The Darkness (Daughters of the Morrigan Book 2) by Nina Croft

Author:Nina Croft [Croft, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

How did you make love to someone when it might be the last time, and you wanted to show her what she meant to you?

Darius stared down at the woman in his arms.

She had been an innocent the first time. He remembered his shock. A two-hundred-year-old virgin—who would have believed it? He’d known she’d led an isolated existence; witches tended to keep to themselves. But it had been a surprise. She’d learned quickly, but still, he’d been careful of scaring her. He’d always held something of himself back. Tonight, he wasn’t going to hold back anything.

Except no feeding.

He could do it. However much he wanted to taste the sweetness of her blood, he would not. He suspected she didn’t trust him, and why should she? Perhaps she believed if the link was strengthened, he would come looking for her.

She was right.

They were wasting time. “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

She looked into his face and nodded. Rising to her feet, she held out her hand to him as though she was the one leading the way. He took it and stood up. Then lifted her effortlessly in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He put her on her feet and tugged at the thin straps holding up her dress. “I love this gown,” he said, “but it’s coming off.”

“It is?”

He nodded. He was about to remove it when the dress vanished, leaving her naked but for a crimson thong. She was perfection. Long and slender, but her body honed, with graceful lines of muscle showing beneath the pale skin. He reached out a hand, stroked her shoulder, cupped one small, sweet breast in his palm and ran his thumb over her nipple, and it darkened under his touch. She swayed, and he moved his hand lower, tracing a finger along the mark above her left hip bone. It was black, stark against the paleness of her skin, and shaped like a bird, wings outstretched. He remembered the first time he had seen it. He’d known immediately what it was, what it signified. It was the mark of the Morrigan. Still, he’d had to ask.

“Your mother is the Morrigan?”

Gina had nodded, and shock had ripped through him—her mother was a goddess. And not just any goddess, but the goddess of war and pestilence.

Now he rubbed his thumb over the mark and wondered what other blood ran in her veins. “You never told me,” he said. “Who’s your father?”

“I don’t know, but according to Regan our mother has terrible taste in men.” Gina smiled. “She reckons that’s where I get it from.”

Darius snorted. “Yeah, and I love your sister too.” He looked at her. “What’s she like? The Morrigan, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met her. I told you, she left me with my sisters when I was a baby. I used to wonder what she was like, and I used to pray to her. She never answered, and I gave up praying years ago.”

∞∞∞

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