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  • Home > Anne Bishop > Black Jewels > The Shadow Queen (Chapter 20)      Page
  • The Shadow Queen(Black Jewels,Book 7)(20) by Anne Bishop
  • Bitch. Filthy bitch.


    She’d succeeded. Where all the others had failed, this one had succeeded. She made him want, made him need. And when the little bitch informed Dorothea that he could be aroused, the slavery he now endured would be nothing compared with what would be done to him to breed him with Dorothea’s select bitches.

    “Daemon? What’s wrong?”

    And the one untouched thing he had left to offer, the one clean thing he had given to no one else, would be taken from him. Like everything else had been taken from him.

    Because of the little bitch now stinking up his bed.

    She sat up. Shifted closer to the edge of the bed. His bed. “I think I should leave.”

    Leave? No, no, no. Not until he’d purged himself of some of this anger, some of this hatred, some of this need.

    He raised his right hand. The Black Jewel in his ring flashed. And he saw her tense as Black locks and shields surrounded the room, trapping her inside. With him.

    This was his room, the one bit of peace and privacy he could claim. That was his bed, a place he shared with no one. And her body was his to do with as he pleased.

    He took a step toward the bed, delighted by the way she shivered. Not with anticipation. The little bitch had finally figured out what she found in his bed wasn’t going to be pleasure.

    He took another step.

    She tried to bolt, tried to launch herself off the bed.

    Snarling viciously, he caught her, threw her back down on the bed, and came down on top of her, forcing her legs apart, pushing against her, taking dark pleasure in the knowledge that the moment he vanished his clothes, his c**k would ram into her.


    Go ahead, he thought. Plead now that you can’t control what’s coming. Could never control what’s coming.

    His hands tightened on her wrists. Tightened and tightened until just a little more pressure would break bone. Her pulse hammered under his fingers. Her heart thundered against his chest.

    He smelled her fear. Reveled in the scent of it.

    She turned her head, as if daring to deny him her mouth.

    He clamped his teeth on the spot where her neck and right shoulder connected....

    And breathed in a scent that soothed and excited him. He licked that spot and tasted a flavor more heady than the best wine. And knew whose body trembled beneath his.

    “Jaenelle,” he whispered, nuzzling that spot, breathing in those scents that could belong to no other woman. “Jaenelle.”

    His hands relaxed, still cuffing her wrists but gently now. So gently.

    “Jaenelle.” He was safe. He was safe. She wouldn’t hurt him for wanting her. She wouldn’t punish him for needing her.

    He could give her this because she was the one he had waited for.

    As he raised his head to look at her beloved face, he realized something wasn’t right about the room.

    It didn’t smell like her. Like them. It smelled only like him.

    “Kiss me,” he whispered before sinking into a kiss that was viciously gentle.

    He needed her, couldn’t survive without her. And he needed the scent of her arousal, the flood of her pleasure, to fill his bed.

    His room. His bed. And . . .

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire