The interior was no less impressive.

There were miles of smooth marble with custom gilt molding and jade wall panels.� The furnishings showed a distinct French influence, the work of the Lord Hudson’s new Parisian bride, no doubt.� Mahogany, maple, cherry and oak woods had been hand carved into graceful coffee and end tables.� The arm chairs and loveseats done in a gold petit moir� fabric that perfectly accented the Parisian Bronze finish that had been applied to the wood.� The tastefully chosen artwork was designed to be pleasing to the eye of the novice but garner the approval of those with a genuine appreciation.

The ballroom was awash with color and life as the guests swirled beneath the glittering light of the chandeliers.� Music, laughter and the sounds of merriment so filling the room that it seemed as if the whole of England had come out for the event.

Lord Hudson’s spring ball was the unofficial beginning to the London Social Season and as such was one of the most sought after invitations of the year.� Many a young woman had threatened to fling herself headlong into the Thames if she were not among the debutantes on the guest list and many a noble man had been known to barter or blackmail his way over the threshold.

Those in attendance were the most powerful, stylish, or sought after members of English society.�

Everyone who was anyone or ever hoped to be anyone was there and as one they all came to standstill and gave a collective gasp as the latest guest swept in through the double doors and regarded the crowd with a bored gaze.

Blaine Anderson, Marquess of Wiltshire, had arrived.

A nobleman but not a gentleman, he possessed the sort of sleek sophistication that was shown to perfection in his tailored black coat and white satin knee breeches.� He was classically handsome.� His skin was always sun kissed bronze that highlighted the taut muscles underneath.� His hair was as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing and gently curled.� He had a full mouth that could harden into a thin line of cruelty or soften with sensual promise.

But it was his eyes that caught and held the attention of most.

They were a brilliant shade of hazel, flecked with bits of amber and rimmed in gold.� They were so piercing that few dared to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.� They were the eyes of a predator.� And that he was.� The Marquess was a ruthless hunter that considered humans his prey.� A mere glance was enough to make mortals quiver.

Some quivered with fear.

Others quivered with desire.

All quivered with respect.

Few understood the instinctual response to the Marquess of Wiltshire, but they bowed to his will nonetheless.

A mockery of a smile curved Blaine’s lips as he stalked towards his host and hostess, who were caught in a vortex of panic, surprise and pleasure at his unexpected appearance.

Blaine smiled internally at the dramatic reaction his arrival had provoked.� He hadn’t been sent an invitation, after all he had been in Paris for the past six months and had only returned to London the night before.� No one had been aware of his presence in the city.� Besides, he rarely lowered himself to attend the social functions of humans, even when he did reside in the city.

Blaine was above such tedium.

As the clan chief of the Londom vampires, he was the most powerful demon in England.� He had only to snap his fingers and there would be an entire harem of beautiful men and women, human or demon, to satisfy his desires.

Be them for food.

Or sex.

Whatever Blaine wanted, whenever Blaine wanted, there was no shortage of participants ready and willing to provide.

As far as entertainment went, after a few dozen centuries of indulging his hedonism in the most exotic and erotic locations throughout the world (from being the only male on an island of full wood nymphs to sampling the delights of a Siesi virility god) a society ball was laughably dull.

Or it would have been, if Blaine hadn’t had an agenda.

He tamped down his impatience as he covertly scanned the crowd until he discovered the one quarry in all of London, maybe the world, who could �have lured him to the stuffy, overly pretentious hell of the Hudson’s ball.

He was here.� He’d already caught his scent the moment he stepped out of his carriage. Yes.� There he was.� Kurt Hummel.

If it were capable, his heart would have been thrumming with excitement.

The young man was beautiful enough.� From his nymph mother he had inherited delicate features and a thick, luxurious mane the color of burnished amber.� He had also been blessed with perfectly sculpted cheekbones, a sensuously full mouth and a long, lithe frame that showed off his penchant for wearing the latest fashions perfectly. His skin was so pale that at first glance Blaine had thought he'd already been turned. �Kurt moved with a grace that few possessed and had first captured Blaine’s attention when he’d seen him in Paris six months ago.

His grace and beauty had caught Blaine’s attention, but it wasn’t until Blaine had looked into his eyes that his desire for Kurt began.

They were enthralling. �Depending on what he was wearing or the mood he was in, Kurt’s eyes could be a piercing sky blue one moment, a flashing emerald green the next, or a cool, slate gray. �As he had looked into them Blaine had wondered if the feeling he had of being completely captivated was what his prey experienced before being compelled or…dispatched by him.�

He wanted Kurt.� Badly.

Desire however, was not enough to explain Blaine’s near obsession with the man.� He’d pursued him throughout Paris, relentlessly, tirelessly, being rebuffed the entire time.� Kurt was never far from Blaine’s thoughts and his skin crawled with the need to have him and keep him.

And that was disconcerting, considering that Kurt was a warlock.

Blaine hated witches.

It wasn’t just that as a vampire one of his few weaknesses was magic, but because his first love, Jeremiah had been abducted by a coven of the faithless whores and bound to one for all of eternity.
Blaine had been convinced Jeremiah was meant to be his mate.� The idea that he had been separated from his intended by witches made their very existence intolerable for him.� If he could, Blaine would wipe every last one of them from existence…except, perhaps for Kurt.

Worse than being a witch, Kurt was under the protection of a powerful mage,� William Schuester, Duke of Rochdale.

Blaine hated mages almost as much as he hated witches.� He especially hated pompous, arrogant mages that didn’t possess the common decency or good sense to defer to their betters.

Kurt was nothing but trouble.� He was willful, he was stubborn, he was a witch, Schuester was insufferable and Blaine was not one to waste his time seducing those who did not wish to be seduced.

So why then, was he consumed with a growing, almost savage, need to claim Kurt Hummel as his own?

Blaine had tried to tell himself that it was merely the fact that Kurt had refused to succumb to his seduction that fanned the flames of his desire.� It had been centures since any man, woman or demon had faked indifference to his advances.� Blaine had never been able to resist a challenge.� But Kurt had proven difficult and Blaine’s frustration was increasing.

Blaine had even thrown himself into the Parisian social scene, sampling all the pleasures of the flesh that been offered to him, in an attempt to prove that Kurt was nothing more than a passing fancy.

Unfortunately, all he’d managed to prove was that no matter how pliant the flesh beneath him, his desire for Kurt Hummel was not easily replaced or dismissed.

Despite days and nights spent being serviced by the most alluring humans and demons, surrounded by luxury and lavished with attention and affection, Blaine had been unable to rid himself of the aching need to seek out Kurt.

When he discovered that Kurt had returned to London, Blaine did as well.

Blaine watched as Kurt’s back stiffened and he slowly turned in Blaine’s direction, finally sensing the vampire’s presence.� A myriad of emotions crossed his face, finally settling on dismay, before he began edging his way through the crowd, clearly intending to bolt.

A feral grin broke out across Blaine’s face.� Let the games begin.

Blaine was determined to come out the victor.� He moved forward, anticipation and amusement flooding his veins.� Kurt could run, but he would catch him.� There was no escape.� He was going to have Kurt and he was going to make him pay for turning him into little more than a eunuch.

“My dear Marquess…”� Unaware that he was setting himself up for a swift and bloody death, Lord Hudson stepped directly into Blaine’s path and grasped his arm.� “Quinn and I never expected…it’s such a delight to have you here…had we known you would be here…”

Blaine suppressed his urge to rip out the throat of his host.� Even if Kurt managed to slip away, there was nowhere in all of London that he could hide.

Instead, he peered down at the slender fingers that crushing the delicate silk of his jacket sleeve.

“So I gathered,”� he drawled, his voice dripping ice.� “My dear Finn, do have some consideration for my silk, if not for my person.”

Finn jerked his hand back as if it had been burned.� “A thousand apologies.”� The nobleman nervously cleared his throat, his customary air of superiority wilting in Blaine’s presence.� “Please, allow me to introduce my wife.”� He beckoned to a cool blonde, standing just behind him.� “Quinn, this is Blaine Anderson, Marquess of Wiltshire.� Marquess, my wife, Lady Hudson.”

Blaine offered her a slow, deliberate appraisal before taking her hand to his lips and gently bestowing a kiss.� “Enchanted,” he drawled.

“Oh.”� Quinn couldn’t pull her gaze away from Blaine’s eyes and she moved closer to him, eyes wide, lips parted, breast heaving in arousal.

Finn gave a confused look and then shrugged.� He clapped Blaine on the shoulder as if they were old friends and Blaine weren’t seriously considering ripping his arm off and beating him to death with the bloody stump, “I do say old boy, you seem to have overwhelmed the poor girl.� Let me escort you the back way to the card room, that way you won’t be accosted by all the besotted debutantes in attendance tonight.� There’s a big bunch of predatory females here tonight…always best to avoid them when you can, eh?”

“That only proves just how little you know me, Hudson.”� Blaine’s tone was edged with a warning that not even Finn was oblivious enough to miss.� “Remain with your wife.� I’m quite capable of finding my own evening’s entertainment.”

Finn paled and then stammered, “Oh…yes…well, of, of course.� Carry on then…”

Turning his back on his host and hostess, Blaine stalked toward the dance floor, the crowd parting for him as he made his way through.� He was aware of the interested gazes that followed his slow, elegant stride and the whispers of excitement that rippled throughout the room but his attention was focused on spicy clean mix of bergamot and cinnamon, cut with Kurt’s own unique musk that meant Kurt was nearby.
At last leaving behind the insignificant humans, Blaine made his way along the dimly lit corridor, bypassing the various salons and antechambers until he reached a narrow door leading only the back terrace.

Stepping into the crisp night air, Blaine paused, his senses searching the area for any hint of danger or presence of demon. At the same time he was drinking in the sight of Kurt, leaning against the stone railing.

As a vampire, Blaine didn’t need the moonlight to reveal the pure, delicate lines of Kurt’s profile.� He did however, fully appreciate the wash of pale light that shimmered over the alabaster skin and added a silver cast to the brilliant blue of Kurt’s eyes.

His gaze lowered to his coat.� Unlike most of the men, Kurt had forgone basic black and was in a brilliant, crimson colored coat that accentuated the paleness of his skin.� Blaine’s eyes were instinctively drawn the long, bare curve of Kurt’s throat.�

Blaine’s fangs ached with a demanding, brutal hunger and he was momentarily overtaken with the desire to bite, to drink, to claim.

Damn it all to hell, Kurt Hummel could very well be the death of him.

It took a monumental effort for Blaine to resist the urge to charge across the terrace and crush Kurt to him.� Although he was not a practicing warlock and his nymph blood impure, Kurt did posses his own share of powers.� Unfortunately for Blaine that included the ability to resist his attempts to compel him.

If Blaine was going to get Kurt into his bed, he was going to have to do it the old fashioned way.� For some reason that could only be insanity, the thought absolutely thrilled the vampire.

Strolling forward, Blaine allowed his gave to boldly travel the length of Kurt’s body, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Did you think you could hide from me, Kurt?”� He murmured.

The glasz eyes flashed with annoyance but he couldn’t disguise the quickening beat of his heart or the pheromones that flooded through his blood at his awareness of Blaine’s presence.

Kurt may curse Blaine straight to hell, but he wanted him.�

And Blaine knew it.

“I wasn’t hiding.� I was attempting to avoid the sudden and unwelcome influx of vermin, my lord.”� He drawled, in a falsely sweet tone.

“Blaine.”� He corrected harshly, striding forward and not stopping until he had Kurt firmly trapped against the stone railing, his eyes raking over Kurt’s flushed face.

“I thought you were in Paris.”� Kurt tilted his chin, his expression defiant.� “What are you doing here?”

“At the moment I am enjoying your company.”� Blaine answered; his gaze never leaving Kurt’s face.

Kurt snorted.� “I meant what are you doing in London?”

“Isn’t it obvious?� It’s hunting season.”

Kurt’s brows pulled together.� “You are mistaken, my lord, hunting season ended weeks ago.”

Blaine’s fingers lifted to trace the tender curve of Kurt’s jaw, down to his neck, his mouth watering.

“The season depends on the prey.”

Kurt shivered, pressing against the railing in a futile attempt to avoid Blaine’s touch.�

“So you are here for the Meat, I mean, Marriage Mart?”

”I am.”

“You have developed a taste for tender, young debutantes?”� Kurt mocked.� “I thought you preferred your meals a bit more well seasoned.”

Blaine’s lips twitched at the bit in his tone.� “There is no need for you to be jealous of my…”

“Harem?� Concubines?� Doxies? Catamites?”

“Companions.”� Blaine’s fingers lingered at the pulse at the base of Kurt’s throat, his senses drowning in his scent. “You only need to say the word and there would be no others.”

“How many times must I tell you I will be neither whore nor food for you?” Kurt rasped, his eyes flashing with fury.

Blaine laughed.� “My dear Kurt, such crude language from one so refined.� Does it help you to deny you hunger for my touch, to pretend that I’m a monster?”

“There is no pretense, my lord.� You are a monster.”

Anger burned bright and brilliant in Blaine and his fangs threatened to emerge. �As much as he wanted to, he could hardly deny the claim.� He was a ruthless predator who killed without mercy and was willing to use whatever method of violence or torture necessary to maintain control of his clan.

That did not mean, however, that he was incapable of appreciating a man who stirred his most basic instincts.� His gave lowered to Kurt’s lips, a shudder rolling through him as Kurt’s body heat wrapped around him.

This was beyond mere appreciation.

Having Kurt in his bed, tasting him, drinking from him…it was surpassing obsession and rapidly becoming a necessity.

Blaine groaned, the pad of his thumb brushing over Kurt’s lips, his body growing hard with need.
“I’m a monster…and yet your heart thunders and your knees tremble when I’m near.� I see it, I hear it, I feel it, damn it Kurt, I can smell your reaction to me.”

Kurt trembled but bravely met Blaine’s eyes.� “My reaction to you is pity and disgust.”

“It’s attraction and desire,” Blaine countered.� He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of Kurt’s ear.� “Your desire for me, mine for you, it permeates the very air around us.”

“My lord, I insist you stop this…behavior this instant.,” Kurt demanded, even has his fingers curled in Blaine’s jacket, drawing him closer.

This had been their dance from the beginning.

Six months ago Kurt had walked into a Parisian ballroom on the arm of William Schuester and every other being in the room, man and woman, human and demon, faded into meaningless shadows.� Blaine had known in that moment tha the had to have him and it had not taken long for his heightened senses to alert him to fact that he was not alone in his desire.

Not that Kurt was willing to admit as much.

No, for whatever inexplicable reason, Kurt was determined to keep Blaine at arm’s length.

Blaine growled as his arms wrapped around Kurt’s waist, hauling him up hard against his body.

“Come into the gardens with me.”

“If it is your dinnertime my lord I suggest you find one of your companions to slake your thirst.”

“I hunger…but not for my dinner.”� Blaine’s lips trailed down from Kurt’s ear to his jaw, before skipping down to the curve of his throat. “Kurt, you have such exquisite skin.”

Blaine felt Kurt shudder with need, his hands splayed against Blaine’s chest. “I do not offer my body with any more freedom than I offer my blood.”� Kurt declared insolently.

Blaine gave him a heated look.� “I buried myself in every carnal pleasure that came my way in Paris trying to wipe you from my mind and found it an impossible task.� You haunt me, Kurt and that is unacceptable.”

“What is?� That you’ve finally met someone who doesn’t trip over themselves falling into your bed?� Do you really want me that badly or are merely looking to replace William as the procurer of my services?”

Like most of Kurt’s other accusations, this one was not without merit.

Kurt’s ability to sense the magical properties of objects, as well as people, was a rare talent that would be priceless to any vampire and Blaine had never hidden his desire for such power.� Why would he?� If he had Kurt by his side he would never again fear an enemy plotting his early demise with a hidden spell or accidentally stumbling into a trap.� Kurt would always be able to warn him of impending danger.

And of course, there was the indisputable fact that Kurt’s services were worth a fortune.

The black market trade for magical artifacts was booming.� It was a cutthroat business that kept any number of demons and humans firmly ensconced in the lap of luxury.� Including the Duke of Rochdale.

Bastard.

Blaine caught Kurt’s accusing stare and held it. “My wealth is more than sufficient, although I have never made a secret that I covet your talent.� One of a vampire’s major weaknesses is magic.� With you at my side I would be all but invincible.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed.� “And that, my lord, is just one the many reasons I will never allow myself to fall into your bed…or your clutches.”

Blaine’s eyes blackened in annoyance.�

“And yet you willingly offer your “services” to Schuester.� That arrogant ass-“

“You of all people should recognize an arrogant ass easily enough.� You need only look in a mirror,” Kurt interrupted, his chin stuck out at a stubborn angle.� “Ah, but wait.� You don’t have a reflection, do you vampire?”

“A mage is oh so much more respectable?” Blaine hissed.

“I am a warlock.”� Kurt pointed out.

“An unfortunate circumstance I’m willing to overlook.”

Kurt’s eyes turned ice blue as he pushed his way past Blaine, storming across the terrace.� “How incredibly considerate of you, my lord.”� Kurt spat.

“I can be much more than merely considerate.”� With blinding speed Blaine was behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and jerking him back against his chest.� Growling deep in his throat he buried his face deep into the curve of Kurt’s neck.

“Kurt, dear one, I can give you anything you desire.� I can make your wildest dreams come true, lay an entire city at your feet….”� Blaine’s eyes flew open and he stiffened in shock.

“Bloody hell, why do you stink of werewolf?”

�