A Vampire’s Claim, the third book in Joey W. Hill’s vampire series, will be released by Berkley Trade on 3 March 2009. Read on for an excerpt!

The daughter of two vampires, Lady Daniela is considered aristocracy in the vampire world. Still, she has to fight for what she wants—especially since what she wants is to depose a brutal territory overlord. For that she’ll need the help of Devlin, a handsome, brave human who inflames her desire far more than any man or beast.

Even though she could easily lay her claim and take Dev on as a fully marked servant, she resists the urge—especially since Dev is still tormented by something in his past. But when her enemy makes an unexpected appearance, Dev surprises them both by yielding completely to his feelings for Danny and showing her the devotion of a true servant—until she decides to take his freedom without asking…

***
Lady Daniela has never taken a full human servant. At two hundred years, she’s always put it off, having a bachelor’s attitude toward bonding with another, even an inferior human. Until she meets Dev on her return to her sheep station in Western Australia in 1953. The laconic bushman is a war veteran with the talents to help her reclaim her station from her mother’s lover, who usurped her position there forty years before.

But the more she gets to know him, the more reluctant she is to bind Dev to her in a way that might get him killed. Dev has his own thoughts on the matter, though, and she’ll soon find it’s easier for a vampire to survive in the desert sun than for her to survive without him by her side.

***

EXCERPT

This comes from the second chapter, when Dev and Danny have just met in a hotel pub in an Outback town and Danny has taken him back to her rooms.

The small boardinghouse was nothing fancy, of course, a frame building set up on pilings for air flow. Basically, it served as an alternative to the hotel, which housed mainly single stockmen. But it was clean and they’d tried to create a parlor for guests to play cards or keep one another company. There was even a brace of not-too-dingy lace curtains at the doors leading out to the veranda. Dev watched, bemused, as she slid the meager furniture of sofa and chair against the wall to clear floor space before he could join her to assist. For all she looked so refined and willowy, she was a strong thing.

“Take out your whip,” she said. And without further ado than that, she began to pace back from him, until she was near the opposite wall. Then she started to slip the buttons of her white shirt.

That froze him in place, watching the cleavage evolve into the high white curves of her breasts, like a bird’s wings. And she didn’t wear some practical brassiere bought out of a catalog, like most women he’d known. Her bosom was held in a lacy, transparent garment that not only made it look ready to spill out at any moment, but showed him the soft mudge of mauvenipples. Saliva gathered in the back of his throat as she shrugged out of the shirt. When she loosed her hair, it drifted over the molded cups and swung back over her bare shoulders.

“Come here and take off my boots.”

He moved, even though the commanding tone bothered him some, as if she fully expected to be obeyed. *Don’t make an issue out of it, mate.* Wryly, he suspected that quelling directive had been barked straight from his cock to his floundering brain.

“Lady Daniela.” He wet dry lips. “So you never explained that. Am I with nobility, then?”

“Aristocracy. Nobility is a virtue. I have few of those.”

He let his gaze drift appreciatively. “I’d argue that, my lady.”

When he reached her, she was leaned up against the wall, folding her hands almost demurely beneath the cushion of her backside. Even though the pose lifted those breasts, drew his hungry attention to them, she braced her heel on his thigh, stopping his forward progress. “My boots, Dev. If you’d like to see the rest.”

Picking up her ankle, he slid to the heel to take hold. While she hadn’t said to do it, he also took off the thin sock beneath, his hands whispering along bare skin now, the slope of calf and delicate structure of her ankle, the arch of her foot. Her lips parted, her breath raising those lovely breasts on a trembling sigh. She liked his touch, then. That was good. Because he intended to touch her a lot, for as long as she’d put up with him.

She shifted, placed the other foot high on his thigh again, earning a hungry lunge from his cock contained only by the tough fabric of his moleskins. Once he slid that boot and sock off, she straightened and opened the clasp on her jodhpurs. One teasing wriggle and they slid down her flesh like a waterfall, no resistance from her silky skin. As if she were one of those Roman goddesses, it was like she was meant to stand like this, in an elegant, nearly naked pose. He was all for it.

More lace, more transparent fabric that hiked high on her legs and the delectable arse. He’d bet it was round and soft-looking as a pillow. He was a sucker for a fine arse. He liked all the parts, but that one. He couldn’t get enough of ogling, squeezing, smacking. even buggering. Tina’d always laughed and said she had to keep her back to a wall-

He pulled back, startled by the thought. Lady Daniela glanced up at him. “Something bite you?” That seemed to amuse her for some reason, but there was a serious question in her gaze.

Nothing but memories. But as he well knew, memories did more than bite. They tore, ripped, mutilated.refused to leave you alone-or dead. He wouldn’t care which they did, as long as they’d stop their tormenting.

As if she knew that, she crossed the room, putting that distance between them again. He’d never seen a woman walk like that. Not the exaggerated saunter of a whore, or the self-conscious movements of a modest woman deprived of her clothes. It was the way he imagined a goddess to walk, fully aware of her sexual power, willing to be generous with it if the man was worthy. He wasn’t, but at this point he was willing to beg, as soon as he
could find his tongue. She was giving him a hell of an eyeful, driving coherence away.

High firm tits, arse shifting along just right, smooth pale legs. She was a vat of cream, for sure, and he was the hungry tom who wanted to lick it all up.

“So here’s your chance, bushman.” She posed there, a hand on her hip, cocked provocatively, and tossed her hair back. “Touch me with that whip from the farthest reach possible, without leaving so much as a mark, and I’ll give you everything you want. If you hurt me. I’ll get what I want.” She smiled, unexpectedly. “Of course, it’s all the same really, isn’t it?”

It broke some of the tension, making him chuckle. But as he measured off the pacing he needed, he felt a moment’s uneasiness. There was a reason the stockman’s braided kangaroo hide whip was called his third arm. He had as much control over it as his own limb. But the one appendage Dev didn’t seem to have any control over, his cock, could seriously disrupt that control, and a stockman’s whip could carve a brand in a steer’s hide.

*So focus, damn it. You don’t want to hurt her.*

Or did he? Fleetingly, he wondered if he might cheat a little.just to see what she’d demand of him. The look in her eyes was the way a lioness centered herself before chasing down that helpless buck. He did and didn’t want to do it her way. Some part of him wanted to go to her, bury himself in wet heat, feel the desperate clutch of her hands as he drove her to climax. Because after he exploded inside her, for a short time he could drift in the fantasy of a reality he’d had for too short a time. A reality he’d never have permanently again, because his heart wouldn’t survive its loss twice.

*Stop it.* Control wasn’t only important in the use of the whip. It was what was most important of all. As long as you had it, it implied you had choice. Startled, he realized he’d echoed her words earlier, by the billabong. Control was what was important, above all.

He uncoiled the whip with one deft move of his wrist. “You sure you might not enjoy feeling a touch of pain, my lady?”

“That’s beside the point.” She curled her lip, showing him a flash of her canines, which seemed particularly sharp. “The bet is no pain, or I get to take everything I want.”

He could curl the whip around her body for hours, twirl her in a dance, touch the end of it to any pink fragile part, tease a nipple or the hint of her pretty pussy beneath the gauzy fabric. Or cut a brand into her flank as intricate as he might wish. His cock hardened inexplicably at that thought.

As she posed there, beautiful, statuesque, something far beyond his reach, her blue eyes never left his face. Then she destroyed him by raising her arms above her head so her breasts rose, the skin stretched over her rib cage, making it more defined, vulnerable. She stayed that way, as if her hands were bound from the ceiling, and his blood fired.

The whip sang out, the pop striking right where he intended. A spot high on her perfect right breast, the first place he’d place his lips to soothe the skin. He put enough recoil into the strike that the effect was a bee sting, raising a blush on the skin. No cut, but it definitely hurt. Proving that he could do it without pain, and had made the conscious choice not to do so.

Sometimes he thought his roughness with women, the need to hurt them a little, came from the fact that none of those women was the one he missed so much. But there was a different component to this. Bloody oath, she didn’t even flinch. But he sensed something change in the air as he brought the whip back to him, coiled it up in an efficient movement. If he had to give it a name, he’d say it was a wave of feral satisfaction, emanating from her
like blazing heat.

Holding the whip in a clenched fist, he saw her gaze travel to where his cock was straining against his trousers, then back over every tense muscle in his body. As her attention went up his bare chest, it reminded him of her touch through the bar rag, the way she’d seemed to savor every inch of him.

“I assume you’re a man of your word?” she asked.

“I am.” He found his mouth was dry.

“Take off your shirt.” When he complied, she began to move toward him. As her hips moved like the pendulum of an elegant clock, her breasts quivered in the cradle of that bra. He was sure the underwire beneath the lace was far more unforgiving and cruel than his hands would be. Or maybe not.

She stopped before him, gazed up into his eyes. Dev was unable to move, the proximity of her body to the raging need of his own overwhelming, paralyzing him. “When we’re alone, you may call me Danny,” she said. “All right?”

“Yes, my lady.” He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t comply with it just yet. Maybe he needed her remoteness. Maybe he was afraid that what was inside him would swallow her whole if she left no barriers between them.

“There’s something in your eyes, bushman,” she continued softly, looking up into them. “I want to keep this moment quite real between us. You said you’d let me have anything I want.”

“There’s not much to take, love.” And he was afraid what little there was, he might give her. He’d immersed himself in women before to keep the darkness at bay, but despite the fact this woman looked a handful of years younger than him, it was as if she understood the deep intricacies of the world, how they were heartbreaking beyond bearing. She wasn’t soothing him or telling him to shut it out. Instead she was throwing him a line, making him accept the port she was offering from his storm.

Her hand slid over his on the whip, started to uncoil it again. When he reached for her with his free hand, she caught his wrist, guided it behind him, then the other, the whip still in his grip. Before he could object or try to overpower her, she’d lifted on her toes and brought her mouth to his, pressing those straight-from-Heaven tits against his chest. The bra was so
thin he could feel the pressure of her hardened nipples.

Opening to her, he gave her his tongue, teased her with it, demanded with his lips what his body had to have. He was vaguely aware of her tangling his hands in the whip, and now he’d no objection to her game. Until he felt the kangaroo leather cinch, one shot past painful, and found she’d securely bound his wrists behind him.

She backed away from him then, holding the tail of the whip through his legs. When he started to move forward, she lifted it between them, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his testicles. Her blue eyes had sobered, but he found it somewhat reassuring they still reflected the raging desire he was feeling himself.

“Did you know that when a convict was brought here, sometimes he didn’t even know the length of his sentence?” Her voice had become that sultry murmur again, despite the grim topic. “Perhaps the judges forgot to tell him, or didn’t think him worth the effort. I think that would be the worst part of his lot. Truly helpless to his fate, forced to trust his master to tell him when his release would come.”

He told himself all he needed to do was twist to yank the whip from her. Instead, he remained still, watchful. “You didn’t jump when I marked you. As though you expected it.”

“I did. You don’t do what you’re told, because you want to defy the consequences. Prove you can handle them.” She came back to him then, one step, two.three. Reaching out, she caressed his jaw, then tipped his chin back, slowly, her nails digging in a little. She liked using her claws. A further tip, straining his neck some, a deeper gouge of those sharp edges.
“Plus, I trusted you. Can you trust me?”

Her breath was on his flesh, near the artery pulsing in his throat. For some reason Dev heard his blood pounding through it, his ears, his chest, as if rushing water was closing in on him.

“I doubt it.”