With the sharp end of her distaff, she pushed back the curtain and looked upon the infamous Prince Troilus Tauri.

Her breath caught. The bedclothes were pulled up to his waist, leaving an expanse of bronze skin bare. Only a few days’ worth of stubble covered his strong jaw. His dark hair lay tousled around his broad shoulders, and a slight flush darkened his cheeks. Lying in the intimate shadows of the bed, he might have fallen asleep mere moments ago after a long night with a lover.

She shut her mouth, her own face heating. No matter how long it had been since she’d touched a man, that wasn’t enough to make her lust after a desiccated Hesperine who had been a Taurus in his human life. Even in his sleep, he must have had some kind of innate immortal allure that was toying with her.

His chest was eerily still, for his kind didn’t breathe in their sleep. But she knew he wasn’t dead. When Hesperines were slain, their remains self-destructed in a flash of light. The unfairly attractive body in this bed was quite alive.

He was lean as a hungry wolf, but she could see a warrior’s strength in the contours of his torso. And he wouldn’t need those muscles to hurt her, not with Hesperine magic.

She flung back the curtains to let in more light. “So, your branch of the mighty Taurus family has been reduced to this. What would your forefathers say if they could see you now? The last prince of their line, not only dethroned but transformed into an unholy monster.”

Banishing the shadows did not make him any less handsome. She ignored the vee of his hips peeking above the sheets and went about her business. Keeping her distaff aimed at his heart, she adjusted her spindle in her hand.

“I hate your ancestors, and I hate princes who think they’re entitled to take anything they want. In your human life, you were no better than the man who is now sitting on my throne. But we both have reason to want revenge on him. That is the only reason I’m doing this for you. So take my blood and be grateful for it, you filthy Taurus.”

The mattress gave under her as she knelt over him. She pried his lips apart. After all the illustrations of ravenous Hesperines, his canines were underwhelming. “Not so impressive, even as an immortal.”

Celandine pricked her finger on the end of her spindle. Sliding her finger between his lips, she put a drop of her blood on his tongue.

He didn’t stir. Would she have to stab him a little with her staff to rouse him? That would be satisfying but probably unwise.

When he moved his tongue, she started. He gave her finger a slow lick. Suddenly her knees were not so steady. Then he clamped his mouth around her finger and sucked. She pulled back. The sensation of her finger gliding out of his mouth sent a frisson over her.

She didn’t see his hand move. He caught her wrist in a firm grip, and she froze. His nostrils flared, his chest lifting as he drew in a breath at last.

Those unassuming canines slid out of his gums, unsheathing to two long upper fangs and a pair of short, sharp, lower ones.

Purely on instinct, she fought his hold. His grip slackened, and she was able to break free. She retreated across the room, her palm sweaty around her distaff.

She took a deep breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. Good. He was definitely not at full strength. She could escape if she decided to. She could change her mind about all of this if he demanded anything she was unwilling to give him.

Celandine approached him again. He didn’t open his eyes, but he turned his head slightly toward her, sucking in another breath. He licked his elegantly shaped lips.

She swallowed hard. She had wanted him desperate for blood, hadn’t she?

But as she knelt on the bed again, she had to wonder if his hunger really gave her power over him…or put her at his mercy.

She pulled her hair away from her neck and leaned down over him. When she gripped his stubbled chin, the heat of his skin took her aback. He wasn’t cold as the grave but feverish. From bloodlust?

Slowly, she guided his mouth to her neck. The first brush of his lips sent a shock through her. It had been so long since she’d been kissed. Why was she thinking of that now? This wasn’t a kiss at all.

But it felt like one as he moved his mouth roughly, desperately, down her throat. He laved her skin with his tongue as if his life depended on the taste of her.

It did, she reminded herself. He was acting on pure survival instinct, and she couldn’t afford to forget it. She was nothing to him but a meal.

He opened his mouth wider against her skin. Oh gods. He was about to do it. He was going to bite her now. She braced herself for pain.

But it was pleasure-pain that broke her skin and pierced her neck and drove deep inside her. A cry tore out of her, and she stiffened against him.

Then he sucked, and she gasped at the air. The aching draw at her throat seemed to pull at the very core of her, waking long-forgotten things. Her nipples peaked, brushing his chest through the fabric of her tunica.

He dragged hard at her vein. Warmth spread through her, and the rhythm of his sips began to throb low in her body. For the first time, she understood the tales of Hesperine seduction.

Oh gods. This was not part of the plan.