His thumb brushed her cheek. Eventually they would have to discuss the child she was protecting. And of course, the Oracles who were still a threat (and who might very well castrate him when they discovered he’d kept a Jinn mongrel hidden), but one problem at a time.

For now he had to make certain she didn’t slip away on some wild goose chase for the promise of a mother, who more than likely was a trap waiting to happen.

“A powerful mage can create any number of illusions with a wave of his hand. It would be easy to fool you.”

Her hand landed against his chest with enough force to have broken a rib if he weren’t a vampire.

“So now I’m stupid as well as impulsive?”

He scrambled for damage control.

Dammit. For centuries he’d chosen women who wanted one thing from him. And it didn’t include charm.

He shifted his hand to cup her chin, holding her gaze as he leaned down to brush his lips over her mouth.

“You haven’t learned not to care,” he husked. “A dangerous weakness that others will eagerly exploit.”

She shivered, her lips melting in ready response, but she firmly pushed against his chest, her eyes dark with a concern he sensed she didn’t want to feel.

“How does Uriel intend to discover if she’s real or not?”

Happy to offer a distraction from her troubles, Tane stroked his lips down the line of her jaw.

“Juliet cast some sort of spell over the scrying bowl that allowed Uriel to catch the female’s scent. Once he’s close enough, he’ll find her.”

The hand that pressed against his chest softened, exploring the rigid line of his muscles as his tongue discovered the sensitive spot at the base of her throat.

“And what of Marika and the mage?” she managed to husk.

“Victor has his finest warriors searching for them, but I doubt they’ll find more than smoke and mirrors. The damned mage will be able to cover his escape with magic.” He lifted his head, studying her pale face with a brooding gaze. “They’ll be looking for you.”

“They’ve been looking for me for a long time. And they aren’t alone.” She sent him a deliberate frown. “I could lead a freaking demon parade down Fifth Avenue.”

The truth of her words stirred his temper.

Logically he understood.

She was a dangerous mongrel that had been banned by the Commission. She was harboring some mysterious child that held the blood of the Dark Lord and the potential to bring the world to a crashing halt.

On top of it, she was a gorgeous, sensually alluring female who would cause every unmated demon in her vicinity to trail after her like dogs in heat.

Yeah, he got the whole parade thing, but it royally pissed him off.

“They can’t have you.” His hand stroked down her back, pressing her against his hardening cock in a display of blatant male possession. “You’re mine now.”

Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, then, with one smooth motion she rolled him onto his back so she could perch on top of him.

“Yours?”

His hands clamped on her hips, potent heat spreading through him at her brazen challenge. “Mine.”

Deliberately she rubbed her sex along the granite length of his erection, smiling as a groan was wrenched from his throat. His fingers dug into her flesh. He’d never seen anything so beautiful as the sight of her poised above him, her cheeks flushed with desire and her expression one of defiance.

“Even in England the feudal system is long gone,” she warned, shifting until the tip of him barely penetrated her hot, slick channel. “Females are no longer property to be purchased and traded among the men folk.”

His hand skimmed up the arch of her back, urging her down so he could suckle one of her puckered nipples. A voice in the back of his mind was whispering a warning at his endless craving for this female.

It was a voice that was easily drowned by the tidal wave of exquisite pleasure as she slowly impaled herself on his aching erection. Scorching heat blasted through him and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Shit.

Nothing should ever feel this good.

“Human laws have no meaning for a vampire,” he muttered, lashing the tip of her nipple with his tongue, careful not to break her skin with his fully erect fangs.

That business of claiming her as his own …

That was a little too close to the whole mating thing.

And while he might be deeply in lust, he wasn’t stupid enough to risk becoming permanently entangled with any woman, let alone one that was destined to get herself, and anyone standing next to her, in a shitload of trouble.

She rolled her hips, taking him even deeper. “What about the laws of common decency?”

He moaned, his hands shifting to frame her face so he could capture her lips in a branding kiss.

“I prefer indecency.”

She laughed softly, obviously pleased with her sexual power over him.

“I thought there was a plane waiting for us?”

He traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, his back arching as she rode him with a slow, deliberate pace.

“Victor will send word when it’s prepared for takeoff.”

She caught her breath as he lifted his hips to meet her downward stroke.

“Do they have coffins in first class?” she taunted.

“No, but I’m hoping they have tiny genie bottles for your comfort. I intend to devote the entire flight imagining you in a pair of those flimsy harem pants and tiny top sprawled on a round velvet divan.”

He growled in approval as her carnal pace quickened, her fingers scratching down his chest in punishment for his fantasy of I Dream of Jeannie.

But who could blame him?

She was a Jinn. What male wouldn’t imagine her locked in a conveniently portable bottle, dressed to seduce, and devoting her existence to waiting for him to conjure her?

“It will be a cold day in hell before you ever see me in harem pants,” she snarled, her back arching as her climax began to build.

His eyes smoldered with wicked promise, his tongue following the tantalizing shadow of her jugular vein.

“I can wait.”

Caine’s lair outside of Chicago had been abandoned for years, but thanks to the large fortune he’d paid the local coven the spells of illusion were still firmly intact, shrouding the two story brick farmhouse with a vision of a decaying barn. There were also a number of revulsion hexes planted around the yard to deter unwelcomed intruders, and a few curses for those who ignored the various “no trespassing” signs.

As a result, the house was as pristine as the day he had walked out and locked the door behind him.

Not even a cobweb dared to mar the perfection.

Caine had intended to collapse once he’d reached his most private home.

Over the past few days he’d played a dangerous game of chicken with the King of Weres, battled a zombie Were who’d used and abused him for years, and been killed by a demon lord who had rammed through him with the force of a nuclear blast.

And if that wasn’t enough, when he’d come back to life it was to realize that he was no longer a mere cur, but a full blooded Were and that he’d somehow become the default guardian for a genetically altered female Were who’d been held prisoner by the demon lord and was a priceless prophet. The rarest, most coveted creature in the world.

Yeah, no real shocker he needed some serious R and R.

But, throwing away the empty sacks of fast food he’d consumed on the way to the lair, Caine made no effort to head for his bedroom.

Instead he scrubbed his hands through the short blond hair that when combined with his pale blue eyes and naturally bronzed skin (that was currently revealed to full advantage by his lack of a shirt and the worn jeans that rode low on his slender hips) made most people think of him as a harmless surfer dude.

It was an image he encouraged until his wolf was ready to come out and play.

Smiling wryly, he watched the slender female who prowled through the kitchen with an intensity that was scaring the shit out of him.

Not that she wasn’t worth eyeballing.

Her hair wasn’t just blond, it shimmered like the purest silver despite being annoyingly wrenched into a braid that fell nearly to her waist. Her skin was a perfect alabaster, so smooth and satin it would tempt a saint to sin. And her wide, innocent eyes were the shade of summer grass, astonishingly flecked with gold.

Then there was that flawless body.

Even covered by frayed jeans and shapeless sweatshirt there was no mistaking the slender curves and lean, well-toned muscles that assured him she was no delicate flower.

She was a woman who could handle a wolf in full heat. His nose flared as he sucked in her sweet lavender scent, his body tense with the urge to pounce.

Ah, the things he could do …

Instead he leaned against the counter, his arms folded over his chest as he watched her tentatively stroke her hand over the toaster before moving onto the microwave, absently pushing the buttons on the control panel.

There was nothing fancy about the farmhouse. The kitchen was decorated with blue and white tiles with the mandatory gingham curtains and a plain wooden table and chairs in the center of the floor. The sort of homey atmosphere prized in the Midwest.

Cassandra, however, was inspecting her surroundings with a fascination that should have been reserved for a trip to the space station.

Understandable.

She’d been trapped in a dark, dank cave for God knew how many years. Even the simplest technology had to seem astonishing.

So why did he find her distraction with his home perilously close to an insult?

Because he wanted all that feminine fascination reserved solely for him?

Giving a sharp jerk of his head, Caine forced himself away from the counter, moving to stand directly in Cassandra’s path.

“Do you intend to spend the entire night pacing the floors?”

With her peculiar habit of taking the world, and everyone in it, at face value, she paused to consider his question.

“I’m not certain. Do I need to inform you of my decision now?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, vaguely recalling his mother’s bitter predictions.

“I was warned my sins would land me in hell,” he muttered.