Bestselling Author Delilah Devlin
Home Meet Delilah
Bookshelf Blog Extras Editorial Services ContactDelilah's Collections

Truly, Madly… Werely

Truly, Madly...Werely (Night Fall Book 9)

For love, a man will do anything, even betray his beloved to save her…

Vampire Quentin Albermarle’s wife, Darcy, lies in a coma after being savaged by a werewolf. Fearing she might never awaken, or worse, that she will return a maddened beast, Quentin returns to the Cayman Islands seeking help from the one woman who might be able to save her.

A century and a half ago, this powerful vampire and witch seduced Quentin with magic and turned him into a vampire to provide herself a mate, but he freed himself from her spell and fled her influence, knowing he’d left behind a powerful enemy. Returning now, seeking Kamaria’s help, he must resist her attempts to enslave him again. However, the price she demands may cause him to lose the woman he loves.

NOTE: This book was previously released as Knight of My Dreams, but has been reedited and expanded.

Read an Excerpt

“’Bout time you come home, husband.”

Quentin Albermarle steeled himself against the sudden thrill that quickened his heartbeat and heated his sex. He couldn’t see her yet, but the scent of honeysuckle and mint strengthened. “Don’t call me that, witch!” he spit out.

“Husband,” she enunciated slowly, closer this time. “Husss-band,” she whispered into his ear.

He forced himself not to flinch away, but already her scent wafted, thinned. He relaxed as she moved silently away. Although his night vision was keen, he couldn’t see her yet and knew she’d used glamour to tantalize and tease him. “We never married,” he said keeping his tone flat, emotionless.

“You called me wife.”

“You played with my affections—tricked me into loving you.”

“So angry still,” she said in her throaty, lilting tones. “So scared.” At last she circled to stand in front of him.

She was as lovely as the night he’d finally broken free of her spell. Nearly his height, her eyes rose only slightly to meet his steady glare. A deep, bottomless brown, her wide-set gaze stared back, unblinking.

Quentin knew her tricks and drew himself back, shifting his glance to look beyond her shoulders, sweeping the shadows of the tiled patio to see whether they were alone.

“All alone, we are,” she said, lifting her hand to trail a long finger along the crest of his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to ask me, husss-band?”

Quentin drew a deep breath, slowly, trying not to let her see how important his request was to him. A foolish wish, naturally. The witch “saw” everything. Had likely scried his arrival on the island in a bowl of blood-kissed water. “I need your help.”

Her gaze swept sideways and her lips curved in a close-lipped, feline smile. “You know what I will demand, husss-band.”

Knowing the cost might be more than he could bear, Quentin bit out, “What do you want?”

She turned, looking back at him over the shoulder bared by her loose, silk caftan. “Three times…you must bring me satisfaction. You must make me scream with want of you. Then, and only then, will I…consider…helping you save your other woman. The one who lies asleep. The one you fear will waken snarling over your betrayal.”

Quentin closed his eyes briefly. She’s asked the one thing he most feared. Darcy would never forgive him. “Don’t ask me this. I love her.”

“You love her, yet you let them take the one thing she will never forgive you for losing.”

“I couldn’t save it,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

“Perhaps, you did not want to save it. You chose her over his child.”

“I chose life over inevitable death.”

Her head canted in her odd way, as though listening to whispers. Her gaze narrowed. “Are you so sure the little one is lost?”

“He was pierced by a wolf’s fangs. He’s as good as dead.”

“And yet you stand here, asking me to save her—when she too was savaged by a wolf.”

Quentin ground his jaws together, so fierce was his desire to do something—anything—to save her. “She’s strong. So are your powers. It’s the only reason I’m standing here now.”

“You want a chance,” she said softly, moving again, pausing in the shadows beside a potted hyacinth to stroke its petals. “Maybe I can give it to you.” When her gaze sliced back, her eyes glittered, her mouth formed a rigid line. “But first, you must please me. Do you remember how to do that, lover?”

Oh, he remembered. She’d enslaved him, taught him exactly how to ease the ache that accompanied a ravenous appetite for sex. Too many times, she’d left him drunk on the flavors of her arousal. He’d feasted on her feminine flesh countless times—still dreamed of it in his nightmares.

He’d been young, reckless…stupid. Led by his cock and his thirst for adventure.

She’d been elusive, mysterious. Appearing at the edge of Lewis’ estate gardens then disappearing with the next blink of his eyes, fascinating him with fleeting glimpses of her long, taut body and lovely face.

He’d dreamed of her before they’d actually met. Made love to her in a dream world where every fantasy he’d ever conceived, and many more he’d never thought of, came true under her tutelage.

God, he remembered her taste, the feel of her satiny, oiled skin, the scent of honeysuckle, mint and her womanly musk. “Stop it!”

Her laughter was low and sultry. She stepped fully from the shadows into the moonlight and drew her shift over her head, dropping it to the patio floor.

Naked, her body was everything he’d remembered. Honed, powerful muscle. Sleek curves. Full, luscious breasts tipped with dark brown nipples, slightly oval. The stems were tight and long as though a lover had already plucked them.

Below, there was one change. Her pussy was waxed, the brown folds plump and glistening.

She trailed a finger between her nether lips and brought it to her mouth, licking it clean like a cat. “Yes, I knew you’d come. I’ve waited. Longed for this. Now you will taste my devotion, my lust for you.”

Quentin’s body tightened in rejection. “Don’t ask this,” he ground out.

“Because she won’t forgive you?”

“Because I won’t ever forgive you if you demand this.”

Her hand speared the air, her fingers fluttering in a beckoning motion that tugged his cock into full erection.

So quickly, he hissed between his clenched teeth.

“You think you have a choice?”

His heartbeats growing leaden inside his chest, he knew he didn’t. His resistance would be overcome, whether by her magick or by his need. To fight her now would only anger her.

And he had to please her. Make her come three times…screaming. He knew how to draw her arousal so tight her entire body would bend in a fierce arch, her fingernails would rake his skin, her pussy would clench around his cock so tightly he’d give up his seed, helpless to resist.

This was how it had always been between them.

Fierce. Fucking like animals. Once, long ago, he’d thought he found his soul mate in a dark-skinned woman. Instead he’d surrendered his soul to a demon.

* * * * *

1861—Grand Cayman Island

Lewis laughed like a hyena when he was deep in his cups. The sound cut off abruptly behind him, and Quentin sighed. He turned and grabbed the back of his host’s collar as he sagged toward the sand, still giggling, then let him go to land in an awkward sprawl. From one breath to the next, he was asleep.

Now what was he going to do? Carry Lewis back to the mansion? The tide was going out, so he wouldn’t drown if he left him there beside the sea until morning.

It would serve the bastard right to wake up with sand scratching his private parts. Lewis had snuck his hand beneath the governor’s wife’s gown at dinner; slipped into the garden with Merry Anniston and come out smelling of that lovely rose; then managed to steal a kiss from the barmaid at the tavern where they’d stopped for ale.

Quentin supposed he could have had a bit of tart for himself, but couldn’t be bothered. None of the women he’d seen of late appealed. None held a candle to the mirage that entered his dreams nightly.

None were as wickedly wanton.

Perhaps he was just bored, but of late, none of the entertainments he normally enjoyed…well, entertained. The women he met seemed vapid and pale. He sought his bed earlier and earlier each night to fall asleep…and into her arms. His dark goddess. The one who entered his dreams nude, her long lithe body and taunting eyes drawing him down, down…into a deeper sleep that somehow never refreshed.

Each morning he woke trapped in twisted, soiled sheets, his cock aching, rutting at the air. Tantalizing snippets of memories lingered. The scent of a certain flower floated in the air, causing his attention to stray, to recapture the shimmering, fleeting dream of long fingers wrapping around his thick shaft and full lips suckling his balls.

Even now he yearned to hurry back to his bed to find her once again.

But Lewis snored, curled into a childlike ball, bottom in the air.

Quentin kicked him. “Wake up, you ballocks!”

Lewis didn’t stir.

A soft scraping sounded behind him, and he whirled. At the edge of the palm trees lining the beach stood a woman. Moonlight sifting through the fronds striped the face and the tall body clothed in the flowing dress of an island girl.

She was of a similar height to the woman in his dreams and dusky-skinned. Quentin’s loins stirred. If the girl was amenable, perhaps he could rid himself of his embarrassing obsession. He lifted his hand in greeting, but she stepped deeper into the shadows.

“Don’t go,” he called softly, hesitating to follow her and frighten her.

But she stepped fully into the moonlight, just long enough for him to see she bore the same face as his dream woman. Any reluctance he’d harbored to follow her fell away. He strode across the sand into the forest and stalked her as she wove between the trees, following the curve of the beach until she reached a small wooden hut nestled in a stand of palms, so perfectly entrapped as to be invisible unless one knew exactly where to look.

She ducked into the open doorway and Quentin didn’t pause, stepping inside behind her.

She spun, her eyes widening in the moonlight.

“Don’t be frightened. I won’t harm you.” He held up his hand. “Please, do I know you? Have we met?”

Her gaze flowed over him, from his blond hair, sliding down his body, pausing over the bulge he could do nothing to hide before gliding to his bare toes.

“We took off our shoes. Sand filled them anyway…” He let his voice trail away. Such a silly thing to mention. “I must have seen you somewhere…before.”

Her gaze rose, her expression suddenly less demure, less wary. “Have you seen me in your dreams?” she asked slowly, her voice as thick and rich as cream, the island patois flavoring her tone.

“How did you know?” he asked, wondering if she’d only been wildly lucky in her guess.

“Because I come for you.”

A shiver caressed the base of his spine, quickening his loins. Quentin narrowed his gaze, realizing more was amiss than finding a woman who’d haunted him. Some instinct warned him to back away.

Her hands lifted to the tie at the side of her simple dress.

His breath caught, any thought of fleeing banished as she drew apart the knot and opened the fabric, shrugging to let it fall from her shoulders and pool around her feet.

She stood naked, her body just as he’d remembered, her brown skin glowing with a healthy sheen, her breasts round and high, her hips swelling below a taut waist.

He felt as though his feet had grown roots in the rough wooden floor as her hands lifted to her breasts and squeezed the firm globes. Her fingers fanned over herself, and he stared into the shadows between them for a glimpse of her nipples.

Then she did a very odd thing that registered in his mind, but somehow didn’t strike him as unnatural at that moment. She caressed the air with a hand, gliding it up and down, closing her long fingers into a ring, and suddenly he felt something wrap around his cock, squeezing firmly.

He gasped as his cock filled and rose, poking against his trousers. His whole body tightened, his jaws clenching as he watched her stroke down and up and felt a rippling along his shaft that followed her movements. Of their own volition, his buttocks firmed and flexed, driving his cock forward and back, as he thrust against the air into her tightening grasp.

Quentin shook his head, trying to clear his mind, trying to understand what was happening, but she squeezed tighter and he was helpless to do anything but follow her movements, mesmerized, his breaths shallow, his balls ripening.

The woman walked toward him, murmuring softly, her words whispering. He couldn’t make them out, but his gaze fell to her lips and suddenly he had to taste them, had to feel them beneath his.

“Yes,” she murmured as his head came down and their lips touched.

In moments his clothing fell away and they were kneeling on the floor, their bodies gliding against each other—her pointed nipples grazing his chest, her belly rolling against his erect cock.

She reached behind her and let down her hair then slipped one thigh alongside his hip. He cupped her bottom and sat back on his folded legs, letting her slide her other thigh along his side as she nestled closer, her head above his.

She leaned down and kissed him as her body settled downward, her pussy touching the crown of his cock, then lifting away, then touching again, moistening the tip, only to escape.

His arms closed around her back, forcing her closer still, pulling her down until her pussy pushed onto his cock, and slowly engulfed him.

He breathed deeply and kissed her shoulder, gliding his open lips along the curve of her neck and upward, sucking on her chin until she moaned—a deep, throaty sound that made his hands clench hard on her hips.

And then they were moving against each other, straining, undulating. He forced her downward, and then relented as she lifted to stroke his cock with her feminine channel, her inner muscles clasping him hard as she came up, relaxing as she fell and took him deeper.

Quentin was beyond thought, beyond anything but his need to rut deeply inside her. He fell forward, his arms encircling her to bear the brunt of their fall. Then he was poised over her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders and stared with triumph glittering in her dark eyes. “Take me,” she commanded.

Quentin grunted, raised back his hips and stabbed forward, stroking deep and hard, then pulled back and thrust again, and again.

His knees ground into the planking and he came up on his hands for leverage to come back harder inside her, deeper still. He pounded into her, pushing her along the floor, following on his knees to crowd closer and thrust harder.

She remained silent beneath him, but her mouth opened and her breaths gusted into his mouth as he hammered the air from her body. Never had he been so desperate, so driven to claim a moist, heated passage. Never had a woman made him feel this intensely drawn to her mysteries.

When at last his release washed over him, flushing her depths with his passion, only then did he realize he’d fallen in love.

His cock had found its sheathe; his body had found the breasts he wished to rest upon forever; his lips had found the one mouth that tempted him as no other to know its secrets, explore its depths.

A kiss glazed his cheek. “I am Kamaria, husband.”