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her fist or how her dagger-wielding fist ended up at Ryker’s throat, but suddenly, she was pressed to him, nose to nose, her hand shaking with the need to slit his throat and dance in victory. But before she could so much as make another move, his eyes turned red again, and he had her pinned to the floor, his teeth buried in the tender flesh of her neck.
    She was screwed.

Chapter Four
     
    K yana was too stunned to move. She knew all the gods had fangs but they were never seen. Never used. The slight tug of Ryker’s lips caressed her neck as he took a single, long pull. It had been eons since anyone had tasted her blood. Not even the night of her Turning had the magnetic draw to surrender been this overwhelming.
    She told herself she didn’t like it.
    She was lying.
    Another, more forceful tug reminded her who was in control, and it wasn’t Kyana.
    Kyana tried to raise her dagger, but his hand tightened around her wrist, shaking it painfully until her grip loosened. Her dagger made a pathetic thud against the wooden planks of the ferry.
    He leveled himself off her, straddled her waist, and stared into her eyes. The red glow of his glare drilled into her.
    He licked her blood from the corner of his mouth. Feeding was against the rules. The Order would punish him for the assault against her. To hell with that. She would punish him herself. She gripped his arms, determined to push him aside, but his fingers bit into her shoulders, holding her hostage.
    “I don’t want to hurt you, Kyana.” His voice dripped with warning. “But I will.”
    Kyana struggled to buck him off her. She growled, her fingers biting into his forearms.
    Ryker didn’t flinch . . . or move. The corner of his mouth curved into a grin, though the swirl of red in his eyes held no humor as he pushed to his feet. “You can’t beat me, Kyana.”
    No one got the upper hand on her and walked away to brag about it.
    Kyana stood. Her neck throbbed. Weakness and fatigue threatened to buckle her knees. The river swam before her eyes and she reached out to steady herself, but other than the solemn, unfazed-looking Charon, there was nothing there to offer balance.
    She struggled to stay on her feet. Gently, she touched the marks on her throat. Her fingers came away bloody.
    “Stop the flow.” If he didn’t close the wound, she would die.
    Really die.
    “You’re not going to die.”
    His reading her thoughts had nothing to do with spells, but rather the temporary mingling of her blood with his. A shiver raced through her. When she’d been a feeding Vamp, she’d always taken a bit of her victims’ memories with her after a meal. She knew things about them, felt what they’d felt. Was Ryker doing that with her blood now? The idea was too horrifying to contemplate, much less ask about.
    Until she could regain her strength, he had the power and control. But she wouldn’t give him the submission his now silver eyes said he wanted. Kyana watched him move slowly toward her.
    “Truce?”
    Not a chance. Rage poured through her veins, increasing the flow of blood down her neck. She didn’t bow to anyone. Not even when she’d joined the Order had she submitted. She stood her ground. “The gods don’t use their fangs. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
    With a growl, he grabbed her head and forced it to the side. The bones in her neck crackled in protest. His lips covered the punctures and when his tongue caressed the bite marks, sealing the wounds, Kyana barely managed not to moan in pleasure.
    “I’m a demigod not a god.” Ryker released her but didn’t move away. “I do whatever needs to be done.”
    Her hand moved to her neck. Instead of blood, her fingers brushed the tiny, throbbing scabs of his attack.
    “Cover them completely,” Kyana demanded.
    Ryker shook his head. His eyes swirled. “It will do you good to have my mark on you—a reminder, so to speak since we’ll be working together so . . . intimately.”
    He’d left his mark on