“I can smell blood, Elena,” Dmitri drawled, walking back into the room. “Are you trying to flirt?”

“The scent of the sea, a wild turbulent storm, crashing into her mind. Elena, why is Dmitri naked?”

“You refused to fall in love with anyone else, Dmitri.” A whisper with the impact of a gun-shot. “So I had to come back for you . . . husband.”

“Bluebell,” she said, remembering from Erotique. “Pretty name.” “I call Dmitri Dark Overlord.”“Shae,” Dmitri said and the female vampire rose at once to walk quickly into the house. “Now, pretty Bluebell”—another languid stroke across her skin—“tell the Overlord what you discovered.”

“The bastard kissed her. She was so mad, she bit him hard enough to draw blood. Raphael pulled back, lip already beginning to swell. “We are no longer even, Elena. You’re now in debt.”“You can deduct it from my slow and painful death.”

“Elena: "I guess a dying woman can be stupid if she wants. I'm crazy about you, Archangel. You scare the shit out of me at times, but I want to dance with you anyway.”

“You are mine, Elena. If you choose to sleep in another bed, I will simply pick you up and bring you home.”