“What prize?” She gave him a coquettish smile that he hadn’t seen her use on him before.

Oh yes, she was getting more confident each minute, and he liked it. She would be a strong partner, somebody to keep him in check. And he knew he needed that if he wanted to keep the darkness at bay.

“You’re my prize, didn’t you know that?”

She giggled uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Z. He’s tugging at my leg. I’m ticklish.”

Zane turned his head to find the dog happily pulling on the bottom of Portia’s pants, alternately licking the skin underneath and biting the fabric.

“Z! Get lost! Get your own girl. She’s mine!”

When he turned his head back to Portia, he collided with her gaze. “If I’m yours, does that mean you’re mine?”

Her voice was like a soft trickle that slowly but steadily slid along his skin to pool at the base of his spine.

“I’m yours, baby girl, like it or not.”

“Like it,” she whispered and lifted her lips to press them against his mouth. They were cold, but within seconds they heated and the now-familiar hunger for her came back in full force. His fangs lengthened instantly, and his cock hardened further, wanting to claim her here and now.

The sound of a car’s tires on the snow made him interrupt the kiss. “Company,” he murmured, quickly darting a look behind him before he rose, pulling her up effortlessly to stand next to him.

The kid getting out of the beat up Honda wore a hideous red jacket with the emblem of the pizza joint in the village embossed on the cheap fabric. He slowed his step up the porch when he noticed Zane and Portia approach from the yard, the dog barreling toward him.

“Pizza delivery,” he announced the obvious.

“I’ll get some cash,” Zane told Portia by his side and rushed ahead.

“I’ve got some here,” she called after him, making him stop.

Having reached the pizza delivery guy waiting on the steps, Portia dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet. Zane watched her as she paid for the pizza.

When the guy handed her the flat box, she set her wallet on top.

“Thanks!”

“Bye guys, enjoy,” the kid called out and rushed back to his car, limbs shaking from the cold.

Zane reached for the pizza box, wanting to carry it inside for Portia, when Z ran excitedly around Portia’s legs, barking, and clearly smelling the food. Portia took a step forward, but stumbled, narrowly avoiding stepping on the dog.

Her hold on the box faltered for a split-second, tilting it and making the wallet on top fall onto the snow-covered porch.

“Z!” Zane admonished.

“He thinks he’ll get some of the food!” Portia added as she bent toward the wallet.

“I’ll get it, baby girl.”

Zane crouched down and pulled the wallet out of the snow while Portia walked back inside, the over-excited pup on her heels. The wallet had fallen open in the middle, revealing one compartment that contained a couple of credit cards, and the other side with a photo.

He wiped the snow off it, revealing the photo fully.

His heart stopped. Suddenly, everything blurred. Nausea overwhelmed him as his knees buckled. He braced his hand against the door frame to prevent himself from falling. The acrid stench of death and misery filled his nostrils and clamped an icy hand around his heart.

“No,” he breathed, trying to make his eyes refocus. But no matter how much he tried to wish the picture away, it was there to stay, mocking him.

An older version of Portia smiled at him, the family resemblance evident. She had gotten her looks from her mother. Nothing from her father, not the eyes, the nose, or the chin. That’s why he’d never seen it, never could have guessed.

But he had to be her father. There was no other reason why Portia would carry a photo of Franz Müller in her wallet.

“Zane, you’re letting the cold in,” her angelic voice called out from inside the cabin.

His throat constricted, preventing him from responding.

He’d made love to the spawn of Franz Müller, the man he hated most in this world. He’d thought himself in love with his daughter. Only minutes ago he’d dreamed of a blood-bond with her, a union for eternity.

His hands shook with rage at the injustice of it all. What had he ever done to warrant this? To fall in love with a woman he could never allow in his life? Because all she represented was evil. Nothing good could come from a man like Franz Müller. Whatever he touched was evil. His seed could only create evil.