Bond of Darkness (26 page)

"If I have any more of this, I'll stay up all night, spinning like a top." She sipped at the hot coffee, her eyelids slightly-translucent.

His mouth tightened at her fragility. "Looking very lovely."

"Flatterer."

Not really.

"You had quite a shock. The coffee will help." Oh hell, that sounded like something his mother would have said.

She sniffed in disbelief and gently blew over the milky brew's surface. It stirred, shimmering under the light.

Once she'd have teased him that way. Intimately.

He shifted, looking for a more comfortable position.

She wiggled, snuggling her hips and the curve of her breasts closer to him.

He froze but gritted out a smile.

"I've never failed like that before, Ethan," she muttered.

"Failed?" He rapidly scanned through the night's events. "What are you talking about?"

"I couldn't stop him. He wasn't ten feet away from me. But I couldn't shoot, shove. I couldn't even scream like a high school girl," she finished on a whisper. "I was useless."

"Dammit, Steve!" He grabbed the cup out of her hand and slammed it down on the table, sloshing coffee across the cheap wood. The hell with that.

"Uh, Ethan, what—"

He snatched her onto his lap, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"Stop that. D'you hear me, don't blame yourself. No prosaica can stop a vampiro from taking control of her mind. You had no choice."

He shook her by the shoulders.

"But surely I could have done more." Her eyes were enormous.

"Every sense is enhanced when we become vampiros, including the psychic ones. We're all telepaths, at least in comparison to prosaicas like yourself. It gives us the ability to dictate what you think or do."

She frowned, thoughts starting to run again behind those whisky eyes before they went dull again. "But he walked through my mind and I feel used. Dirty."

"You are not dirty. You are incredible. No other prosaica could have managed to move at all, let alone touch her chair, after a vampiro took control of her." His heart was pounding, his voice turning husky. "You're strong, very strong—and special."

"Strong? Do you really think so?" She ran her finger lightly down his cheek, her calluses catching on his stubble and sending lightning strikes deep into his heart and lungs.

"I know it, darling." He kissed the palm of her hand.

She gasped—and he captured her mouth, offering her his warmth, lips to lips, breath to breath. She sighed and opened, accepting him.

It was the gentlest of kisses, like feathers taking to the wind, their fingers twining together. He cupped her face, protecting her, giving her the most comfort and security possible in the embrace. Ignoring the aching beat of his blood, like molten lava under his skin wherever she touched.

"Ethan," she murmured and moved closer, sliding her fingers into his hair.

He kissed her again, deepening the contact, allowing more of his passion, his absolute confidence in her to show.

She pressed herself against him, still trembling, but willing at least. Damn the bandolerismo!

He nuzzled her, feathering kisses over her face—the straight nose, the passionate mouth, stubborn jaw, high cheekbones, winged eyebrows, broad forehead. So perfect, so beautiful, so nearly gone forever.

He caressed her hair, threading his fingers through its fine silk and gently kneading her exquisitely sensitive scalp underneath.

She purred with pleasure, rubbing her head against his hands like a cat. His lady, his darling.

And so little time to enjoy her. Ever.

He licked her throat, lightly flicking his tongue against the hidden pulse points.

She chuckled and arched her head back, utterly relaxed.

He nuzzled and kissed his way up and over her jaw until he found her mouth again. This time, she kissed him back eagerly, warmly.

He rumbled approval, stroking the small of her back underneath her clothes. Lovely, lovely Stephanie Amanda.

She arched closer, rubbing her breasts against him. Sheets of fire rolled across his skin and spilled into his flesh. His pulse kicked hard and began to run faster through his veins. "Oh God yes, Stephanie."

"Mrmph," she agreed and gasped into his mouth when he ran his thumbs up her back, underneath her tunic. She arched even closer, blatantly willing.

His cock swelled against his trousers, straining the white linen. Denim would have allowed far more discretion, dammit.

He rose, sweeping her into his arms. A sofa, no matter how big, wasn't the place to continue this.

And damn, but she looked good a moment later stretched across her bed. It jutted into the room like a throne, covered in silky layers of yellow and gold cotton. A chair and a single dresser were the only furniture. A magnificent dream catcher hung protectively over her bed, its eagle feathers and netting glinting as it slowly turned in a slight draft. But everything he wanted was contained in Stephanie.

She blinked up at him and licked her lips, smiling with a bit of her old sassiness.

"Ah, Stephanie." He started to grin, his heart relaxing a bit. That was his girl.

"Steve," she corrected. She ran her eyes over him and blushed when she reached his crotch.

His smile darkened to something primal and masculine. His woman.

He dropped down beside her on the bed and kissed her again, sliding his leg between hers. She moaned, tossing against him.

He teased her tunic upward and unclasped her bra, catching his breath at her beauty. Her rosy nipples were already tightly furled with hunger, calling to him for fulfillment. They needed his mouth, teeth, lips. Or maybe he should explore her breasts first with his hands…

He went a little insane and tried to do everything, make up for all the lost days and weeks he'd lived without her. Relearn the taste of her velvet flesh, the salt of her skin, the arcs of her sweet areolas deep within his mouth… The driving pulse in his own veins when he lost himself in loving her.

She sobbed his name over and over, begging him for more, demanding completion.

His hands shook when he tugged those damn high heels off and threw them across the room. His hands were shaking when he unzipped her jeans, so badly it took him two tries to get them off.

But her scent was a wonderful perfume—rich and musky, uniquely hers. He shuddered, inhaling it, before he dropped to his knees and kissed the inside of her thigh. His cock was the definition of madness, the center of every driving, mindless, hungry pulse in his body.

He tasted her, swirling his tongue along the delicate trickles of cream. He found his way higher to the source, to her sweet folds, her plump clit now standing proudly erect. He nuzzled and sniffed, his heart thudding like an artillery barrage in his chest.

"Ethan. Ohgawd, Ethan, please." Her hips lifted toward his hungry mouth.

He hummed approval and she jolted, her hands pulling him closer. "Oh, Ethan."

He rumbled his insistence on his own timing, his own choices. But his zipper was biting into his cock like iron rails and her legs were frantically clasped around him.

He pulled away, reluctant to leave her for even an instant, and yanked off his damn shirt and trousers. She gasped, just a little, but she was licking her lips at the sight of him.

"Stephanie." He took her into his arms and she flung herself at him, immediately wrapping her arms and legs around him. "Stephanie."

She was so hot for him and they were so accustomed to each other that they joined easily. He scissored their legs and rolled onto his side, making sure she felt every detail of both their bodies, their pleasure, their breathing.

He rocked against her slowly, using his hand on her back to control their pace. She orgasmed, her delight spiraling through both of them.

Yes, and yes, and yes.

He shifted her, rubbing her clit against his leg, gritting his teeth against his own desperation. Waves were pounding through his spine, building in his balls.

"Ethan!" she shrieked, climaxing again, and higher, before she'd fully come down from the first.

His smile was edged with a tight triumph. Surely he could wait a little longer.

He kissed her throat, her pulse vibrating against his tongue, and delicately teased her clit with his finger.

She rocked against him, moaning—and scratched his shoulder. The salty sweet scent of blood filled the air.

Sanity snapped.

He rocked deeper into her, finding her sweet spot and sending her straight over the edge. She howled in ecstasy and threw her head back. He bit down, hard and fast, plunging his fangs into her jugular, and tasted the rich perfection of her passion. Fire bright, whirling through his blood like torches through the night.

Orgasm raced through him, shattering his links to the earth. He poured himself into her, filling her with his heat and his fire.

Stephanie, his love.

He cradled her afterward, watching her sleep. She needed her rest, after all, so she could live a long time. Regardless of how he'd cope with watching her die of old age, when he'd barely handled being without her for a month or nearly seeing her die tonight.

He kissed the top of her head, gathering in her scent, storing up the memory of her soft breathing.

They'd think about the war tomorrow.

AUSTIN, JULY 19

The Gulfstream jet circled the Texas hills, its luxuries no comfort now for Celeste. Even her entourage remained strapped silently into their seats, too astonished—and cowed—to speak.

The football stadium below was all too easy to spot, its banks of lights blazing into the sky. Streams of people danced across the grass, forming and reforming colorful knots under the great heraldic lion. Soon they'd be frolicking horizontally, the ecstatic bastards.

"
Imbecile
!" Madame Celeste threw another bottle of champagne into the galley, its door wisely left open by her steward. It burst against the cabinet like a shotgun blast, wine and glass shards spewing over the floor. "We should be drinking this in that stadium, while they begged us for mercy. Another minute and Don Rafael would have been dead!"

"Beau is lucky he died so cleanly,
cher
," Georges agreed, rage running clean and cold through his belly. "Otherwise, you'd have made his last hours hell on earth for such an elementary mistake as to let Don Rafael slip away."

"Only to win, with the help of his cónyuge bitch! There is no other answer."

"No, only a cónyuge could have fed him strength when he'd been almost dead." Georges' fangs pricked his lip. If Templeton's mesnaderos hadn't been in the way, he'd have shot Don Rafael while he was on the ground—and that fool was indulging in an early celebration. But no, Don Rafael recovered and won.
Merde
.

The plane began to level out, heading east for the Mississippi and home.

"So Don Rafael still lives to attack us, while his heraldo will make more supercilious announcements of Texas virtues." She spat. "Until we kill them both."

"We have another weapon at our disposal,
cher madame"
Georges pointed out. "As you have mentioned before."