AN: part of an ongoing series I'll be slowly working on. This part takes a few liberties with the timeline: it is set between the last and the second-to-last chapters of Curse the Dawn. In Dawn this appears to be only a matter of hours, but I have expanded it to several 'll find a longer note from me at the end of the chapter explaining about the Dawnseeker Sequence.

Warning: Be careful! This is full of spoilers—you have been warned! Also, this is rated M for a reason. If you don't like reading about sex (though I can't think why you wouldn't), hit the 'back' button now.

Disclaimer: However much I wish I could own Pritkin and make him my sex slave, everything—including Pritkin (alas!)—belongs to Karen Chance. Lyrics belong to Sleepthief.

Kiss to Savor

The Dawnseeker Sequence, part eleven

A kiss to linger
Your kiss I savor
You're like no other
Your kiss I savor

Chapter One

We arrived at Dante's to find the casino living up to its name. The posh lobby, where we appeared, looked largely unscathed, but several chairs were overturned and one wall was marked by a wide, ugly burn, like someone had thrown a fireball at it. There was no one inside, but through the wide glass doors I could see masses of people crowding the sidewalk and the blue-and-white flash of police lights. Many of the people wore pajamas and slippers, and a few held crying or half-asleep infants: the tourists who had been evacuated by the "bomb threat." I didn't envy whoever was in charge of hiding this mess from the norms.

The empty stillness of the room was unnerving. I kept looking over my shoulder, certain someone was behind me. Pritkin must have felt it too, because he slid his hand to the place where his under-the-arm holster usually was. Of course it wasn't there, since when he'd put it on this morning he'd been in my body.

I fumbled with the straps, trying to give the holster back to him, but my fingers were clumsy with exhaustion and I couldn't get the buckle undone. Pritkin took my shoulders and turned me so he could do it. I could feel the warmth of his fingers through the light material of my blouse, which was odd, because his fingers were usually cool. The buckle rested just above my left breast, and I was suddenly all-too aware of the closeness of body, the nearness of his lips, of how I wanted his hands to slide just a little lower....

The buckle clicked open and he slid the holster of my arm and began adjusting the straps so they would fit him again. I swallowed and distracted myself by finding all the knives he had hidden in my clothes. By the time I'd located all five he had the holster on. He'd lost the drag queen cape somewhere—on purpose, I was sure—and looked as Rambo as ever, even if he was wearing only a fraction of his arsenal.

I looked nervously around the lobby as he strapped on the knives and tried to ignore how blood and sweat had glued his hair into grungy punk-rock spikes, and how my fingers itched with the desire to run through them.

"Do you think the battle is over?" I asked.

Pritkin drew his gun and aimed it at the ground in a ready position. "Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps they are still fighting in the ley line." He began crossing the lobby. I followed close behind him, feeling very exposed in the big, empty room.

We were halfway across when one of the elevators dinged. Pritkin shoved me behind him and raised the gun before the doors were even halfway open. His shields were up, but they looked weak and flimsy, and I really, really hoped that whoever was in that elevator was on our side.

Casanova stepped into the lobby. He immediately focused on Pritkin's gun, but then he saw me and a look of relief spread over his face.

"Thank God," he said, hurrying towards us. The three vampires in the elevator, who I recognized as hotel security, hung back a cautious distance, eying Pritkin warily. Casanova reached for my arm as if he was going to drag me off, but Pritkin knocked his hand aside with a quick, violent motion. Casanova glowered, but didn't try to touch me again.

"Come on," he said, gesturing impatiently instead. "Where have you been? Lord Mircea is in the penthouse, he's been worried sick. We thought you were dead!"

He sounded frazzled, and he looked frazzled. His tailored suit was torn in several places, there was a smear of blood on his sleeve, and a few strands of hair were out of place. I followed him back to the elevator, marveling that Mircea had been worried enough for Casanova to notice. As we crammed ourselves into the elevator—the six of us were a tight fit—I said, "What do you mean, you thought I was dead? Mircea has a tracking spell on me!"

"They don't function properly inside ley lines," Pritkin said, sounding muffled. He was somewhere behind me, but I was wedged in too tightly to turn and look at him. "And the combined power of Apollo and vortex may have caused it to stop working altogether."

"Oh." The thought that Mircea had been concerned, even upset by the thought of my death, was both flattering and a little alarming.

No one spoke as the elevator rose. When we stepped out into the hallway at the floor below the penthouses, I saw two of the golden-eyed masters standing guard at the elevator that lead to my old penthouse—not the Wild West-themed one. I looked at Casanova. "I thought the Consul was using that suite," I said.

"I don't know where the Consul is, but she's not here," he explained shortly. "And Lord Mircea wanted a room."

One of the masters reached for the doorknob, but before he could even touch it the door flew open. Mircea stood in the doorway. His dark hair was wet, as though he had just washed it, and he was dressed in a thin silk robe that showed every contour of his body. He didn't look like he'd just had a long relaxing bath, though. His mouth was tight and there were lines between his fine brows. When he saw me he stepped forward, his lips parting his relief, but then stopped and looked between me and Pritkin.

"It's okay," I said quickly. "We switched back."

He muttered something in Romanian that might have been "Thank God," and wrapped his arms tightly around me. I pressed my face into his chest and inhaled his clean pine scent, feeling the tension drain out of my body. One hand cupped the back of my neck and the other brushed up and down my spine as his lips whispered across my hair.

I tilted my face so I could see his eyes, and for a moment they were filled with some raw, wild emotion. He covered his display of vulnerability by kissing me, sweet and slow and tender. His tongue darted between my lips and caressed me with long, sweeping strokes. I groaned into his mouth and leaned against him, letting my body melt against his. I slid my hand across the silk of his robe and a nipple tightened under my palm.

Pritkin cleared his throat.

I jumped, but Mircea tightened his hold on my neck and deepened the kiss, taking my tongue between his teeth and grazing it with his canines. He only released me when my head was swimming with desire and lack of air. Then he turned a hard, golden glare on Pritkin. "Is there something you need, Mage Pritkin?" he asked curtly.

I twisted in Mircea's arms so I could see Pritkin. His eyes met mine, and something frighteningly similar to the feral hunger I had seen in the security room passed behind them. It was gone so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it.

"No," he said shortly, looking away. "Good night, Lady Cassandra."

I was so confused by his abrupt goodbye that I only managed, "Good night," before he turned away. Brusque was certainly his style, but he never called me "Lady Cassandra," and it wasn't like him not to rise to Mircea's bait. I worried that he might be hurt, or still suffering from his leg, but I didn't have a chance to call him back. Mircea pulled me into the suite as the elevator doors opened, and both doors closed simultaneously, cutting me off from Pritkin.

Mircea steered me to one of the sleek blue Scandinavian-style sofas and then went to the shining wood-and-brushed-steel bar. Glass chinked and I said quickly, "I'm sorry."

He turned around, holding a glass in each hand. He handed one to me and sat next to me on the couch. "Sorry for what, Cassie?"

His nearness made my skin prickle, but I resisted the urge to throw myself into his arms and kiss him until he tore my clothes off. For one thing, he'd called me "Cassie," which meant he was upset with me; for another, I was so tired I was afraid I would just fall asleep the instant I hit the mattress.

"For making you worry," I explained.

He sipped his drink. I took a large swallow, hoping the alcohol would clear my head. The glass was full of whiskey, neat, and it burned all the way down my throat to my toes. I felt warmer, which surprised me because I hadn't realized I was cold.

"I thought you were dead," Mircea said simply. "The tracking spell stopped working. I prayed that it had simply been removed, but when we couldn't find you...." his voice trailed off and he raised slender fingers to brush my bruised and bloody cheek.

I closed my eyes and savored the feel of skin on skin, filled with a strange and almost painful joy. I'd known what I felt for Mircea for a long time, but I'd had trouble imagining what a centuries-old vampire would see in me. There had been times when I'd wondered whether Mircea was simply acting on orders from the Consul. But this... this was real. I may not know what he felt for me, but at least I knew he cared. The thought made my head swim.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "We ended up out in the desert and I was too tired to shift us back, so we had to rest for a while."

"The desert?" Mircea echoed.

I had to tell him the whole story, from the kidnapping of Jesse and the others by the Circle to the destruction of Apollo. By the time I finished I was so tired my vision was going blurry and my head sagged onto Mircea's shoulder. He had only interrupted once or twice to ask questions; now he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.

"You never fail to amaze me, dulceaţă," he said softly. "Killing a god single-handed—!"

"It was the rakshasas," I mumbled. My eyelids felt like they had weights on them. "And Pritkin helped."

Mircea said nothing, but I could imagine him scowling at my mention of Pritkin. I couldn't actually see his expression because my eyes had closed and I couldn't open them. I could see something else, though: a silvery haze that drifted towards me. The darkness behind my eyelids was filled with glowing silver light and wave of emotions and feelings washed over me, so many and so fast that I could not identify any of them. Then I felt a soft mattress beneath me and I was gone.

I woke to find sunlight streaming in through the windows. Someone had adjusted the curtains so none of it fell directly on the bed, but the room was filled with light. I blinked sleepily at the brightness of it and tried to remember what had happened. It came back to me slowly, and in no real order: the ship crashing into the side of Dante's; Apollo torn to shreds by the rakshasas; the wild car ride through the ley lines; Pritkin's black, hungry eyes staring down at me as his body trembled above mine.

This last memory made me realize that there was a body pressed against me. For a wild moment I thought it was Pritkin, but then I got a hold of myself. Of course it was Mircea. One of his arms was draped over my waist, our feet were tangled together, and I could feel his steady breathing against the nape of my neck.

I closed my eyes and savored the feel of his presence. He must have undressed me after I had fallen asleep, because I was wearing a silk negligee instead of my torn and bloody jeans and blouse. His thumb began making small circles against my waist, and it was like the fabric wasn't even there. I felt drowsy and content, and I really wanted to just lie there lie there for an hour or so. Unfortunately, I could feel patches of dry blood flaking off my skin, my hair was a filthy mess, and I really had to pee.

"I have to get up," I mumbled, and scrambled out of Mircea's embrace. As I stumbled across the plush carpet I discovered a few dozen bruises, scrapes, and stiff muscles I hadn't noticed the night before. I shut the bathroom door with a groan and turned on the shower to get the water hot while I dealt with my other problem. Steam clouded the mirror, so I thankfully couldn't see how bad of a mess I was as I tossed the negligee to the tiled floor and fell into the shower.

I was carefully washing suds out of my hair—my shoulders screamed in protest every time I moved them—when Mircea stepped into the bathroom. I hadn't bothered to lock the door, and I didn't really mind, since he wasn't wearing any clothes. Morning sunlight from the bedroom silhouetted his beautiful body and made his skin glow.

I opened the shower door so he could come in. Water cascaded over his chest, soaked into his hair, and ran in gleaming rivulets down his face. I tried not to stare, but I guess I didn't succeed, because Mircea laughed softly and drew me against him. Watered trickled between our bodies, tickling my stomach and breasts. He buried his face in my soapy hair and moaned gently.

Suddenly I wanted him so badly I could barely breathe. I slid my hands up his slick skin, feeling water run through my fingers, and gripped his hair just hard enough to make him growl. I forced his head back and trailed a line of kisses down his jaw to the place where a vampire would bite. My mouth closed over his skin and I felt his pulse jumping against my tongue. I bit down, hard.

He pulled my head away and repaid the favor, scraping his canines against my pulsing skin. One hand was tangled in my hair and other dragged manicured nails down my back and buttocks, pushing me against his growing arousal. I whimpered into his ear, needing him inside of me more than air, more than water. I tried to tell him that I needed him now, but I couldn't manage a coherent sentence. He understood, though, because he laughed again, a deep, pleased sound. But instead of pushing me against the wall and taking me like I wanted him to, he pushed me down onto the shower bench. His hands nudged my knees apart and he knelt between my legs.

He started at my left knee and kissed his way up, slowly and deliberately. His eyes, now burning gold, watched me closely, savoring the expressions of pleasure and frustration on my face. I felt suddenly confused, as though those eyes should be a different color, but then his mouth closed over me and I lost all ability to think. His tongue was everywhere, sliding through my slick folds, plunging inside of me, stroking that one spot over and over until I clutched his shoulders so hard my fingernails drew blood. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he was there, pushing inside of me in one long, deep stroke.

I could feel the rhythms of his thrusts from my toes to the top my head, each pulse of pleasure coming in time with our heartbeats. Energy built between us and poured through my veins like golden fire. I could taste him on my tongue and in my blood, and when he climaxed a heart-stopping moment after I did, he called my name hoarsely.

We slid to the floor of the shower, clutching at each other for support. Water cascaded around us; the suds had long since been washed out of my hair. Mircea cupped my chin in his hands and gazed into my face. I met his cinnamon eyes and felt a stab of—discontent? Disappointment? Dislike?—and immediately felt confused.

Mircea caught my emotion. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

I pressed my face against his chest and felt the water twine around us. "No," I said, not sure whether I was lying or not.

Author's Note, Continued: I don't know if all the rest of the chapters will be this long, but I do know updates will be irregular. Please be patient, and give lots of reviews!

Regarding the Dawnseeker Sequence—have you ever had a song that you heard for the first time while doing something very memorable, and so for the rest of your life (or at least a long time afterward) whenever you hear it you think of that time? I tend to do that with books. So I happened to get my hands on a certain CD at the same time I bought the first three Cassandra Palmer books. That CD was The Dawnseeker by Sleepthief, and whenever I listen to it I think of Cassie.

So I thought, why not write a series of glorified songfics? Each one is based off a song from the CD—this one is track 11, "Kiss to Savor." I won't be posting them in order, and there may be large gaps between each story, but I hope you'll enjoy them.