Dawn Thompson by Blood Moon

of them. In that moment of sexual awakening, there was no Sebastian, no bloodlust, no feeding frenzy. These were two souls hopelessly in love, and this was their wedding night—until two passions clashed head-on and exploded at her very core.
    He had fed, but she had not. Fresh blood was seeping through the linen bandage girding his biceps. It was driving her mad, and she fought with all her strength to steel herself against the lure. Had he noticed? How could he not? His mouth closed over hers, drawing her eyes away from the temptation, his hot tongue sliding silkily between her teeth, drawing hers after it.
Faith! Don’t let the fangs descend!
she prayed.
    His skin was scalding. It was as if he had burst into flame and set her afire beneath him. His engorged sex, thick and hard, leaned heavily against her thigh. Shecould feel its pulsing throb, quickening her heartbeat, heightening her hunger. When his fingers slipped between her legs, she arched herself against them, fisting her hands in his damp hair, her breath coming in shallow spurts as his fingers delved deeper and brought her to the brink of an ecstasy she never dreamed existed. The passions he had stirred, coupled with the fever of bloodlust he had aroused, was more than she could bear. Every pore—every cell in her body was on fire for him.
    Shuddering, involuntary waves of silken fire coursed through her belly and thighs as his fingers, gliding on her wetness in slow, tantalizing strokes, rubbed gently at first, until a quick stab of pain made her breath catch as those skilled fingers stretched her virgin flesh.
    He hesitated. “If it is too painful, I will stop.”
    “Not painful, no,” she murmured, clasping him to her. “I . . . I never imagined it would be like
this
.”
    Nonetheless, he slowed his rhythm. There was a strange, dark look about him, as if he were seeing right through her. Had she spoiled it? It didn’t seem so, the way his member was swelling against her thigh. Still, something was wrong.
    “I shan’t break, Jon,” she murmured, leaning into his caress.
    Suddenly, his eyes were wild, hungry things. Where had the silver gone? Dilated with desire, they stared down like two glowing onyx stones, hooded and shining with mist in the candle glow. Driving her hand to his groin, he wrapped her fingers around his sex and groaned as it responded to her touch. Riding the sound, it was as though she had left her body—as though she floated somewhere out of herself watching their naked embrace from above.
    Like ripples in a stream when a skimming stone breaksthe surface, bursts of icy fire took her from head to toe. Shuddering with pleasure, she murmured his name again and again in involuntary spurts that matched the rhythm of the fingers that stroked her. Why did her voice sound so thick, echoing in her ears in the tiny room where there should be no echo? The pressure against her canine teeth replied to that. The fangs! Granted, they were not fully formed and could not extend far, though they felt as if they could. Had her climax brought them to the surface? It was happening again . . . oh, it
was
—wave upon wave of unstoppable sensation riddling her swollen sex, tingling through her belly and along her thighs as she clung to Jon in mindless oblivion of all but his dynamic body, hardened like steel against her.
    All at once he swooped down and took her lips with a hungry mouth, but the kiss was short-lived. Fangs impacted fangs, and Jon pulled back, dazed. Cassandra gasped. How could this be? He had just fed. But it was. His fangs had descended, their needle sharpness gleaming in the candle shine.
    He froze stock still; only his sex heaved against her. She held her breath as his hand slid the length of her arched throat, hovered over the distended veins pulsating beneath the skin. The blood echoed in her ears, pounded through her temples until she feared her brain would burst. He lowered his mouth. It was barely inches from her throat. His sex