Angel or demon?

She sat astride him, long blond hair flowing around her creamy white shoulders in a veil of silky perfection. She visited his dreams often in recent days, but never often enough. He both desired her visits and dreaded them. Dreaded them, because he knew instinctively she led him to the forbidden. Like the devil in the disguise of a beautiful woman, she lured him to temptation. To a place sure to damn his soul.

With a seductive rhythm, her hips arched into his body, swaying with delicious invitation. Everything about her made him burn. Her smell. Her full bottom lip. Her full breasts as they bounced, nipples peaked with arousal. Begging for his hands. For his eyes.

With each stroke of her wet heat along his body, he yearned to be deeper. To take more of her. To become lost in her until he forgot the burning need threatening to surface. A need, relentless in its demands, threatened his control. A desire to claim her very essence. To go to a place he'd never dared go. But if he did, would he stop there? Or would the beast then take control? Would he be lost to a lust for more than physical satisfaction?

Would he then become one of the soulless fanged monsters—the ones he had come to know as "Darkland Beasts"—who had taken his wife, Caron, and his life, two centuries before? The ones that had destroyed everything he'd called his world, and lurked just beneath his human shield, ready to claim the part of him still a man.

He felt the beast move in him, calling his name, calling for ownership and command. Felt it trying to pull him into darkness beyond human comprehension, pressing him to act on primal instincts.

And there seemed only one answer. One way to resist the beast.

He had to get lost in this woman. To sate his lust with her body, not her life. She held the answer. Though part of him screamed in warning, screamed she was his demise, another part knew her as his salvation. It was always like this with her. Confusing. Conflicted. Better not to think. Just…feel.

Using her hips as leverage, he arched upward, thrusting his body deep, and pulling her hard against his pelvis, trying to get lost in lust. He was far too close to the edge. Too close to the beast. It wanted him, just as he wanted this woman.

He wanted her like he hadn't desired another in a hundred years. Not since his wife. But that had been another life. Another world. Staring at the blond beauty atop him, for just a moment he pictured his Caron, dark hair and dark eyes. For just an instant, he flashed back to a time of the past. So real was that image that he squeezed his eyes shut, confusion raking through his brain.

A soft moan of pleasure escaped her full lips, drawing his gaze again. He watched her lashes flutter, searching her features. Another moan filled the air, pulling him into the present fully again. Arousing and sweet, the sound hummed along the rawness of nerve endings. He struggled against his urges…fighting…resisting.

As a serpent might its prey, she seemed to play on his weaknesses. Yet, with his every attempt to hold back, this woman, this temptress, seemed to draw him out more. It was no use. Desire controlled him now. Release was his only salvation. It was hers, too. Release would stave off the beast.

He thrust into her, but she arched backward, holding him back, not allowing him to become lost in the burn. He had to find release…release would save them both. Without it he would take more than pleasure, without it…He told himself to shove her away. To ignore the erotic feel of her body squeezing his.

But she seemed to sense his resistance. Bending forward, she pressed those lush, full breasts against his chest. Her lips brushed his jaw. His neck. His ear. Teeth scraped his lobe. A rush of heat surged through his veins, and a low growl escaped his lips. His mind clouded. He could only feel. Only need. And what he needed was…to devour her.

The thought screamed with warning. He had to end this now, before it was too late. Before he did something he'd regret. But even as he willed himself to end this craziness, his hand slid around the curve of her perfect, round ass. With a hard thrust, he lifted his hips and pulled her against his cock. At the same time, his other hand found her breast, palming it, pinching the nipple with rough demand. His mouth found hers, and he drank her in, desperate to sate the ravenous hunger only this woman created.

This hunger that reached beyond the pleasure shared between a man and woman.

"Take me," she whispered, pulling back to stare into his eyes. "I already belong to you. You know I do. I know what you want, and I give it freely. Take all of me."

Her words rang in his ears, and his wife flashed in his mind again. He was so confused…so aroused. So…The sight of her elegant, white neck as she shoved aside her hair made her intent clear. She couldn't know what he was, yet her actions, her invitation, said otherwise. And, Lord help him, he wanted to take what she offered. To drink of the sweet liquid that ran through her veins. Only he wouldn't stop there. The taste of her would bring out the beast. And the beast would drain her dry.

"Take me," she said, sitting there on top of him, looking like a goddess. All that creamy white skin against his darker coloring aroused and tempted.

"You have no idea what you suggest," he murmured, fighting a moan as she glided along his length.

A slow smile slid onto her lips. "Oh, but, I do. I know exactly what I suggest." She leaned over him and brought her lips just inches from his. The warm tickle of her breath caressed his skin. "And I give it to you freely."

"You don't or you would know how dangerous—"

Taking the role of aggressor, she kissed him, cutting off his words as her tongue slid past his teeth. Her body rocked atop his, demanded he move with her. His head spun with the impact of her words. With the soft pressure of her mouth upon his. Reality seemed a distant place. What happened here and now became fantasy.

Her cheek rested against his. "I am yours." There was a soft, angelic promise to her words. "Take me." Hands pressed into the mattress, on either side of his head, she leaned back enough to once again bare her exposed neck. "Drink."

His cuspids extended as if answering her demand. An unconscious action. What was happening to him? The beast stayed buried deep inside, out of reach. Even in battle, he controlled the primal side of his being. But not now. Not with this woman.

Jag squeezed his eyes shut. No! The word screamed in his mind. This wasn't real. It was a dream. What happened here didn't matter. But some part of him rejected the thought. This seemed like it was really happening. His lashes lifted, fixing on the beauty rocking atop him. She looked and felt real. And the thirst she induced did, as well.

With a low growl, he reacted, rolling her to her back, determined to reclaim his control. To put this yearning for the forbidden in a safe place. He'd never taken from a human, and he wouldn't now. Deep down he knew he was a monster. But he still possessed his soul, unlike his enemies, the Darkland Beasts.

He could resist temptation. He must.

Raised up on his hands, he stared down at the puckered nipples of the woman beneath him. Licking his lips at the delicious sight they made, he thrust deep, watching her breasts jiggle with the action. He pounded into her. Once. Twice. Over and over.

With each stroke, each grinding of their hips, he focused on the immediate pleasure, rather than the temptation to taste blood. Yet, it burned inside him. Begged to be fed. He just wanted to find an escape. To get lost in pleasures of the flesh. To forget temptation.

Soft moans and words of praise slid from the lips of his seductress like a sensual song. And no matter how much he took of her, she took more. She kept wanting.

"Deeper," she begged, fueling his fire. "Harder." Again and again he drove deep into the wet heat of her depths. Her legs wrapped his calves, her hips lifting to meet him stroke for stroke.

He claimed her mouth, and with hungry laps of his tongue, he tasted her, praying it would sate the building flame inside wanting to explode. But kissing her only made his body yearn at new levels. He couldn't get enough of her. He molded his body to hers, skin to skin. She clung to him with something just shy of desperation. Wildly, they bucked, rocked, and moved as one. Trying to get closer. Yes. He. Had. To. Get…closer.

Burying his face in her neck, he acted on instinct. Never before had sex pushed him to this level of absolute lust. He couldn't think. He thought passion had been the answer, a way to forget the need for her blood. But it only seemed to fuel the fire. Her body squeezed him, short, hard spasms milking him.

"Take me," she whimpered. Then, louder, almost a demand, "Do it!"

He had no comprehension of what made him act. No instant of decision. No reason why he understood what she wanted him to do. He simply slipped into the moment. Control, the very thing he valued the most in this eternal life of hell, perhaps the only thing he still valued, simply failed him. He could hear her blood rushing through her veins…calling to him. His nostrils flared, hunting for the scent of the crimson liquid not yet free.

With raw hunger, he turned his mouth to her shoulder and sank his teeth deeply. She stiffened and made a low sound as he began drinking, taking her in. His mind reached for hers, helping her calm, feeling her muscles ease.

The bittersweet, metallic flavor of her blood touched his tongue like a perfect drug. He felt a rush of power beyond anything he'd felt in all of his two centuries of life. Still hard, buried deep in her body, he felt a primitive need to thrust. It overpowered the fear that he might begin to change physically, to take on a monstrous form. The one who had saved him from the beasts had told him he couldn't transform. But then, he had also warned him to never taste blood.

But none of this mattered. He could only think of the need to sink deep to her core. To pound her as the crimson delight slid down his throat. His body shook with the ecstasy of the combined pleasures, and he moaned as he drank in her rich flavor. He spilled himself with one final descent to her depths, seeing darkness with the utter, complete ecstasy of the moment.

As his body slid into a relaxed mode, he felt the slow return of reality. His teeth eased from her shoulder and a combination of confusion, fear and guilt took hold. He looked at her first, trying to confirm her safety. She sighed in satisfaction and smiled as if nothing was wrong. Frantically he held a hand up to view it, looking for signs of his body's change to beast. But there were none.

She looked up at him, her soft fingers caressing his cheek. Her eyes were an amazing color. Sky—blue with a hint of green. How had he missed them before? Why did he notice them now?

"You only did what had to be done," she whispered.

He didn't even know what to say. She made no sense. Or maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he heard what he wanted to hear, not what was really spoken. He buried his face in her neck, desperate to hide from the trust in her eyes.

Desperate to wake up from the dream…now a nightmare.

With a gasp, Jag came awake. He shoved away the cool, white sheets and sat up in his bed. His eyes traveled his sparsely decorated bedroom in the ranch he considered a sanctuary of sorts. It was here he hid from the world. Here he trained others like himself. Here he pretended he belonged. But at this moment, it offered none of the calmness it often brought. Not when his heart beat in his chest like a drum.

The instant he confirmed he was alone, no seductress to be found, he reached for the sheets again, wildly looking for the bright crimson tint of blood. There was nothing. Yet…it had seemed as real as anything else he'd ever experienced. His eyes darted around the room, to the left and then the right, confirming no one lurked in the shadows.

But like all the times before, it had been just a dream. She wasn't real.

Jag's hand ran over the dark stubble of his jaw. It had been nearly two centuries since he'd had a dream. Not until three weeks ago when his sleep had become haunted by a blond beauty who took him to bliss and back. Night after night, she teased him with her body and drew him into some emotional climax he didn't pretend to understand.

But tonight, she'd offered more than mere pleasure. He bit his bottom lip, certain he could still taste her. What had been a dream felt far too real. He'd stolen her blood to feed his own needs.

He'd become the very thing he hunted—a Darkland Beast who took the lifeblood of humans.

He felt the words like a hard punch in the gut. No…Never. He pushed off the bed and walked toward the shower. Long ago, he'd learned never to take surface answers. The obvious would be to assume these dreams were simply about his own battles with who and what he was. But it felt like more. Like a warning.

When he'd taken on the role of leader to the "Knights of White," he'd sworn an oath to protect humanity and his men. He couldn't ignore a possible message. He gambled with his own existence but not with that of others.

He looked down at the ring on his finger, touching the engraving, a five—pointed star given to him by the one who had saved his soul. He needed answers, and there was only one place he knew to get them…back to where he had left his prior self behind. Back to where a man he knew only as "Salvador" had given him a new life and a new name. To where he had become simply "Jag" for Jaguar, named by Salvador after a creature of great speed and skill.

To the immortal who had taken a monster and turned him back to a man. At least, part man. The beast still lived inside, and Jag never forgot this fact. He led others like himself, fighting to destroy the Darkland Beasts. It was all he had left. All he lived for.

And he couldn't allow anything, or anyone, to stand in his way.

Most certainly not some seductress who was nothing but a dream, and a bad one at that.