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Blood and Roses - Burning Up Anthology - August 2010

Moving with deliberate grace, Amaris picked up the golden goblet on the wooden bedside table and filled it with honey mead.  “Do you thirst?”

Dark eyes dropped to her throat.  “Oh, aye.”  His purr made it clear he craved something other than the contents of her pitcher.

Not likely, vampire.  Drinking her magical blood would strengthen him, perhaps enough to break his enchanted chains.

She took a slow and deliberate sip from the goblet, by way of demonstrating the drink had not been poisoned.  As she swallowed the mead with its rich traces of lemon and berry, she let her gaze rest on his face. 

Studying him through lowered lids, she had to admit Korban was right.  The vampire was a handsome man.  The firelight played over sculpted features: cheekbones carved high enough to leave hollows beneath, a stubbornly jutting warrior’s chin, a straight and arrogant nose.  His upper lip curved over a plump lower lip that seemed to invite a woman’s bite.  He wore no beard, though a night’s growth shadowed the planes of his cheeks.  His hair was dark, shoulder-length, as gleaming and thick as a woman’s. 

Half unwilling, she let her gaze drift down his body.  In naught but breeches so tight, he might as well have been naked.  Muscle lay across his broad, bare torso in thick swordsman’s slabs, rippling and bunching as he pulled at his chains.  His legs were long and brawny, as befit a man who sat a horse so well.  She could see his sex bulking heavy beneath the breeches.