celebration.

Heta had tried to ask him what had taken so long, but Malachi merely turned the wine over to her and walked off. Li, however, was not going to be put off.

"Bad night."

"My night was fine," Malachi said, trying to remember it a little better. He remembered grabbing the wine. And waking up. In between? Just little flashes of memory. A soft, pretty voice.

Big sad green eyes. A woman with a warm, sweet body.

A dream. It had just been a dream, caused by too much wine. The headache he had now was proof of just how much he had imbibed. He felt groggy, too. Too tired. His head felt too fogged. "No. I do not ask if you had good night. I tell you, last night was bad night. Bad things happened." Li moved a little closer, his slanted eyes narrowing, almost disappearing as he rose on his toes, staring at Mal's neck.

When he reached up and tried to touch Mal's neck, Mal batted his hand aside. "Leave me alone, Li. I am tired."

"You be still," Li growled, wrapping his hand around Mal's wrist and squeezing.

Mal felt his bones grinding together and he bit the inside of his cheek as pain streaked through him. "What do you want?"

"What happen last night?"

"I drank a jug of the wine and pa.s.sed out. When I woke up, it was nearly morning. Fascinating story." Li's hand fell away and Mal suppressed the urge to rub at his bloodless wrist. Instead, he studied the smaller man.

Li was pale and for the first time, Mal saw fear in those dark eyes. "You no go anywhere tonight.

No matter what," Li said. "You hear?"

Tension tightened between the two as they stared at each other. Malachi took enough orders- taking them from a fellow slave? But the fear he sensed inside the smaller man kept him from saying the angry words that burned on his tongue. "I have been ordered to attend the Mistress tonight."

"Good. That good. You stay inside," Li muttered, jabbing a finger into Mal's chest. "Inside."

That was all he would say and then he walked away, muttering and shaking his head.

The pounding in Mal's head kept him from thinking about it for too long. He needed to get his work done fast. If he did not get some rest before nightfall, he would likely fall asleep between the Mistress' thighs.

Chapter Two

He did not get that rest he needed, but fortunately, pregnancy was already wearing on the Mistress. Malachi could see the weariness in her eyes and he knew he would only be needed for a little while.

d.a.m.n good thing, too. Malachi was achingly tired.

At first, Malachi thought he was falling asleep. Even as he pumped his hips back and forth, the Mistress' p.u.s.s.y wet and soft around him, he thought he was sleeping.

Dreaming. No other way to explain that soft, lilting voice. He was certain he had dreamed that voice.

"Let me in."

Mal pulled away from the Mistress, staring towards the window. The woman leaned against it, running her hands against the empty air as though something was preventing her from coming in.

A hand touched his arm and he looked at the Mistress, half expecting to see fury in her eyes for pulling away before he had helped her finish.

Instead, she was staring at the window as though something held her hypnotized.

"Invite me in-I want to play, too," the woman murmured as she stared at the Mistress.

"Please come. Come to me," the Mistress whispered, reaching out a hand to the woman. There was a look of hunger in her eyes that unsettled Malachi. He knew some of the women he had served preferred the touch of other women, but this Mistress had not ever been like that.

Yet she was staring at the other woman as though she was starved for her. That look was not natural, not for her. Malachi could not dismiss the feeling that the other woman had induced this odd change.

The woman did not approach the Mistress. She climbed inside, the movement oddly graceful, so at odds with what she was doing. Her big eyes stared at the Mistress and she said, "Sleep."

The Mistress fell limply back against the bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising with the soft, steady rhythm of sleep.

When the woman looked at Malachi, her eyes were tear drenched. "I beg your forgiveness. But I have need of you. You...a warrior."

She leaped for him then, moving quicker than anything Mal had ever seen. Her hands jerked Mal against her and he fought, trying to throw her aside. But she was strong. Too strong. This was no mortal woman. Her fangs pierced his skin and it felt-familiar. It did not hurt, but he was infuriated. He could feel the life draining out of him.

Something touched his mind. A soft, soothing touch. Please...please understand. I am so sorry...

but I need you.

Those words circled around in his head, over and over, chasing him into oblivion. The sadness in her eyes p.r.i.c.ked at the anger that filled him. Even as he longed to tear her away from him and stop this invasion, the grief inside her had him wanting to stroke away the pain.

He would kill her.

Malachi felt her calling to him as night fell. He sat just outside the training arena, his back to a huge tree trunk. In his hand, he held a spear. It was sharp, well balanced, one he had made with his own hands.

And he would use it to kill the demon after him.

She called-he could feel it, like she was trying to work her way inside his mind and force him to obey. Like she had done with the Mistress the night before. Malachi waited though. He would not go to her. She could come to him and he would kill her.

When she had appeared at the edge of the trees just after the sun had set, Malachi rose, holding her gaze. Her big green eyes looked so sad.

"If there was another way for me, I would have chosen it," she whispered. She started towards him and Malachi hefted the spear, launching it at her.

It did not hit-she moved like the wind, dodging the spear and disappearing into the trees.

There was no sign of her. Growling low in his throat, he followed his instincts. They had always served him well enough-he would just have to hope his luck held.

It did not. Oh, he could catch sight of her. But never move close enough to strike. And what was he going to kill her with? She had taken his spear when she fled into the woods.

With his spear gone, he had nothing but his wits, his bare hands and the small knife he carried at his waist.

He heard her whispering into his mind again and he tried to block her sorrowful voice out. But it came nonetheless. "If there was another way, I would take it, warrior. Know that."

"There is another way," he growled. "A path into h.e.l.l and I will see you on your way."

He thought he heard the whisper of a sigh through the trees and he stilled, lifting his head to stare into the canopy of leaves. Nothing, just the wind whispering through the branches.

"I am not the first one."

Whirling around, Malachi saw the white of her gown as she slipped behind a tree just ahead of him. There you are, you b.i.t.c.h, he thought viciously.

But by the time he got there, she was nowhere in sight. Again and again, she appeared that close to him, close enough he could almost smell the scent of her sweat.

"You can kill him, a good man you are. You are a warrior, valiant and strong. I have searched for you for so many years. You can stop him-I know you can."

He saw her again, even closer than before. Malachi lunged for her, felt her gown slip right through his fingers. Thrown off balance, he stumbled and hit the ground. His head spun as he shoved himself back to his knees and a bone deep weakness overtook him. The world seemed to spin around him and Malachi swore.

"You cannot continue like this, warrior. You are weak-you have lost too much blood. Please-let us end this." As she spoke this time, he felt that curious nudging at his mind, like he had felt when she had been calling him.

Malachi shoved himself to his feet and snarled, "Not this night. I will not go willingly to a demon." Spying a thick branch, he grabbed it and snapped it over his knee.

"Please, warrior. I want this done." But he could not see her. Once more, she had disappeared into the forest in utter silence.

"Foul b.i.t.c.h," he hissed. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white. Whirling, he launched the makeshift weapon. He heard her soft female cry and guilt warred with triumph but before he could reach her, she turned and dove into the trees.

"You cannot run too far, demon," he panted, a mean grin on his face. She was close. He knew it.

Close- On top of him. She dropped down out of the tree, her slender body full of that inhuman strength. She took him to the ground, her small delicate hands pinning his arms, her legs straddling his chest. He tried to throw her off, but failed.

This was it, then. After all the battles he had fought, he would fall to a female.

As she sank her teeth into his neck one final time, Malachi roared. It did not take long-his vision quickly grew hazy and what little strength he had left faded. Just before the darkness was complete, he felt her pull away. "Just-finish it," he muttered wearily. Then he felt something at his lips. Something warm, salty.

Malachi tried to turn his head away, but one of her hands fisted in his hair and kept him still.

"Drink-you will drink now. I will not lose you. Not when I am so close."

Whatever it was flowed into his mouth and he choked as he tried not to swallow. But some of it slid down his throat. Her hand loosened in his hair and she began to stroke his brow, smoothing his hair back from his face.

"Such a pity that you will hate me. But he is coming-my Master. By the time you have changed, he will be here. And already you are stronger than us both. You will see what he is, why he must be stopped. You will defeat him, and then you can be free. And he will take no other."

Whatever it was in his mouth no longer tasted quite so bitter. A flare of strength returned to him and he opened his eyes. And what he saw horrified him. He was feeding-from her. She held her wrist to his mouth and dark blood flowed from the wound. Repulsion streaked through him and he shoved her wrist away.

But his mouth watered as he stared at the tiny injury, craving more of the blood.

He pushed back from her and rasped, "To my death, I shall hate you." He tried to rise, desperate to run away, but that small bit of strength was gone and he found he could no longer even hold his eyes open.

As he fell into the dark, warm embrace of sleep, the woman murmured, "Oh, I understand, my warrior. So long as you see him dead, I care not."