Prince of Twilight. Maggie Shayne

her will—he knew her will, could sense it in her mind. But the will to make love to a vampire in her dreams might not be the same as it would be in her waking state.

      Did he give a damn if what he was doing was right or not? Gods knew he’d done worse things in the centuries he’d been alive. And if this was the only way he could have her, so be it.

      He knew he would return—night after night if he could manage it. He was like an addict craving a drug, and having found a font of it, endless and undefended, he couldn’t do less than take his fill.

      Especially being fully aware just how little time remained. Four days. Four short nights until the Red Star of Destiny eclipsed Venus. And then they would both die.

      Beyond the physical pleasure he would give, and eventually receive, as well—yes, why the hell not? Beyond those things, he would be able to keep himself fully apprised of Tempest’s progress and her interactions with the Athena group.

      He returned to the bedroom, leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “Remember me only as a dream, Tempest. Remember and know you will dream of me again. From now on, beautiful Tempest, your nights, and your will, belong to me.”

      “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me again.”

      He leaned closer, pressed his mouth to hers, kissed her softly, deeply, and wished for more. And more. He had to leave. He had to find a victim, feed on hot, rich blood, before his will failed him and he took hers instead.

      That would make him vulnerable to her. It would strengthen the already powerful bond and create a weakness in him. One that might make him falter in the things he needed to do.

      And he could not falter. He had to move forward with his plan or all would be lost.