Phoenix Burning
“She wanted to feel, she wanted to do those things Ivar had mentioned. A little seduction was all it would take to silence the voice in her head, the one whispering the warnings she’d heard as she’d grown up. Why didn’t he make it easy for her?
“Because I gave you my word and I was raised in a time when a man’s honor meant everything.”
She leaped on his statement, hoping to use it to distract her thoughts from sex, from pulling Ivar into her bedroom and taking what she wanted from him. Everything she wanted, including his energy.
“When did you become a vampire? How long ago?”
“The beginning of the fourteenth century.”
As focused as she was on the heat burning low in her belly, Phoenix couldn’t manage to do the math. At last, she resorted to counting on her fingers—unobtrusively, she hoped. “You’re seven hundred years old.”
“Give or take a few decades.”
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