The first dance had nearly ended before he emerged from his preoccupation enough to realize that he’d been too focused on Sybil even to look around for a potential lover. It sent a jolt through him when he discovered that Lonlea, Hybah, and Myune were all sending him smiling signals of interest. Abruptly feeling as awkward as a youth, he missed a step and felt his face redden. All three giggled. It was pure accident that his gaze settled on Myune. In point of fact, he didn’t even realize that he was staring back at her so pointedly until she broke formation and squeezed into the set next to him.

    Oh gods, he thought, instantly stricken with panic. Of all the women he might have settled upon, Myune was probably the worst choice. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a very attractive woman. She was. Unfortunately, she was also extremely possessive and prone to fits of temper.

    She also took and discarded lovers with a frequency that proved she was either impossible to please or had no real interest in long relationships.

    Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought? It would appease the gossips and no one would expect it to last.

    With a sense of fatalism, he forced himself to meet her gaze and smile back at her. The instant he did, a commotion near the doors caught his attention. When he looked up, he saw that Sybil had surged from her seat. She met his gaze for a long moment and then lifted her chin at him and turned away, heading toward the door. He felt like he was going to throw up. Before the sickness could swell toward his throat, the bastard that had been all over since she’d arrived leapt from his seat and hurried after her, slipping an arm around her waist.

    The fury he’d thought he’d mastered instantly enveloped him and he completely forgot where he was. “Pardon me,” he said absently, breaking from the dance and striding toward the man with every intention of tearing him limb from limb.

    He was vaguely aware as he plowed through the dancers that he was making a scene, that he’d caught the attention of every soul in the hall, but he was so blinded by his rage that the gaping faces he passed barely penetrated.

    He caught up to the pair just as they reached the door. It flickered through his mind that that would’ve been an impossible feat if he hadn’t run, but he dismissed that along with every other attempt by his mind to reassert reason. Clamping a hand on the man’s shoulder to halt him, he spun him around. It brought Sybil around, as well, since the bastard still had his arm around her.

    “Take your hands off of her,” he growled. “Now.”

    The man released Sybil and shoved Anka’s hand from his shoulder. “Back off.”

    Sybil wedged herself between the two men. “Stop it! For god’s sake! Think what you’re doing, Anka!”

    His gaze flickered to her white face. “Do you choose him?”

    Anger, hurt, and distress chased across her pale features.

    “Hey, you picked your woman! I picked mine. Get the fuck back.”

    “Don’t, Cole!” Sybil said sharply. “I need to talk to him.”

    Anka caught her hand tightly in his and drew her from between the two of them. He balled his other hand into a fist, waiting, hoping the bastard would be stupid enough to challenge him.

    Instead, he glanced at Sybil. “You’re sure you want to go anywhere with him?”

    “I’m sure,” Sybil said jerkily.

    The man glanced from one to the other and finally stepped back.

    Disappointment flickered through Anka, but he turned and dragged Sybil through the doors and into the corridor.

    “What are you do…?” Sybil gasped.

    Anka shoved her roughly against the wall and silenced her with his own mouth, struggling with his rage. He was aware on some level that he was far too rough with her but the battle between rage and desire was too hot to control. He broke from her lips when he realized that, stared down at her for a long moment to be sure he hadn’t hurt her, and then turned and strode toward his quarters, pulling her behind him.

Chapter Fourteen

    Anka hadn’t managed to beat much of his fury into abeyance by the time he reached his quarters, but it was wound up so tightly with his desire that he was completely at its mercy. The moment he entered his quarters, he dragged her against his length and found her mouth again with his own. She made some sound but he was in no condition to decipher whether it was distress or desire.

    His body interpreted it as desire, however, and reacted by further annihilating any possibility of rational thought. He was peripherally aware of struggling with clothing-hers and his own-but had no idea how he managed to remove them. He was just relieved when he managed to get her on the bed and discovered he’d succeeded in removing any obstacle to his possession. He was aware of another rush of relief when he discovered she was wet for him, but a fresh wave of need washed it from his mind as he felt her flesh close around him. His entire focus shifted to burying deeper, to the need to feel her flesh wrapped tightly around his entire length.

    The struggle to achieve his goal almost undid him. He was bathed in sweat and shaking so badly from the struggle to keep from spilling his seed by the time he’d claimed her completely that he began to wonder if he would pass out or come first. The need to satisfy his lover while he was able, before he spilled his seed and lost any ability to give her pleasure, flickered through his mind, but he couldn’t hold on to it as a deterrent. His own need overrode everything else. He’d given it free rein too long to check it.

    Groaning with a mixture of frustration and burgeoning need, he gave up the effort to try to control himself and followed the urges of his body, setting a desperate rhythm. His body seized abruptly, making him stiffen all over. His belly clenched almost painfully and then began to pump his seed, forcing the air from his lungs in choked grunts.

    When it ceased, he felt as if he’d lost all muscle tone. Too weak to support his own weight he sank limply down on top of Sybil. His mind was just so much mush. An awareness of Sybil’s panting breaths finally penetrated enough that he struggled to gather some strength to himself and finally managed to pitch himself off of her and on to the bed. The desire to follow the weariness down the black hole beckoning to him was strong but enough consciousness remained for a flicker of thought here and there, and it occurred to him that he’d expressed his joy of Sybil with a complete lack of consideration for his lover. Struggling on to his side, he dropped an arm across her that felt like it weighed a ton and managed to drag her closer.

    He would’ve been happy to leave it at that, but the moment he dragged her against himself he became aware of discomfort-bindings and lumps that shouldn’t have been there. Lifting his head to figure out what the hell was wrong, he discovered that he was still wearing his fucking boots and was half in and half out of his clothing. The ‘lumps’, he discovered, was the dress Sybil was still wearing, knotted in a hard ball at her waist.

    Dropping his head back to the mattress, he struggled to untangle the recent events in his mind and thereby lost all interest in drifting blissfully to sleep. With nightmarish clarity a progression of events flickered across his inner eye, producing images he would’ve far rather not remembered.

    He had made a public announcement alright! He had all but challenged the fucking bastard… No, he had challenged him. It was only Sybil’s interference that had kept him from making more of a spectacle than he had!

    And then he’d compounded his insanity by dragging Sybil to his quarters as if he was some kind of mindless beast and pouncing on her.