Death's Lover Read Online Free Page B

lethal predator.
    Cahal’s good eye was a startling blue in contrast. He remained aloof, but she could tell by the pounding of a vein in his neck that he was agitated by her cold perusal. A thrum of electrical pleasure hummed through her body, she vibrated with the beginnings of bloodlust and reached out a hand to caress the side of Cahal’s face.
    He shivered under her touch and leaned in just slightly. A perfect teardrop of blood slid from the corner of his eye onto her pinky finger. She held it up to her nose, inhaling the scent of autumn leaves. Excitement quickened her pulse and with a delicate flick of her tongue she lapped it up. The sweet taste filled her mouth.
    “Cahal,” she said with a husky tenor, “you are truly a prize to be savored.”
    He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with breathless wonder. The redolent musk of his pride filled the air with the thick scent of turning leaves and sweet apple cider.
    A feral need for more blood ripped through her. “Leave me now,” she growled, wanting to save the fire of her madness for Cian.
    “My queen,” they said in unison and not with a small amount of relief. As one they turned and marched off with exact precision.
    She opened the door. Cian was shackled to the wall with his back toward her. A sliver of light fell across the sculpted beauty of his body. He shifted and the locks of his long hair swished across his shoulders. Alternating strands of polished sable and ivory gleamed with unholy light. The long, hard lines of his body flexed with his movement.
    “What are you waiting for?” His voice was like fine whiskey. Smooth, hot, and raw.
    She narrowed her eyes, excited by the rising fury rolling through his veins, and walked up to him with catlike movements. Already the taste of Cahal was making her crave death itself. She trailed the grip of her whip against his back, the itch flowing through her for the sight of his blood. “You know what you’re here for, don’t you?”
    His body tensed, and the rigid cording of his back flexed as he turned his head to glare at her. The midnight blue of his eyes turned black with rage.
    That was when she finally got a good look at his face. It was a bruised mess. His jaw was nearly twice its normal size. Blood already covered his chin and long gouges ran the length of both cheeks. She chortled, grabbing his chin in her hand and squeezed tight. He was a masterpiece of pain, but her guards had barely begun to scratch the surface of her blood thirst, she wanted to do so much more to him than this.
    “Such tough words,” she spat. “I’ll enjoy making you beg for mercy.”
    “You’ll have none from me,” he said low and menacing. He narrowed his eyes and his face twisted into a frightful mask of arrogance and fury. The look was enough to quell many, but not her. Not the goddess of battle and strife. The Morrigan fed off rage; she lived for it. She inhaled the heady scent of his wrath and gave him a hungry smile.
    “You’ve disappointed me, Cian.”
    His jaw hardened. “That was never my intent. She is meant to live. Do not harm the mortal.”
    She slapped him across the cheek. The power of the blow forced his head to crack against the wall. “How dare you make demands to me!”
    He studied her like a predator ready for the kill—silent and with an undercurrent of lethal power.
    In answer he spat by her foot. The sight of the crimson-streaked saliva had her barely suppressed bloodlust rising to the surface.
    “Oh, my death. That was most unwise.”
    The Morrigan stepped back and snapped the whip through the air. Its shrill sound was like the crack of thunder. Cian never flinched. She threw her head back and laughed. “You were always my best. So heartless, so perfect.”
    Then she struck him. The metal tips at the end of the cat-o’-nine-tails tore into him. Thick crimson spilled down his back.
    Cian’s fists clenched; his body went stiff. Tremors traveled the length of his legs. The Morrigan