For five years she'd sentenced him to suffering from this constant, grueling ache. Before he'd learned there was no relief without her, he would've futilely stroked himself or thrust against the bed, imagining it was Myst clutched beneath him, but he never took release.
Other females repelled him - because they weren't her. Even if he believed he could find ease with another woman, he would never demean himself with another. He'd felt his Myst's incredible softness, felt her wet with desire for him, her body squeezing around his fingers as she'd climaxed from his touch.
He shuddered and his c**k pulsed hungrily. Linked for eternity. To Myst the Coveted, a mythological being who despised him. The only way he'd keep her for eternity would be to punish her for that long.
He knew he coveted her as none other had. And now he knew where to find her.
Chapter Five
The fumes of swamp, steamed hot dogs and soured beer wafted up to Myst and her sisters as they perched on a roof above the chaos that was Bourbon Street.
There were rumors of vampires running about in New Orleans.
Vampires in Louisiana? Unheard of.
If there'd been only one account of leeches, then she and Regin and Nïx would still be back at Val Hall, their bayou manor, playing video games. But a demon friend had sworn he'd seen one - and a phantom had whispered that there was not just one faction of vampires, but two.
Myst's eyes darted over the scene, trying to remain focused and not notice the couples frantically grinding against each other in dark alleys. If Daniela was here she would blow them a kiss and cool them off, freezing hands to asses in mid-grope and making her sisters chortle and roll along the roof. Myst supposed that the Valkyrie were easily amused.
But focus was proving futile ever since her heart had sped up at the idea of vampires here. If for some reason they had come to the New World - which the Horde historically found vulgar and beneath them - that still didn't mean him.
Wroth. One of her true regrets in her life.
Every day, she mused that she shouldn't have left that vampire to suffer - she should have killed him.
Regin tossed her blade up, caught the point into her claw, then flicked it up once more. "You know, not that I believe there are actual vampires here - cause that's just whacky speak - but if there were, they should know that this is our turf."
"Should we ask them to rumble? Or maybe mash?" Nïx asked as she swiftly braided her waist-length black hair. "I've heard those can be a graveyard smash." Even sporting the old-fashioned hairstyle and an occasionally confused glance - she saw the future more clearly than the present - Nïx still looked like a supermodel.
"I'm serious," Regin said. "New Orleans may have once been the mystical melting pot of the world, but we control this place now."
"We can always send Mysty the Vampire Layer to battle them," Nïx said thoughtfully. "Oh wait, she'd run off with them."
Regin added, "Or use her famed tongue assault to flail the skin from their bodies as they inexplicably line up to sacrifice themselves."
"Har-de-har-har," Myst mumbled, half-listening. She'd been razzed about this continually. And she deserved it. She might as well have been caught free-basing with the ghost of Bundy. Of course others had overheard the jokes in the coven and the word spread. Even other factions of the Lore - like the nymphs, those little hookers - whispered about her unsavory predilection toward vampires. But it wasn't vampires plural, it was only one.
Wroth. She shivered. With his slow, hot fingers...
In her bed late at night, when she touched herself, she always fantasized about him, remembering his hard chest and harder shaft, imagining his ferocity, his intensity, if he ever found her again.
Truthfully, she thought he might have found her by now. She'd - accidentally? - given him her blood, possibly giving him her memories, which could lead him straight here. She often pondered that reckless kiss. She'd had no discernible intention of giving him blood, but hadn't she known in the back of her mind that his fangs would be razor sharp with her sisters' arrival? Had she wanted him to find her?
She shook her head, needing to stay sharp. Annika, Daniela and Lucia were down there somewhere.
"Lookit," Regin said, pointing down. "Men that big shouldn't get schnockered."
Myst turned her attention to a tall man who reminded her of Wroth from the back - why couldn't she get that vampire off the brain? - though this one was much rangier in build. The man leaned against another massive male, hanging on to him for balance as they walked. She noticed her claws were curling.
"Myst, can't you control that?" Regin asked with a fleeting glance at her claws. "It's embarrassing."
"Listen, I can't help it, I like big males with broad shoulders. And I bet under that trench coat he has an ass that begs to be clutched."
Nïx offered, "And it's not like she can put Band-Aids over them - "
"Holy shite," Regin exclaimed. "I see a glow. Ghouls, down by Ursilines Avenue."
"Damn it," Myst muttered. "In public again? They are hard-up recruiting then." Ghouls were maniacal fighters out to increase their numbers by turning humans with their contagious bites and scratches. They had green, gelatinous blood, and the parish of Orleans went gooey every time the coven fought them.
"Again." Nïx sighed. "And there's only so many times we can convince drunken tourists they're extras in a sci-fi flick."