Lightning Rider (30 page)

Tears flood my eyes, and I want to clamp my hands over my ears. He has a life here. Responsibility. 

“You can’t leave here. What about Anna? And your men?”

“Anna will be fine. She wants to return to Rome. I’ll handle my men. What about
you
?”

“I can come visit.”

“That’s not good enough.” He turns my face toward his. “I need you here. You make me live, Evy.”

“Please.” I shake my head. “Please stop.”

“Why? Why won’t you let me protect you? Watch over you while you sleep?”

I grit my teeth. I don’t even know whether he’ll survive the attack on Viriato. Or when I’ll slingshot home—or straight to my next alteration. We’re on borrowed time. From now until we complete this alteration is all we have.

“Tell me why,” he says.

“Because what you’re saying might not even matter in a few hours,” I say, my voice breaking. “Because I might leave without warning, and I might not ever see you again.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“That only works when you’re traveling on your own timeline—or when I take you with me.”

He lifts an eyebrow in question.

“We don’t know where I’m going next. There’s a lot about the future beyond now you don’t know about.”

“You can teach me.”

I sigh. “It’s not that simple. I don’t even know what I’m doing. And—and I don’t know how to handle it when you’re being nice like this!”

“You prefer it when I’m angry?”

“No. I just . . . I know who you are when you’re angry or when we’re fighting or training. This guy . . .” I wave my hands wildly in front of his chest. “This saying-nice-things guy . . . I don’t know what to do with him.”

“Do you like him?”

“That’s not really the point—”

He lowers his mouth to mine and crushes me to him. My back bows, and I melt against him. His lips are demanding. The softness vanishes. He is the man I know. The man I love. His arms tighten across my back, and mine are trapped between our bodies. I don’t care. I tip my head and give in. I tell him with my body how I feel about him. I let myself go, not caring if I ever get my heart back. It’s too late, anyway. I kiss him with every ounce of the passion and wonder I feel when I’m around him. I lean into him with every bit of power he’s given me.

Sparks erupt around us, and he laughs against my mouth. I wrestle my hands from between us so I can touch him. This one last time I want to feel all of him. He tastes me, runs his tongue over my teeth, and I shove my hands up the back of his tunic, inhaling sharply at the warmth of his skin against my frozen fingers. I trace his spine and flatten my palms against the thick cords of muscle.

He cups my bottom and lifts me, and I tangle my legs around his waist. An errant bolt of lightning takes out a tree. He leans his head back and laughs to the night sky. “I’ve never made love to a goddess,” he shouts. His wide grin flashes in the darkness.

I taste the skin at his neck, and he spreads his hands wide across my ass and walks toward the house. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d taken me right here on the field, but now he’s called it ‘making love’ and we’re not doing it in the dirt.

Maybe I really have come to matter to him. My chest aches, and I shove everything away. Time only for feeling, for touching, for tasting. No thinking. Not yet.

He kicks the door open and nuzzles my neck. I try to slide down his body, but he pulls me tighter against him and hobbles us toward the bedroom. But he’s not a bedroom kind of guy—it’s too tender, too romantic.

I scream inside to that stupid girly place in my mind. Feel. Fuck. That’s it. No tenderness tonight. I can save that bullshit for when I’m alone.

I bite him on the neck, and he lowers me to the bed, his knee nestled between my thighs. My emotions can’t take tenderness.

Wild beneath him, I scratch at his clothes, but he laces his fingers through mine and stretches my arms above my head.

No gentleness either. I lift my hips and rub against his knee, but he flattens his thigh across mine, forcing our lower bodies apart and trapping me. I ache everywhere.

His tongue makes a lazy assault on my mouth, and I nibble and suck and tug at his lips. He rotates his hand, trapping both of mine but freeing one of his. He traces my entire arm, slowing across the sensitive skin on the inside of my elbow and bicep. His fingers swirl around the compass tattoo at my wrist.

He
is
my compass.

I fight the emotions and wiggle my hips, brushing against his erection, but he shifts again and separates us. I pull his lower lip into my mouth and suck, then bite it again, hard enough to draw blood. He feathers his lips against mine, and I can taste the coppery tang of blood.

“Evy.”

There’s a plea in his voice that forces my eyes open. I go still.

His warrior mask is gone. Before me is a man who’s known an incredible amount of pain. Who knows what it’s like to lose, to live each moment, leaving nothing behind. Who’s stripped me raw, built me up again, and will search until he knows every one of my secrets. Who’s had his heart broken, and who’s entrusting those pieces to me right now. His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face, and his tongue darts out to lick the blood I’ve drawn. 

My fear melts away, and I stretch up to kiss his bloody lip. Tomorrow is so far away. I may never have another moment like this one.

A tear slips from the corner of my eye, and he catches it on the pad of his thumb and brushes it into my hair. He’s waiting on me, watching, begging me to love him. I take a deep breath, and my body relaxes beneath his. He releases my hands, and I cup his face and pull him to me, kissing him back with the tenderness he’s laid bare tonight. His hands slip behind my back, and he rolls us over until I’m sitting astride him. His fingers play with my braid.

“Undo this mane of yours.”

I unplait my braid and run my fingers through the tangles. He unwinds the laces of my bustier, and as I shake the tight weave, my armor falls away. He sweeps his hands up my ribcage to the crisscross of fabric draped over my cleavage. With a quick flick of his finger, he unravels the fabric, and the front of my shirt opens, exposing the curves of my breasts and half of my stomach.

Any sexual experience I’ve had before this moment amounts to the ridiculous pawing of imbeciles. Constantine’s moves are calculated, precise, and sinfully erotic. He slides his hands inside my shirt, and I arch into his palms. I fumble with his tunic, and he shifts again so the fabric slips up past his waist. Our skin touches and I moan.

His resolve snaps, and he surges off the bed, taking me with him. We’re a flurry of hands and fabric, and then I’m pressed front-first against the cold stone wall and he’s behind me, hard against my ass, and raking my shoulder with his teeth.

This is what I want. Need. Animal. Fire. “Please!”

Bolts snake along the wall, erupting from my hands. His fingers trail down my spine, over my bare skin, and dip lower until his hand is gone and I ache painfully for more. Without warning, he pushes inside me, and I drive myself hard back against him. Lightning courses through the room, racing across the ceiling and the floor, over my toes and along the wall. The light pulses with each thrust, dancing with us, serenading us.

He digs his hands into my hips, and I clutch the wall. My cheek mashes against the rough stones and my skin breaks. Blood trickles down my face, and I moan with him as he brings us both to climax. A small fire burns itself out in the corner of the room where my lightning hit a basket. Constantine turns me into his chest. I bleed against him, and he kisses my forehead with his bloodied lip. I laugh.

He dips his head to catch my lips, and his kiss is soft again.

“I meant to be slow with you.”

“Not my style.”

He smiles. “We’ll see.” He backs up to the bed and sits, pulling me down with him and twisting me on his lap. I’m straddling him backward, and he’s leaving a trail of soft kisses down my spine. He turns and pushes me down on the bed, kneeling over me, kissing lower and lower, over my bottom and down the backs of my thighs. His rain of kisses is a slow torture. I squirm. Then he flips me onto my back and shifts so we’re fitted like the elusive puzzle pieces I’ve been chasing since I met him.

Three hours later, I’m willing to change my style.

Chapter 24

In the middle of the night, Constantine nuzzles my ear and whispers, “Are you sleeping?”

I roll over, sliding my thigh between his. “Mmm. No, I’m awake.”

“I understand Ilif’s disturbance.” His words are punctuated by kisses.

“Why he’s disturbed?” I tilt my jaw so he can kiss behind my ear.

“Mmm. No, why he flickered.”

I still. “Why?”

“It’s your lightning.”

I prop myself up on my elbows, and the blanket falls to my waist. Constantine lowers his head to my breasts, and I tug his hair. “Finish telling me.”

He swirls his tongue around my left nipple, then says, “It was the first time you’ve had your lightning out when he was around, correct?”

His lazy assault makes it hard to concentrate. I try to ignore him, but I finally have to tug the blanket around me so I can think. “The first time I showed it to him, he flickered, but I didn’t know enough to think anything was wrong.”

“He can’t be where the lightning is—it strikes between his there and his here, disallowing his ability to stay. I should have realized it earlier. Penya erases your residue the same way, by slicing through it, eliminating the connection. If you call your lightning, he won’t be able to stay.”

“So, I can keep him away until we win.”

“Yes.” He kisses me.

Too excited to sleep, we slip out of bed. Mouths and hands get in the way of putting our clothes on, but we’re finally dressed and standing over his mountain of maps, pressing against each other. We’ve spent so much time avoiding contact that now, with the barrier down, we’re magnets to metal.

After revisiting the plan, we pass the night at the small table. Straddling his lap, my hair wild and cascading, I feed him fruit, and he licks the juice where it drips down my arm.

My smile falters, and he catches my hands against his chest.

“It will be fine. We will win.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

“What then?”

I feed him another slice of plum. His eyes question me. I focus on the juice running down his chin and lean in to kiss it away. My mouth quivers, and I drop my forehead into the hollow of his neck. He leans his head against mine. “Tell me.”

A knock at the door has me scrambling off his lap, grateful for the reprieve. He clamps my hand in his and leads me behind him to the door. “Wait here.”

He steps out the door, and low voices carry through the crack. “We’re ready,” someone says.

“Gather the men,” Constantine says.

He steps back inside and closes the door. For a moment he stands facing it, his fingers pressing so hard against the wood his knuckles are white. He doesn’t turn. “The men are in position. Viriato will be dead within the hour.”

I bite my lip. Then what?

“I thought we would have today,” he whispers.

“We had last night.” My voice cracks.

He looks at me over his arm. Pain and lust dance across his features. I’m sure the emotions are mirrored in mine.

He sweeps me into his arms. “We must go.” And then his lips are hard and demanding on mine, punishing us both for our stupid romantic wishes.

Chapter 25

Four men stand ready near the gate, waiting. Three of the men I have seen before, when they attacked me on the training field. The other is unfamiliar. They nod in full acceptance of my presence on this mission.

Constantine swings me up on my horse, his hand lingering on my calf. “Ride low. Ride swift. Stay close.”

I nod, glad one of us is confident in my riding ability.

He mounts his sorrel stallion, and we thunder down the road. The dark horizon indicates we’re still on the night side of dawn, and I wonder what Viriato had planned for this new day he won’t live to see. I wonder why we aren’t attacking in the dead of night before foggy bits of my research come back. Viriato rarely sleeps at night, preferring to catch snatches throughout the day. He takes the longest stretch of sleep right before dawn, while his men are busy getting ready for their day. Still, it’s only a few hours.

Constantine believes my part in the plan is done, that my contribution was to discover Viriato’s aides were Roman, but he’s bringing me along as a backup plan. Everything about this makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t want to witness a murder firsthand, but Constantine can’t exactly leave me back at the training facility. Penya’s right. I must have some final part to play, or I wouldn’t still be here.

Hooves pound the damp earth, and I feel more a demon than a goddess. We tear through the forest shadows in the early morning light. Constantine rides next to me, and his face is set in his fierce warrior mask, betraying nothing. If the mission makes him nervous, no one would ever know. As far as he’s concerned, we’ve already succeeded. I wish I could be so sure, but a nagging feeling settles across my shoulders like a lead cloak.

We pull the horses to a stop at a small glen ringed with thick groves of trees at the base of a hill. Viriato’s camp waits on the other side. I dismount with the others, and the archer takes my reins. Constantine stands with the other men, talking in a hushed voice.

“They are in position?” Constantine asks.

“Yes. He sleeps. Audax agreed to murder him after the guard changes. No one should notice for at least an hour.”

“Then let us find our perch.”

He wraps his fingers around my upper arm, and we lead the men up the hill, stopping just short of the rise. We drop to our knees and crawl the last fifteen feet, then army-crawl on our bellies the last two. We lie behind the crest among small shrubbery and grass, hidden one hundred yards south of Viriato’s tent. The flaps are closed tight against the night. Shadows occasionally cross the fabric, but I have no idea whose. Two men mill along the back, and one paces the length of the side—Viriato’s three. One of them must be Audax.