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Ready for a provocative, edge-of-your-seat, vampire tale?
Only by traveling back in time to ancient Italy will their story unravel...
Alexandria has no choice. She must flee to the last place she wants to. Straight into the arms of a vampire she was determined to forget.
Salvator finds this a clever fix to obtaining the one woman he has always desired, Alexandria.
Together, they must find a way to evade her powerful enemy, Salvator's brother Luciano. On the run, they struggle to understand one another. Denied passion ignites. Blood is spilled.
Within the heart of Vesuvius, anything is possible.
When they're pulled back in time to first century Italy, dark, bittersweet secrets are revealed. It's up to Salvator and Alexandria whether or not their history becomes part of their future.
All can be conquered. But will it be? Can wrongs be made right? History is the locked door. Forgiveness is the key. Time will tell if ageless love can once more flourish.
Salvator smiled, white teeth gleaming through the darkness, midnight hair brushing his shoulders. "Now that is where you are wrong." When he stood, she instinctually shifted back against the headboard. "Clothing never suited you."
Her nudity suddenly felt underused and sumptuous. The thin sheet and velvet blanket like a caress of pure perfection. As he slowly approached her thighs spread, welcoming. She slammed them shut and refused to scowl.
Salvator dripped seduction. He walked it, breathed it, spoke it.
She knew better.
"Shhh," he whispered. His finger trailed up the bedspread, skimmed along her thigh, hip, waist, until it left and returned to his side. "I will not seduce you…yet."
For a split second, Alex almost said, "Why not?" She caught her tongue. Ancient vampires were very good at what they did and Salvator ranked amongst one of the eldest. But she had grown. After all, she had been made eight hundred years ago. Though not one of the more powerful of her breed she'd paid attention and learned.
"I demand respect. I'm old enough to request such," she said. His olive-skinned hand clenched and pulled tighter against his side. She met him eye to eye, did not shy away from his abnormally pale bluish-gray gaze as she had in the past. He was to fear, respect and worship. Tall and broad shouldered, inherently smooth, he owned a room when he entered it.
He had owned her once, almost.
With a flick of his wrist, she felt the weight of clothing comfort her skin. Salvator hadn't lent glamour to it to purposely arouse her. He had honored the way of the vampires. In many ways she was shocked he had lent his aide to her at all. But he hadn't really. He had lent it to Gabriel, for purposes of his own. Though she would like to say Salvator was different than most vampires, he wasn't. There had to be a method to his madness.
She guessed vengeance.